The Ticket To A Fun Afternoon

, , , , , | | Hopeless | July 22, 2019

(My husband and I are visiting America for the first time and are in Saint Louis. While at the top of the Gateway Arch, we see that a baseball game is starting in the nearby Busch Stadium so we make an impromptu decision to go to the game. Just as we approach the ticket desk, a couple intercepts us.)

Couple: “Are you going to buy tickets for the game?”

Me: “Uh, yeah.”

Couple: “We’re season ticket holders and we upgraded our tickets for tonight’s game. They let us keep our old tickets, so you can have ours for free.”

Me: *trying to decide how this scam works* “Oh, I dunno.”

Couple: “We’ll be honest with you; they’re not great seats, but it saves you buying tickets.”

Me: *still unsure and wishing I was psychic so I could read my husband’s mind*

Couple: *laughs* “I know you probably think we’re scamming you. Put it this way: if the tickets are valid, you can watch the game and hopefully have a good time. If the tickets are fake, they just won’t let you in but you haven’t spent any money so no loss. We just heard your accent and wanted to do something nice while you’re visiting us.”

Me: “Okay, let’s give it a shot. Are you sure you don’t want anything for the tickets?”

Couple: “Absolutely not. Enjoy!”

(With that, the couple gave us the tickets and disappeared before we could get their details. The tickets were valid and, to us, the seats were fantastic. We had a great view of all the action and really enjoyed the game. It’s one of my favourite stories to tell from our trip and it really made our day.)

Tubes Of Kindness

, , , , , | | Hopeless | July 19, 2019

I was recently injured while travelling, but my stubborn self just kept on going as normal. My legs were bruised, I had scrapes and scratches, my knee was wrapped, and I had only just stopped bleeding the day before travelling into London with a large suitcase and backpack. Travel was slow and painful, but I still kept going. I had things to do, places to go, people to see, etc.

On six separate occasions, I needed to go up or down stairs with no escalator or lift nearby. Being my first time in England, I certainly looked lost, as well, I’m sure. Each time, someone came over and offered to help carry my luggage, walking up the stairs with me to make sure I didn’t fall and injure myself further. They didn’t accept anything and ran off in the opposite direction as soon as I had thanked them. 

But to those of you who helped me climbing stairs slowly with a suitcase half your size, thank you. I made it safely and without further injury thanks to each one of you.

You’ll Find It Next To Gilligan’s Island

, , , , , , | | Right | July 19, 2019

(I work in a visitor center in an area known for its high Gullah population. Gullah people are the descendants of African slaves who developed their own unique culture, language, and religion in the American low-country. For some reason, we get a lot of visitors who think that they live on some kind of reservation like zoo exhibits, and it is surprisingly difficult to convince them that Gullah are regular people who live like everyone else. This call, however, really makes me question my faith in humanity.)

Me: “Good afternoon. How can I help you today?”

Caller: “I want to go to Gullah Gullah Island.”

Me: “I’m sorry; did you say Gullah Gullah Island?”

Caller: “Yes. I heard it was in South Carolina and I want to go there.”

Me: “Sir, as far as I know, that’s just a TV show.”

Caller: “No, I was told it was in South Carolina.”

(While he’s talking, I’m looking it up to see if it is a real place.)

Me: “It looks like the TV show was based on Saint Helena Island, which is a gorgeous island with lots of Gullah history—”

Caller: “No, I want to go to Gullah Gullah Island to see the Gullah people.”

Me: “Sir, I’m not sure what else to tell you. Gullah Gullah Island itself is not a real place. It is based on a real island, which is a lovely place to visit, but it is not called Gullah Gullah Island.”

Caller: “You’re useless. I’m going to talk to someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

(I hope he enjoys his visit to the non-existent Gullah Gullah Island!)

The English Isn’t Very Clear

, , , , , , | | Right | July 5, 2019

(I work in a tourist shop right by Canterbury Cathedral. One day, a couple comes in moaning about the price for entry at the cathedral while buying some Canterbury magnets.)

