DISCLAIMER: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

This was probably the single greatest moment of human togetherness I will ever experience.

About twenty years ago, I was a freshman in high school (I think that’s Year 9 in the UK). The high school I went to was the biggest in the state, and we had nine different choruses. My older sister and I were in separate choirs. One year, our school was invited to participate in a nationwide choral competition hosted by Disney World, so we got to spend our spring break there.

We were more or less left to do whatever we wanted as long as we traveled in sets of two at minimum and checked in with our assigned chaperone at the appropriate time, which was amazing for a group of fourteen- to seventeen-year-olds. I had befriended another girl in Women’s Choir, so we agreed to stick together. We’ll call her Beth. We ended up befriending three guys from the Mixed Choir (who we’ll call Matt, Steve, and Bob), and the five of us hung out in a group enjoying the parks and our freedom.

It was May in a tropical region, so it was humid and HOT. As such, I made sure to take a drink from every water fountain we passed and tried to keep a water bottle on me. Beth teased me, but I was very anemic and underweight at the time and therefore much more prone to overheating. She was also a bit underweight (thyroid issues) and definitely wasn’t drinking enough water, but she insisted she was fine when I expressed concern.

Unfortunately, on the day of the competition, right after I’d finished and discarded my bottle of water, I noticed that Beth was wobbling while she walked. Looking closer, I saw that her face was ashy, and her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

Me: *Concerned* “Beth, what’s up?”

Beth: *Mumbling and slurring slightly* “I dun… I don’t feel good…”

She stumbled, and I caught her, quickly realizing she couldn’t walk anymore and knowing I couldn’t carry her.

Me: *Urgently* “Steve!”

Steve, objectively the strongest in the group, quickly picked Beth up, and I checked her out. The most medical knowledge I had was a Girl Scout merit badge in First Aid, but it was more than anyone else present.

Me: *Muttering quickly to myself* “Skin’s cold and pale… Pulse is too fast… Muscle weakness… Disorientation…”

My eyes widened and I addressed the guys in panicked run-on sentences.

Me: “She’s in heat exhaustion, might be bordering on full-blown heat stroke. Steve, get her to the shade over there, carefully guide her head between her knees, and keep her breathing slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth. Matt, get a park EMT. Bob, you’re with me; she needs water!”

Steve and Matt immediately did as asked, and Bob and I ran back the way we’d come, as we’d just finished lunch and the closest food stalls and restaurants were back that way. All the nearest snack carts were closed up or gone, so we kept running. Finally, we reached the restaurant we’d eaten lunch at, only to find every register line out the door. We stopped to catch our breath, looking at each other desperately. This location was a ten-ish-minute walk from where Beth had collapsed, so about two minutes running, and we were loath to have to go farther and risk exhausting ourselves.

Bob: *Panting* “What do you think?”

Me: *Also panting* “I think we’re desperate and Beth doesn’t have time for this bulls***. I’m gonna try something.”

I approached the customer at the end of the shortest line, still catching my breath and clearly distressed.

Me: “Excuse me, miss? Our friend just collapsed from heat exhaustion, she’s almost at full heat stroke, and she’s about to pass out. Literally all we need are some water bottles. Can we please cut in front of you?”

I can only imagine the sweaty, red-faced, disheveled mess I was, which probably helped convince the woman that I was telling the truth about the situation and not just looking to jump the line.

Woman: *Startled* “Oh! I mean, yes, of course, go ahead!”

Bob stared at me incredulously as we approached the next customer, who turned to face us before I could even say anything.

Man: “Wait, did you say someone’s passed out?”

Me: “She’s still conscious, but she needs water.”

Man: *To me and Bob* “You two go ahead.” *Shouting to the rest of the line* “HEY! Let these kids through; their friend’s in trouble!”

To my and Bob’s amazement, nearly every single person immediately moved out of our way to let us pass. One grumpy old guy tried to block our way, but a man from the next line over grabbed his arm and yanked him aside. The old guy turned like he was going to yell at the man but stopped when he saw how much bigger the second man was than him.

Bob and I quickly reached the register, and the cashier immediately pulled up two water bottles.

Cashier: “I heard through the line, you said your friend is sick? One of you take these and run; the other can stay and pay.”

