I am about twenty, and I’m at my older brother’s graduation. As the graduation ends, I see a man finish his coffee while walking and set the cup on the sidewalk. The way he is walking, he will pass a trash can.

My family is walking in the opposite direction, so I turn around, run up to the coffee cup, and pick it up.

Me: *In a fake friendly voice* “EXCUSE ME, SIR!”

No response.

Me: “Sir! In the gray suit! You dropped something!”

He turns around and sees me jogging up to him. I hold the cup out to him.

Gray Suit: “Mind your business.”

His family is trying not to laugh at the scenario.

Me: “I’m sure you meant to take this up to the trash can up there.”

Gray Suit: “If you care so much, you do it.”

Me: *In an innocent voice* “But sir, I’m going in the opposite direction!”

Gray Suit’s Family Member: “Thanks, sweetie.” *Takes the cup* “I swear he learned not to litter.” *Places the cup firmly in his hands* “He will take care of it properly.”

I run back to my family, who look appalled.

Brother: “I can’t believe you would be so rude. Well, actually, I can.”

Me: “Are you okay?”

Mom: “That was rude; you should apologize.”

Me: “To whom?”

I don’t remember the answer to that. I think they just felt embarrassed by proxy.

I need to run an errand and realize that the bus would be more convenient than BART, the local rapid transit train that goes under the bay. The bus was going to go directly from point A to point B for me and had soft, cozy seats.

So, I was on a bus that went from the Embarcadero in San Francisco all the way to UC Berkeley, thinking about how nice this was, when we stopped at the first stop in the East Bay, at a shopping center.

The patron who embarked on the bus was in a wheelchair. He started a fight with the bus driver, a young Black woman, for trying to ensure he was safely settled. She couldn’t drive unless he took one of a few acceptable options.

This started a bus-wide fight due to a number of concerns. Everyone wanted to get to their destination and were shouting at whoever was responsible for preventing that in their eyes. Most people were mad at the man, who was white, for being racist and for picking a fight in general.

I was exhausted. I considered trying to defuse the situation by listening to the man and telling him that his needs matter until he calmed down enough to cooperate. As far as I could tell, he was digging his heels in because he didn’t feel like his agency was being respected, and he felt he had the right to determine and communicate how to keep his body safe.

Regardless of his other actions, I could understand the motivation. I have chronic pain and mobility issues. It can be infuriating when nothing is in your control, you hurt, and strangers are denying you control or agency. 

Since everyone was yelling, threats were being exchanged, and this guy was very riled up, I decided it was beyond my capabilities to defuse.

I got off the bus and went to one of my favorite dinner spots in the area, thinking of catching the next bus after dinner.

When I came out, the same bus was still stuck at the bus stop — but with added cop cars.

I walked a few blocks and hopped on a different bus. I guess the bus from SF wasn’t faster than BART after all. I was much more exhausted this way. At least I had a nice slice of pie at the dinner place.

When I was in high school in the early 2000s, my sister was a heroin addict (actively). For reasons lost to time, I had lent her my phone at some point. Also relevant is that the only way to block a number would be to pay the provider a monthly fee as far as I know.

My phone rang and I answered.

Me: “Hello?”

Cowboy: “[Sister], where have you been?”

Me: “Who is this?”

Cowboy: “This is Cowboy! Stop playing games.”

Me: “I’m not [Sister]. This isn’t her phone.”

Cowboy: “You can’t lie to me! You aren’t even trying to change your voice!”

Me: “What did you want, anyway?”

Cowboy: “I want you to pay me; you know what your little boyfriend did.”

Me: “Wait, which boyfriend?”

I didn’t hang up because I was curious and nosy and had no sense of potential consequences. But don’t worry; nothing bad happens.

Cowboy: “You have more than one?”

Me: “I do, actually, but I’m not [Sister]. Why are you trying to get money out of her, anyway?”

Cowboy: “That punk owes me $3,000! And I can’t reach him.”

