I’m a single woman, and I decided I wanted to travel, and do so alone. I’d been saving up money and vacation hours for several years for an international vacation. I chose to go to London. I decided to buy a wheeled duffel bag, with a separate trolley, to use as my carry-on. That decision prompted this situation.

I flew from my small city into a major city for the flight to Heathrow. Since I was coming in on a puddle jumper, I had quite a ways to get to the international gate. On the first escalator, I picked up my brand new wheeled duffel, and the handle broke. I managed to get to my gate without it breaking more severely, but it was very difficult.

After I found my gate, I went into all the stores around me, asking if they had tape or glue or something to repair it. No one did, but one lady went to check their storage room and came back with a handful of rubber-bands that she gave to me. She also helped me determine that a screw had failed, and they happened to have little eyeglass screwdrivers, so I bought one, and some candy, in case she got commission. She’s the first awesome stranger in this story. If you’re reading this, thanks again.

I got back to my gate, and tried to MacGyver a repair. I remembered that I had packed a sandwich bag worth of craft supplies, including some teeny rolls of washi tape, which is decorative paper tape for crafting. Between that and the rubber bands, the handle was holding together, as long as you didn’t look at it too hard. And you wouldn’t want to look at it, because it was really ugly.

While I was fixing it, my bag was in front of me, but I was trying to keep out of the way of traffic. At one point, someone came by, and I said, “Excuse me, sorry,” and nudged the bag a little out of the way. Then he said, “How are you doing?” and since I’m honest and a bit strange I said, “Okay-ish.” I didn’t think much of it, and the man passed me.

I finished fixing the bag, and was sitting there upset at that stupid bag. I even wrote a review for the bag. I was in a rotten mood.

After five or ten minutes, a man came by and asked, “Why did you say, ‘okay-ish’?”

I realized he was the man who passed me, so I explained about the brand new handle breaking, and my efforts to repair it. He commiserated with me and said I needed my money back. He then asked about my plans, and I said I was going to London for a vacation. I told him that it was my first time, but I had always wanted to visit the UK, specifically England. He was from London, but lived in the States, and was on his way home for a little while and then going on to Europe.  

Then, and this is why he stuck in my memory, he asked, “Do you have paper and a pen?” I brought out my travel planner, and he proceeded to give me notes of all the must-dos from a Londoner point of view, including an open-air market because, “You’d like it; it’s quirky like you.” And the must-eats, including good restaurants. I took loads of notes, and I still have them. We must have spoken more than 15 minutes. He was awesome. When he went back to his seat, I was in a much better mood.

Stranger in the airport, if you read this: you’ll never know how much that simple conversation helped me.

(My mom has gotten in the habit of thumping my brother and I on the backs of our heads if we ever get sassy. It isn’t hard enough to hurt or to do damage, but definitely enough to get our attention. We’re walking out of Spider-Man when my brother starts mouthing off.)

Mom: “[Brother], cut it out!”

Brother: *mockingly* “Cut it out!”

(My mom goes to thump him, but my brother ducks and avoids it.)

Mom: “Your back was to me! How did you do that?”

Brother: “My spidey senses were tingling.”

(I work at a clothing store, and am working on a new shipment at the back counter when I start to get double vision and can barely stand. My manager comes from the back. I tell her, we call an ambulance, and she goes to the back to print my register sheet. A customer has been shopping right next to us the entire time. She walks to the register and looks at me where I am now sitting and trying not to pass out. She tells me she is ready. I get up, stumble to her, stand in front of the register, and stare at her for a good two minutes, still trying not to pass out.)

Manager: *coming from the back* “What are you doing?! Sit down!”

Me: “I think she’s ready.”

(After the customer has left.)

Manager: “Wasn’t she listening to us the whole time while we called an ambulance for you?”

Me: “Yup.”

Manager: “I hate people.”

(It is my 14th birthday, and I am going to a local restaurant to celebrate with my cousin and little brother. I am a bit shy, so I don’t really speak out a lot. As we come in, get seated, and place our orders, a bit of time passes by. I do not mind, as I can wait long times for my food. It has only been 30 minutes, and it is busy. My cousin, though, starts to get irate.)

Cousin: “D***, what is taking so long for our food?” *waves a nearby waiter to us* “Hey, what is taking so long?”

Waiter #1: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience; we’re really busy today and it takes longer to prepare the food, but it will be out shortly.” *walks away*

(Another few minutes pass, and we finally get our food.)

Cousin: *looking at the plates* “What is this? This looks f****** stupid. Hey, [My Name], do you have any problem with it?”

Me: “Uh… no. I don’t think it looks odd.”

Cousin: *waving another waiter* “What the h*** is this food? I want a manager, now!”

Waiter #2: “I’m sorry; I’ll get one for you right away.”

(A few minutes pass, and the manager walks over to us.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Cousin: “First of all, it took a long-a** time to get our food, the food looked awful, and [My Name] had to deal with it!”

Manager: “I’m terribly sorry for that. I’ll see my employees on that, as well as you getting a discount.”

(We finish our food and leave, discount in hand, the staff apologizing to us, but as we walk out of the store, I finally say something.)

Me: “Why’d you have to complain? I didn’t have any problems with the whole thing, and you just made a scene about it.”

Cousin: “Well, yeah, but I got a discount for it, so…”

(To this day, I still don’t understand why she did that, on my birthday of all days!)

(I’m working customer service for a well-known bank when a young woman in her late teens or early twenties approaches my desk.)

Customer: “I’d like to see about getting overdraft fees removed from my account, please.”

(These types of transactions rarely go well. The customer is almost always angry and agitated, and I’ve been instructed to not write off legitimate overdraft charges unless there’s a really good reason. I’m allowed to use discretion, but if I do it more than once in a great while, I get in trouble. I steel myself for a tense interaction with this customer.)

Me: “Let me see here. It looks as if these overdraft charges are valid. You overdrew your account by [amount #1] on Thursday morning, and then made four more purchases over the next few days totaling [amount #2]. The $175 in overdraft fees you incurred are valid, and I can’t delete them. I could enroll you in overdraft protection though, so you won’t need to worry about this scenario again.”

Customer: “I’d like that, please. To be honest, I know this is my fault. I should have been more careful with my money, and I wasn’t keeping track of what was in my account. The blame is on me. I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to try to get these charges removed. Can you tell me how to enroll in overdraft protection?”

Me: *flabbergasted* “Wow. You’re the first customer in years to take full responsibility for an overdraft charge. I’ll take care of this for you, and delete the charges. Thanks for being so nice!”