Astonished, Bob and I exchanged a look.

Bob: *Going for his wallet* “You’re faster than me. Go!”

I grabbed the waters, quickly but profusely thanked the cashier, and darted out as fast as I could, shouting another thank-you to those in line who had helped us.

I made it back to Beth and Steve — Bob and I had only been gone a few minutes since we’d sprinted, and Matt hadn’t come back with an EMT yet — and cracked one bottle, pouring half of its contents over Beth’s head and neck. She sighed immediately, closing her eyes for a moment. They were very slightly more focused when she opened them again. I helped her sit up slowly, asking Steve to act as a backrest for her, which he did without hesitation. I cracked the other water bottle and gave it to Beth, instructing her to drink SLOWLY, and then texted my sister to tell her what was going on and ask her to talk to our chaperone for us about where we were and why we’d be late. Shortly, [Sister] texted back that she would, checking to make sure I’d done all the correct heat exhaustion procedures. (She was also a Scout.)

Around that time, Matt arrived with a pair of EMTs, who checked out Beth and asked us for all the details. Soon, Beth was more coherent and able to sit up without Steve’s support, though he stayed within arm’s reach just in case and encouraged her to drink more water if she could.

EMT #1: *Lightheartedly* “So, who’s the EMT among you?”

Steve: “Hmm?”

EMT #1: “Someone here really knows what they’re doing; you probably saved her a trip to the ER.”

Matt: *Pointing at me* “That would be her.”

Me: “I mean, Girl Scout First Aid badge, but there was an emphasis on heat stroke and heat exhaustion since it was during summer camp.”

EMT #2: “You still knew what to do, and you did it. Good job.”

Me: “So, she’s gonna be okay?”

EMT #1: “We’re gonna keep an eye on her a bit longer, but she should be fine. We’ll monitor her hydration.”

Beth: “[My Name], I’m fine. You’ve gotta get backstage, remember?”

In all the chaos, I did NOT, in fact, remember that the Women’s Choir performance was starting in half an hour.

Me: “S***! Okay, you rest and feel better, okay? I’ll tell [Choir Director] where you are. You guys will stay with her for me, right?”

Matt: “We’re not going anywhere unless Beth asks us to.”

Me: “Thank you. I’ll see you later!”

I took off running once again to the backstage area, finding our chaperone, who had already spoken with my sister and knew none of us were dead or anything. After a brief recap of the events with emphasis on the fact that Beth was 1) going to be okay, 2) being treated by trained medical professionals, and 3) being guarded by three of the most stand-up bros in the choirs, I rushed backstage to recount the same to our director before changing clothes and pulling myself together.

Our school, fortunately, was a ways down in the lineup, so I had time to reset before performing. Near the end of our last or second-to-last song, I noticed someone waving in the audience and looked to see Matt, Steve, and Bob standing in the crowd with Beth who, at least at a distance, looked MUCH better. I couldn’t wave back, but I smiled in relief.

Thankfully, Beth was completely fine, and she started taking me seriously about hydrating!

I work at a medical office that does some cosmetic care for people. We see all sorts of people of all ages. One day, an old schoolmate’s parent comes in for some cosmetic care.

Me: “How is [Schoolmate] doing?”

Parent: “She’s just taken over the local branch of our family’s maintenance company!”

Me: “That’s great! Is she in the office daily?”

Parent: “She is.”

The next day, I stop by and ask her receptionist if I can talk with her briefly to say hi. While we weren’t in the same circles in school, we knew each other well enough to be friendly. The receptionist steps into the office, which is just next door to the lobby, and I overhear her speaking to [Schoolmate].

Receptionist: “[Schoolmate]? [My Name] is here and wants to say hello.”

Schoolmate: “Ugh. What does she want? Never mind. I’ll deal with her.”

When she comes out, it’s with a scowl. She doesn’t even greet me as much as tells me with open hostility:

Schoolmate: “I don’t know what you heard or from who, but just because we were at [School] together, that doesn’t mean I’m about to give you any deals. Coming in here thinking that I’m going to give you special treatment is pathetic.”

I am surprised by the hostility since I’ve never once considered asking for any kind of deal, nor have I ever used her family’s company for any type of maintenance. I smile as large as I can and explain.