Me: “So, [Sister] is responsible for that?”

Cowboy: “Exactly.”

Me: “Is she responsible for everyone she has slept with? Are you? If I slept with you and then stole $5,000 for drugs, would you pay up?”

Cowboy: “…who are you again? [Sister] wouldn’t try and logic with me.”

Me: “So, you are owed money for drugs, right?”

Cowboy: “…”

Me: “I bet you are rich.”

Cowboy: “I do all right.”

Me: “Do you enjoy running after druggies for what is probably pocket change for someone like you?”

Cowboy: “Not usually, no. Where is [Sister]?”

Me: “I wouldn’t know. Are you her dealer? What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Cowboy paused for a moment and then burst out laughing.

Cowboy: “Who are you? You are hilarious!”

Me: “Thanks. But I want to know. If that question is too hard, you can tell me how you chose the name Cowboy.”

I don’t remember his answers, but I chatted with him for about an hour about morality, economics, hope, and humanity. I felt very guilty about doing so because he was obviously not a good guy.

He used to call every so often, gently ask after [Sister], and then just chat. He never found out who I was.

My number didn’t change, so I wonder what happened. As far as I know, he never got money out of [Sister]. He may have died or gotten arrested. It’s too bad he never became a real cowboy, instead.

I recently went camping with some friends at a big state park, and one of my friends made puppy chow. For those not from the Midwest, it’s an easy-to-pack trail snack made from cereal, peanut butter, and chocolate, and it’s very tasty.

After lunch, when most of my group went to the lake, I decided to go for a short solo hike on a trail surrounded by big boulders. We’re talking from the size of furniture to the size of camper vans, so while you could see up the slope to the tree line, visibility immediately around the trail was limited. I was happily crawling around boulders off-trail when I heard the unmistakable sounds of a small child sobbing and a harried parent trying to comfort them. It was far too nice a day to spend crying, so I went to see if I could offer assistance.

Young Dad: “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s just bruised, see? No blood.”

Little Girl: “But it huuuuuurts!”

Young Dad: “We’ll wash it off, and I’ll carry you for part of the way, okay? We’ve gotta get moving, though; we’re blocking the trail.”

Little Girl: “I don’t wanna!”

Me: “Heya. Sounds like someone took a tumble. Would some chocolate help?”

Young Dad: *Exasperated* “Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Me: “Cool. Any allergies? I have puppy chow that I don’t mind sharing.”

At this, the little girl’s eyes went wide, and she was so busy staring at me that she forgot she was crying. It was only then that it occurred to me that I probably did look semi-feral; I was covered in mud and scrapes from climbing around the rocks, I had realistic vine tattoos up both legs and henna tattoos on my arms, I was carrying most of a small dead tree that I’d been using as an ad hoc walking stick, and I was still wearing one of the bindweed and clover flower crowns that my group had been making at lunch.

Me: “So, any allergies?”

Young Dad: “Uhhhhh… no, no allergies.”

He was staring at me, too. Weird, but okay. I pulled the puppy chow out of my pack, and it was as I was pouring some into the girl’s hands that her father asked:

Young Dad: “How did you know?”

Me: “Huh?”

Young Dad: “She’s been asking all week to go make puppy chow with Grandma, but with work and planning this trip, there just wasn’t any time.”

Me: “Wow! Just lucky, I suppose.”

I finished dispensing chocolatey goodness, the little girl mumbled a thank-you, and I found a fun-looking boulder to start scrambling up.

After I was out of sight, I heard the little girl ask:

Little Girl: “Daddy… was she a tree sprite? Like in my book?”

Young Dad: “I… don’t know. Maybe? She had the puppy chow…”

I was clinging sideways to a rock face with my fist in my mouth, trying not to crack up, but yeah, from their perspective, this wild-looking girl covered in vine tattoos and mud just emerged out of nowhere, stopped his daughter from crying with exactly the snack she’d been begging for, and disappeared again among the rocks.

