I am replenishing my quarantine supplies at a store. I grab a three-pack of baby wipes. I have an eleventh-month-old daughter, and finding baby wipes is very difficult right now as people seem to be using them for toilet paper and disinfecting things — they are not disinfectant, by the way.

But this store actually has quite a supply. I put the package of wipes into my cart and start to move on to the next thing on my list. It is three packs of wipes, but they’re packaged as one and not sold separately.

A lady calls from behind me.

Woman: “Excuse me, but I’m elderly.”

Me: “Oh… umm…”

Woman: “I’m at risk.”

Me: “Yes.”

Woman: “I need the wipes. You don’t.”

Me: “Well, I have a baby, so I do need them.”

Woman: “Where is your baby, then?”

Me: “At home, with her father, social distancing.”

Woman: “Well, I need the wipes more than you.”

Me: “There are actually plenty right here.”

I motion to the well-stocked shelf.

Woman: “There won’t be if people like you keep taking them.”

Me: “People like me? You mean, people with babies?”

Woman: “Yes, hoarding like that.”

Me: “I took one. And I have a baby.”

Woman: “You took three.”

Me: “I took three, which are packaged as one. I took one.”

Woman: “I need wipes, though. I’m at risk.”

Me: “And I have a baby. I need them, too.”

She tried to continue the conversation, but I just walked away.

This story was featured in our May 2020 roundup!

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I was going out for a walk and ended up at a crossing where I waited for the light to turn green. I was joined by a middle-aged woman and her teeny, tiny puppy on a leash.

As I locked eyes with the dog, it started to tremble and wag its tail — more like its whole backside — ready to explode with happiness as it was about to be pet by me.

I was about to ask the woman if that was okay for her, when she suddenly looked at me and barked, “NO!”

I learned my lesson. I’m not sure the dog did, though.

I am driving cross-country, and see occasional waft of smoke coming from my engine. Worried, I pull over as soon as I can, which happens to be a truck-stop.

I open my hood to try to identify the problem. I admit I am a young guy that works in tech, and I don’t know a lot about cars or mechanics, so I am having trouble. This is apparently not lost on the group of truck-drivers who are sharing a conversation over some cigarettes in the corner. They approach me.

Driver #1: “Having some car trouble?”

Me: “Yeah, my engine is smoking a little bit, but I don’t know what to do.”

Driver #2: “Well let’s have a quick look, see what we can see.”

What follows, is four burly truck drivers huddled around my car, talking among themselves in a foreign language to me, talking about things like alternators, crank-shafts, and cylinders. It is, quite honestly, amazing.

Driver #1: “We think we know what the problem is. Lucky for you, [Driver #3] has the parts to fix it.”

Me: “Really? That’s amazing! Is it a quick fix?”

Driver #3: “Should be. How far are you driving?”

I explain my route and how I have about 300 miles left to go. He looks at the other drivers for a moment and then goes to his truck. He returns with a toolbox, and it is absolutely beautiful. Wrenches of every size you can imagine, other parts and contraptions I could never hope to identify, and again, the drivers huddle together, like a group of greasy-fingered angels.

There is a tap on my shoulder, and [Driver #1] is there, holding out a hot mug of coffee.

Driver #1: “You still have a ways to go. Make sure you stay awake and alert.”

Me: “Thank you!”

Driver #1: “It’s part of the job. When you drive thousands of miles you know how to fix things, and how to keep awake.”

Within twenty minutes, the drivers have fixed up my car, written down the exact problem and what they did, and advise me to take it to a mechanic when I get to where I am going so that they can look it over, but that I the fix should be enough to get me where I need to be.

I am so incredibly grateful, and try to offer some small compensation, but they are having none of it.

Now, whenever I am driving on the freeway and see a truck-driver, I remember this kind encounter with this group, and how they went out of their way in the little time they get for themselves, to help a mechanically-challenged stranger. I’d love to tell them that I took an online course (I’m still a tech-nerd) and read my car manual so I should be able to not be so completely lost if my car fails on me again!

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I spent four years rowing in college and I keep it up on rowing machines once in a while. Today at the gym, I sit down next to a guy with horrible technique and start passive-aggressively impressing and challenging him by pulling better numbers with lower resistance and waaay fewer strokes per minute.

Two guys are having a look at the machine on my other side. One sits down and starts pulling.

Me: “Hi. Can I give you a tip?”

Curious Guy #1: “Sure!”

Me: “The motion goes: legs-back-arms, arms-back-legs. Make sure your hands come forward before your legs bend; that way you’ll never hit your knees with the handle.”

I repeat a couple of times and demonstrate slowly. The guy starts to pick it up and then switches with his friend. The man with horrible technique stands up from the machine on my other side and approaches the Curious Guys.

Horrible Technique Guy: “You should be pulling the handle up high into your chest.”

Me: “I rowed for four years, and I pull it right at my bra strap — not that you have a bra strap, but… right here.” *Demonstrates* “Pulling it up so high gives you what we call chicken arms.”

Horrible Technique Guy: “Yes, but the trainer here told me that.” 

Me: “Yes. How long has the trainer spent rowing?”

Horrible Technique Guy: “All I’m saying is that everyone will have different advice, and you just have to find a way to do it that makes you comfortable.”

Curious Guy #2: “You have four years of experience; I’m going to trust you.”

Me: “Thanks. And when you’re ready, relax your shoulders!”

I’m on my way home from college. I had a pretty long day and I just want to use the fifty-minute train ride home to clear my head, stare out the window, and listen to my music. Someone happens to call me just after the train starts driving. I have my phone call, which is interrupted here and there due to bad reception, but I manage to end it after a few minutes.

A girl who I guess is about sixteen has joined my seat in the meantime. The second I hang up my phone, she opens her mouth and doesn’t close it for the rest of the ride.

Girl: “Bad reception, huh? Yeah, that happened to me, also, the other day when I was traveling through here. I was calling my friend, you see, and she kept saying, ‘Gee, I can’t hear you,’ and I was like, ‘I know! I’m on a train that’s going through the woods right now!’ It’s so annoying! Like, you know, like, how can they not just put up some more cell phone towers, right? And then my friend said…”

This goes on for quite some time. She uses a tone with me like I’m a friend she has known for ages, and she talks very loud. After her spiel about cell phones, she mentions the school she goes to. Not wanting to be rude or scare her off, I reply that I did a similar education in graphic design.

Bad move. Her face lights up like that of a kid who just got the best Christmas present and she starts rummaging in her backpack, pulling out a huge portfolio. Somehow, all her work revolves around dollhouses. She goes on and on about how she loves dollhouses.

Girl: “How can you not love them? You love dollhouses, do you? Wait, you know my friend, [Friend]? He makes the best dollhouses! You should see his Instagram!”

And yes, she pulls out her phone to show me that person’s entire profile, talking non-stop about every photo she sees. 

Finally, she gets off one stop before mine.

Girl: “It was so good to chat with a new friend! Hope I catch you again on this train; I had such a good time! Byyyeeeeee!” 

She leaves and waves happily at me from the platform. 

I give a sigh of relief and find several people giving me a look I can only describe as, “What the h*** was that?” 

Fellow Passenger: “You didn’t know that girl at all, did you? I mean, what was that about?” 

Me: “I have no idea.”

I saw her once after, weeks later. I made sure to move to another carriage before she could spot me. Thank goodness it stayed with that!