Me: “Actually, I was coming in to say thank you for helping a friend of mine out earlier this year. She mentioned that you were one of the people who helped her with a lemon deal she got on an AC, and that your company came out to fix the AC many times when it conked out on her during the summer. I was also going to give you a gift card for [My Company] for a free facial and some products. But you have a point. Giving away free products to a former schoolmate is pathetic. I’ll make sure to remember your opinion, however, and emphatically warn people away from this company since you clearly have no interest in my business or my friends or family. Thank you for your time.”

I left before she could respond.

She tried to send an apology over social media, but I made a point to block her, and I shared the conversation with friends and family members. None of them want to deal with her now because they think she’d intentionally rip them off if she thought they were trying to get a deal out of her.

Back when I was still in the early days of studying for my architecture degree, my year head was a real jerk. Full of his own self-importance and ready to bully students at the slightest provocation, he was best avoided at all costs. As part of one project for which I was unfortunate enough to have him as a tutor, my group had to do a study of an architecturally unique house that he assigned to us.

The one thing my group and I struggled to understand was how the structure of the building worked since there were very few walls. After reluctantly asking for help, we were told:

Tutor: “This is incredibly simple. How can you not understand it? I’m not here to do the work for you.”

And with that, he walked off. We put our heads together and really tried to figure it out but simply couldn’t. We tried asking for help again a few days later but got the same sort of response. After that, we went to our structural engineering lecturer to ask for her help, and while she got us much closer to an understanding, she wasn’t completely sure how it worked either, though she gave us her best guess.

Following that, we approached the tutor for a final time, telling him that even our structural engineering lecturer had struggled to understand and explain it, telling him what she had told us.

Tutor: “It’s so simple! Fine, I’ll show you how it works… It’s, uh… The floor cantilevers out by… Umm…”

After several minutes of stunted explanation and sketching diagrams, he was forced to, very reluctantly, admit that he had set something that he didn’t understand properly how it worked either. This didn’t stop him from telling us to just work it out ourselves, though. Luckily, our structural engineering lecturer was able to help us, and in the end, we got the project finished and presented our study, to which the tutor responded:

Tutor: “Of course that’s how the structure works. I told you!”

When I was in high school, I went to vo tech (vocational-technical school) for cosmetology. This means that half of my school day took place at a technical school that catered to multiple high schools, and the other half was at my regular high school.

In my vo tech class, there was a girl who absolutely hated me. I don’t know what I did to her that was so bad. She just decided that I deserved all of her ire. I was relieved that she went to a different high school than me, but we both stayed in that same vo tech class for three years.

I did well in my cosmetology class but ultimately decided that the field wasn’t for me. I am now the baker at a chain bakery/cafe, and despite how annoying certain coworkers are, I really like my job.

I work exclusively in the back, but one day, I am walking past the registers when I hear someone say my name. You guessed it. It’s [Mean Girl]! It has been about five years since graduation at this point, and we are both surprised to see each other.

Unfortunately, she hasn’t changed a bit.

Mean Girl: “You’re working here now? I knew you I’d never see you in a salon.”

Of course, I’m annoyed, but I like to think that I actually have matured since high school.

Me: “Yeah, it wasn’t for me. I’m the baker here. It suits me better.”

Mean Girl: *Laughing and rolling her eyes* “I guess some people just can’t handle the big leagues.”

It is at this point that the friend she’s with, who has been watching [Mean Girl] with disgust, speaks up.

Friend: “You mean Big Lots*? The place you just got fired from?”

[Mean Girl] turned bright red, and I headed back to my section before I started cracking up. I’ve seen the friend back a few times but not [Mean Girl].

*Big Lots is an American discount retail chain.

One Monday, I walked into the classroom and looked at the list of things to do for the day. The last one, “Secret Santa”, caught my attention. The class went on as usual, and once everything else was finished, the teacher took out a box.

Teacher: “All right, class, it’s time for Secret Santa. In this box are slips with students’ names on them; draw one and you’ll be their Secret Santa. Put your recipient’s name on it so they can identify it. The spending limit will be $25.”

In 2024, that would be about $47.

