The UK is going through a record-breaking heatwave, with temperatures hitting 40 degrees Celsius (104 F), which for us is A LOT.

I’m working at a train station when a passenger with an accent (either US or Canadian) comes up to me covered in sweat and anger.

Passenger: “For the love of God, turn on the AC!”

Me: “Sir, we don’t have any AC”

Passenger: “Ha… ha… very funny. Seriously, it’s hot as h*** out there, and my train isn’t for another thirty minutes!”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any air conditioning devices installed at this station. We have a large fan blowing by the entrance if you’d like to stand there until your train arrives.”

Passenger: “Wait… you’re serious?”

Me: “I’m afraid so, sir.”

Passenger: “No… no AC? But…”

He looks around at the sad scene. Everyone on the platform and in the station is an image of sweaty misery.

Passenger: “…but… how?!“

Me: “Easy. It’s only hot enough to be this uncomfortable for a couple of weeks of the year, so our building relies on central heating a lot more than any kind of air conditioning. This particular station was built in the Victorian times before air conditioning was a thing. Also, if there was any air conditioning at this station, I’d be bloody standing right next to it!”

The poor passenger conceded that I had a point. I told him to come back during winter and he could try out our amazing central heating instead!

I am travelling from the South of England to the North of Scotland to start a new job tomorrow morning. I take a train up to London, and I am supposed to get on an early morning flight from Heathrow. The bus to the airport, however, is cancelled and I have to make my own way using a series of night buses.

It’s about 2:30 am, my phone is dead, and I’ve never used London’s night buses before.

I am young and a little scared, standing in the middle of the huge Victoria station, trying to figure out the faded bus schedule when a woman in a bus driver’s uniform comes up to me.

Bus Driver: “Are you all right, love?”

Me: *Through tears* “I need to get to the airport, and I think I’m going to miss my flight, and I don’t know how to get an Oyster card.”

An Oyster card is London’s pre-paid metro card. You can’t use cash on the trains and buses, but I’ve never used one before.

Bus Driver: “Here, let’s look up the route.”

She looks up my route on her phone and writes down all of the possible variations of buses and trains that I need to take, including the times! She then waits with me the entire time — like twenty minutes. THEN, when the bus comes up, she pays for my fare by tapping her own Oyster card on the scanner.

Me: “Thank you so much! I hope I didn’t keep you from your work!”

Bus Driver: “Oh, my shift finished half an hour ago. You just looked like you needed someone.”

I think about her every once in a while, and I’m incredibly grateful for her.

There used to be a guy who regularly rode the same bus as I did who got it in his head that a particular seat near the front of the bus was HIS and no one else should be allowed to sit there when he was riding.

One day, this jerk boarded the bus and approached a woman in HIS seat.

Jerk: “That’s my seat! Move somewhere else!”

The woman refused, and he started shouting at her.

Jerk: “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!”

I guess the driver had had his fill of this jerk. He got up and walked over to the guy, who was towering over the poor woman.

Driver: “Get off the bus now, or both transit security and the cops will be called.”

It seems this wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was most definitely the last time because he had broken one of the transit system’s rules about threatening or intimidating operators, riders, or transit employees. This is considered a criminal offence and carries a penalty of up to $250 and/or exclusion from the transit system. The ban includes not only buses but transit property like transit stations and bus stops throughout the county.

I think he was given the ban option because I never saw him again.

I am at Copenhagen central train station, waiting for my train to Sweden. A well-dressed lady approaches me.

Lady: “Can you help me get to the airport?”

Me: “The train bound for Sweden will stop at the airport.”

This train is running on time and is scheduled to arrive in five minutes.

Lady: “No, no, my flight leaves in thirty minutes! That’s too late; you have to get me to the airport faster than that!” 

Lady, I have no control over neither the trains, the planes, or the automobile traffic. I’m just trying to catch my train and go home.

I’m a wheelchair user on the bus. In order to keep my wheelchair secured, the driver flips up one of the priority rows and essentially ties me down using heavy-duty straps attached to hooks. I’m on the bus, very obviously using my wheelchair. A woman boards and stands next to me.

Passenger: “I need this seat.”

I don’t immediately respond, since I don’t think she’s talking to me.

Passenger: “Excuse me! I need this seat! Move it!”

I look over, and realize… she IS talking to me. She apparently doesn’t like the confused look I gave her.

Passenger: “Are you deaf?! I need this seat!”

Me: “Ma’am? This… is quite literally my chair.”

Passenger: “Oh, you f****** entitled brat. This is for people like me!“

The driver notices the woman practically yelling at me.

Driver: “Ma’am, if you can’t sit in a seat, you need to hold onto the bars above you!”

Passenger: “This child is refusing to move!”

Me: “Ma’am, I quite literally cannot walk. I don’t know what you expect from me.”

She finally gave up on having me removed from my wheelchair and took a seat. In the other priority row. Two feet from where I was. I’m still confused.