My friend was delighted to hear how her puppy chow had led to a fae encounter, and that remains one of the highest compliments I have ever gotten: being mistaken for a tree spirit. I hope that family enjoyed their hike as much as I did mine!

Although this is a slightly long story for a fairly small event, I’m sharing it because I have never been quite so proud of myself. And I’m hoping my story may help someone else, too.

I am a woman. Now, I know every fellow woman has experienced this: the strange (or little-known) man approaches out of nowhere, a subtle smirk on his face. Still grinning, he delivers the desperately needed advice you so clearly require — divine wisdom about to be imparted to you by the gods, something that may quite possibly be the catalyst for a new, brighter future ahead.

“You should smile more!”

And yet, I can never help but shudder. I have never spoken to a woman who actually enjoyed hearing this all-too-common sage advice. But? It turns out there IS something you can do about it.

I went to a charity spaghetti dinner to support my husband, who is a member of the group that was hosting it. While standing in line to acquire some delicious starchy goodness, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw an acquaintance I’d just been briefly introduced to. Unfortunately, I didn’t recognize the smirk at first.

Acquaintance: *In a demanding tone* “You need to smile more!”

Me: “…”

Acquaintance: *Somehow more demanding* “You need to smile more!”

Me: *Pauses* “No.”

Then, I accidentally broke my stone-faced expression and smiled slightly.

Acquaintance: “Good job! Do that more often, now!”

And he sprinted off into the ether.

My shoulders slumped a bit, I’ll admit. I felt defeated. I’d lost, I’d done it again, I’d let the other person take the power.

Then, I went outside for a smoke and to gather my thoughts. I’d seen [Acquaintance] walk outside ahead of me earlier. He was out of sight now, but suddenly, I realized that I knew what I had to do. No more just giving up, and there wasn’t even a Human Resources to make a futile report to. It was all me here.

I needed to wait for my moment first. So, I waited. And waited. And eventually, I gave up for the moment and went inside to my spaghetti. Noodles are more important, honestly.

However, while I was at the table, I saw [Acquaintance] walk past. This was it. Sweet and smooth as honeyed syrup, I made my move.

Me: *Gesturing outside* “Hi, [Acquaintance]! Could I please talk with you for a moment?”

Acquaintance: “What?”

I repeated myself three times with different phrasing as others tried to help.

Acquaintance: “Oh. Uh, sure?”

Me: “Great, thanks!”

We walked out of the dining hall into an empty hallway. Poor [Acquaintance] looked at me, confused at my request, and clearly mad that I’d made it in front of others. (I tried not to, I swear!)

Acquaintance: “So, what’s up?”

Me: “You know how you told me to smile more earlier? It actually made me feel very uncomfortable, and I’m asking you to please not do that again.”

He visibly grimaced at first, but then…

Acquaintance: “Sure, I apologize! I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable, though. I thought you just seemed unhappy, and—”

Me: “I really appreciate that! Thank you. The reason I said that is it’s something that happens to a lot of women, including me, that is uncomfortable for us. That’s because even when you’re not intending it, it can come across as demanding. Also, it can make us feel like you’re trying to control our emotions. So, what I recommend is that if you see a woman who seems really unhappy who you want to cheer up, try telling her a funny joke!”

He frowned but spoke with a friendly tone.

Acquaintance: “I understand. Thank you for telling me. I apologize again.”

Me: “Thank you. I really appreciate it!”

He walked off as quickly as possible.

This is my true proof that the best method is the kill them with kindness. While his body language made it clear he was mad, I was also being so very polite. So understanding. No blame was placed on him, yet a firm and direct request was made. I even gave him an alternative option. And guess what? He actually apologized.

Now, did [Acquaintance] seem at all happy about the exchange? No. Did he occasionally glower at and avoid me the entire rest of the night? Yes.

But do you know what that also means? He never once told me to smile again. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll be too nervous to do it to the next woman. Maybe, he’ll even actually take my advice to heart. I can only hope.