A friend of mine told a story about when he was walking his dogs many years ago. He is one of the “dog people” who wouldn’t need to leash their dogs but do it anyway. He encountered a woman with a loose little dog.

Friend: “Ma’am, please put your dog on a leash.”

Woman: “No, my dog is so kind!”

Friend: “My dogs aren’t kind.”

She leashed her dog quickly.

CONTENT WARNING: Child Abuse

Several years ago, I visited Germany with some friends to see a band on tour. I’m American, so that involved a lengthy transcontinental flight over the ocean. This happened on my flight home.

It was the dead of night, and we were somewhere over the middle of the ocean. We flew into some sort of weather or pressure pocket, and I could feel my ears go all funny for a couple of moments.

A little girl, maybe four or five, was half asleep a few rows up, but this apparently startled her awake, and she started crying. And you can’t really blame her. We’d been on that plane for quite some time, she had probably got a confused sleep schedule, it was an unfamiliar environment, and now something startling had happened.

Instead of comforting her, which would likely have solved the problem and left me with no story to tell, the mother took a different approach.

Mother: *Sharply* “Girl! Stop crying. You’re waking people up.”

The little girl continued crying. And again, can you really blame her? She was reasonably upset, and now it seemed as if her mother was yelling at her.

Mother: *Sharply. “If you can’t be quiet, I’m going to put you outside the plane until you can calm down.”

Me: *Mouthing to my best friend* “What the effing eff?”

Now, I’m pretty sure all of us, when we were the little girl’s age, had some understanding of the concept that planes fly very high up, and if you go outside the plane, you will fall. That, of course, terrified the little girl more.

Little Girl: *Sobbing* “Mommy, please don’t. Please don’t send me outside. Please don’t, Mommy, please, please, please.”

Mother: “Be quiet, or you’re going outside.”

At this point, a middle-aged woman two rows up had had enough — not with the child but with the mother.

Woman #1: “Mein Gott im Himmel. You’re frightening her! Stop screaming and comfort her.”

Mother: “Don’t tell me how to raise my child.”

Woman #1: “Raise? This is not how you raise a child. This is how you ruin a child.”

Another woman motioned to the mother. She spoke with a heavy German accent, but her English was good.

Woman #2: “Here, she can sit with me. I will calm her.”

Mother: “She wouldn’t be able to understand you. I am perfectly capable of raising my daughter.”

At that point, the flight attendant arrived. She had a look on her face that I’ve not seen since my days in Catholic school when one of the nuns was about to mete out serious punishment. The look alone could wither most problems, but the mother was of a special breed.

Flight Attendant: “Please attend to your child. Passengers are trying to sleep.”

Mother: “I told her to stop crying. I can’t do anything if she refuses to listen. You’re clearly not parents, or you would know that.”

Some cheeky young man piped up.

Young Man: “You’re clearly not, either, or you’d be parenting right now.”

The flight attendant shot him a look. Then, she returned her attention to the mother.

Flight Attendant: “Your daughter is clearly distressed. We cannot land should she require medical attention. You need to attend to her.”

Mother: “She will stop crying when she stops crying.”

The flight attendant began to head to the front of the plane — maybe to speak to the pilot or something? I don’t know, honestly.

The mother, dozens of sets of eyes glaring at her, turned to the little girl and hissed.

Mother: “Shut up, girl! You’re going to get in trouble. The pilot is going to kick you off the plane, and then you’ll never get home!”

Brilliant thing to say to a frightened child. A man behind me snapped.

Man: “Shut your mouth, lady. The kid’s only crying because you’re a psycho. If you’d sit down and shut up, the kid would probably calm down in no time.”

Mother: “Don’t you take that tone with me!”

Man: “I’ll take any tone I like — especially with a psycho, child-abusing b****.”

The mother got up out of her seat and got in the man’s face. She was standing right beside me, screaming at him. It was terrifying, and I don’t know how he kept calm.

Then, she slapped him. Big mistake. BIG MISTAKE.

The flight attendant, returning from the front, saw this.

Flight Attendant: “I recommend you sit down and remain seated and quiet for the rest of the flight. Authorities will escort you off the plane when we land.”

The mother sputtered and attempted to protest. The flight attendant would have none of it.

Flight Attendant: “You committed an assault, and things are now out of my hands. Any further issues will likely compound your charges.”

The mother got up, stomped down the aisle to the bathroom, and shut herself in.

Immediately, the German-speaking woman sat in her seat and started comforting the little girl. She soon calmed and ceased crying.

The mother stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the flight, until it was time to land and she was ordered out. True to the attendant’s words, we were told to remain seated while she was escorted off the plane. The man who she’d slapped followed shortly after.

I have no idea what transpired after that, as I had to catch a connecting flight to my hometown airport. But hopefully, she faced some serious charges and that poor kid got someone better to care for her.

I’m planning on going back to Germany for the band’s next tour. Hopefully, this flight will be a lot more peaceful.

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.