I should mention that I had never heard of “Secret Santa” before, so I didn’t know what was going on. I raised my hand with a lot of questions to ask.

Teacher: “[My Name], put your hand down. I’ll answer any questions at the end.”

I put my hand down.

The box got passed around the class, and each student took out a slip of paper. I took out a slip with the name of a classmate on it. Once the box was passed to everyone in the class, it was returned to the teacher.

Teacher: “Did anyone get their own name?”

No one raised their hand. In hindsight, I never figured out what would happen if anyone did.

Teacher: “Good. The event will take place on Monday next week. [My Name], did you have a question?”

Me: “What’s Secret Santa?”

Teacher: “I can’t tell you.”

Me: “But I’m confused as to what’s—”

Teacher: “Just meet with me after class if you’re not sure about something.”

So, I just quietly sat there for the rest of the class period. At the end, I went up to the teacher.

Teacher: “Now, show me your paper.”

I showed the teacher my slip.

Teacher: “And you’re his Secret Santa.”

Me: “But I don’t understand what’s going on. Is this some kind of game? Is it a party?”

Teacher: “I can’t tell you any more than I’ve already told you. Everything else is up to you. Now please, you need to get going so you won’t be late for your next class.”

Later that day during lunch, I attempted to ask other people whom I knew had this teacher about what Secret Santa was, as I figured this teacher had invented it. Each time, I was told, “I can’t tell you,” or, “It’s a secret,” or, “You’re not supposed to know.” I asked enough times that I got fed up with it.

I figured this was something I was not supposed to know. Okay then, I don’t know. I shouldn’t know. I’ll accept that if it means following the rules of the game.

The rest of the week went by normally enough, though every now and then, someone came by to ask some strange questions about my interests, each time someone different. I didn’t know what was going on. Something strange happened every week at school anyway, whether it was a student trapped in a cardboard box, a hazmat team coming by to safely remove the asbestos from the building, or a disgruntled student installing a worm into the PE computer system.

So, now it was Monday. All of the other students came in with wrapped presents. I didn’t have anything. That day, the teacher began with Secret Santa. There was a table at the front, and every student put their present on that table — every student except me, though I don’t think anyone noticed that I stayed in my seat. I was getting very uncomfortable.

The teacher called out each student to come pick up their present. There was one with my name on it, though I really just wanted to put it back, but I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just followed along. The person whose name I drew was one of the last students to be called over. He looked at the table and turned to the teacher.

Classmate: “I can’t find the present with my name on it.”

I started to panic and blurted out to the teacher:

Me: “I didn’t know what was going on! I’ve never even heard of Secret Santa before, and no one would tell me what I was supposed to do!”

Teacher: *Face-palming* “[My Name], please speak with me after class. [Classmate], just go back to your seat. You don’t have a present.”

This classmate just walked back to his desk, looking confused.

The rest of the class felt awkward to me. I was kind of sad that I had disappointed someone, but I was also angry that I had no idea what was going on and that everyone I asked refused to tell me. So, class ended, and I went over to the teacher.

Teacher: “Why didn’t you get a present for [Classmate]?”

Me: “Because I didn’t know what was going on, and no one would tell me! I didn’t know I was supposed to buy a present!”

Teacher: “Wait… You didn’t know? But that’s what Secret Santa is about.”

Me: “I tried to ask! But everyone just told me that I wasn’t supposed to know, or that they couldn’t tell me. So, I figured Secret Santa was just that: a secret to be kept from me.”

Teacher: “Hold on, hold on, hold on. I think I understand now. You’ve never done Secret Santa before, have you?”

Me: “No, I haven’t.”

Teacher: “You’ve never even heard of Secret Santa before, have you?”

Me: “No, I haven’t.”

Teacher: “I see. Thank you. You can go now.”

I scurried over to my next class.

From what I heard from people in years after mine, that teacher no longer held Secret Santa events. As for me, I got so annoyed that I didn’t want to participate in Secret Santa ever again. Luckily, each time I saw it later in my life, it was optional. I’d request to not be a part of it, so I wouldn’t give a present to someone, and I wouldn’t receive one in return.

As for the present I got in that class, I was so ashamed that I just gave it to the teacher, still wrapped and unopened, so she could give it back to the person who got it for me, whoever they were.