Customer: “Why do they have to charge so much? It’s a place of worship; it should be free!”

Me: “Well, it’s a very old building and in constant need of repairs, so all the money goes towards renovations so people can keep coming.”

Customer: “Well, I guess charging tourists is okay, but locals should get to go in for free.”

Me: “There is actually a resident card you can apply for if you live within four miles of the cathedral.”

Customer: “Oh, we’re not from around here; we came down from London for the weekend.”

Me: “So… you’re tourists, then.”

Customer: “No! We’re English!”

Me: “But you’re here sightseeing and you’re not local, so you’re tourists. You’re in a tourist shop, buying commemorative magnets.”

Customer: “Oh.”

A Soft Answer Turneth Away Wrath; So Does Crying

, , , , | | Hopeless | June 26, 2019

I’m from Nova Scotia but moved to Prince Edward Island several years ago. All of my family is still in Nova Scotia. A little over a week before Christmas, my grandmother passes away. My work kindly gives me time off to go home for the funeral in Nova Scotia. Those from the area know that there are two ways off of PEI: a bridge to a neighboring province, or a ferry directly to Nova Scotia. Taking the ferry shortens the trip considerably, but it stops running a few days before Christmas on the 21st. I plan to leave on the 20th so I can get home in time to help my mother with both the funeral preparations and the preparations for a very sad Christmas.

Here, my string of bad luck begins: my departure is delayed by a blizzard, and I have to book my ferry crossing for the 21st, the last day that the ferry runs. I leave early as the roads are still snowy, and I am two-thirds of the way through an hour-long drive and deep in rural PEI when my car starts to swerve even on the clear patches of the road. I pull over and get out to look; I have a flat tire, and although I have the car’s rubber donut spare, I don’t actually know how to put it on.

But I do have roadside assistance. I call them, and then the place that services my car. They have one appointment open for three-thirty in the afternoon. I take it, even though it means that not only will I miss the ferry crossing I booked a spot on, but also the following one, which is the very last one of the season. I’ll have to take the bridge. After a cold wait for assistance, I’m making the trip back to the city where I live, with the suitcases and travel paraphernalia stuffed in the car because the bad tire is now consuming the bulk of my car’s small trunk.

I go to my service center early in hopes that they can squeeze me in early. As I park, I discover that the cooler stuffed in the front passenger seat has slid partially onto its side and leaked. Grabbing some paper towels and water, I scramble to repair damages — my car is new! — and in my hurry, I don’t realize that my door is now lightly touching the car next to mine. I find out almost immediately, though, as the owner runs up to me and starts yelling.

I’m stammering apologies and trying to sop up the last few drops of what I think is egg nog without having the door touch his car again; we’ve both looked and I didn’t even smudge the salt on the side of his car, let alone leave a scratch, but he’s not having any of my apologies and keeps yelling. I close the door and, feeling what little cool I have left evaporating, try to tell him it’s okay and it won’t happen again, and instead, I burst into tears because it’s just too much on top of everything else.

I don’t remember what exactly I said anymore; I remember sobbing that I am trying to go home for my grandmother’s funeral, and I’ve had a flat tire and missed my ferry, and now this. He gets really quiet after that, apologizing and saying he was just scared, because his car is a lease. He asks when the funeral is, and when my appointment time is. We go in together and he asks the lady at the service desk if they can swap our appointments, since he only needs his car by the end of the day and I have to travel as soon as possible. I thank him and sit down to wait.

They hurry, and I have a brand-new tire on my car half an hour later at no charge! And thanks to the appointment switch, I am able to catch the very last ferry crossing of the season, saving me hours of driving.

I never knew the man’s name, but thanks to him, I got home in time, and even early enough to help and support my mom through saying goodbye to hers. So, to the stranger who let go of his anger in favor of kindness, and the people at the service center who helped make things work out: thank you. You made a hard day and a hard Christmas a lot easier, for both me and my family.

Page 1/2512345...Last