(I get a phone call early to say I need to get to my grandad very quickly. Using trams, buses and trains, I spend the morning travelling the 270 miles as fast as I can, not knowing whether I’ll be in time. When I arrive at his local station, I jump in a taxi, which pulls out into heavy traffic.)

Driver: *cheerfully* “You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

Me: *on the verge of tears* “My Grandad… I don’t know… I just…”

Driver: *looks at me in the mirror* “Oh, love… hang on!”

(He drives the wrong way up a very short (and empty) one way street, bypassing the unmoving traffic, and getting me to the care home in a few minutes. He risked his licence and I got there in time to say goodbye.)

(I’m on the Metro (subway) during rush hour. Arriving at a station, I see a little girl with a bandaged leg and a crutch getting in the car with her mother. Since there are no seats available, she stays up. A few seconds later, a young man dressed like a thug on a seat behind them calls to the mother.)

Young Man: “Ma’am, take my seat for your child.”

Mother: “Oh, thank you.”

(As soon as the young man gets up, however, a middle-aged lady in a business suit jumps into his seat without saying a word.)

Young Man: “Ma’am, I gave my seat to the little girl, not to you.”

Middle-Aged Lady: “You should’ve said so.”

Young Man: “You were right in front of me and clearly heard me. Besides, it’s obvious this girl needs a seat more than you.”

Middle-Aged Lady: *angrily* “What’s your point?!”

Young Man: “My point is that you’re rude and impolite.”

Middle-Aged Lady: “Who the f*** do you think you are to talk to me like that?! Do you know WHO I am?!”

Young Man: “I think I am someone much more polite and well-educated than you. And as to who you are, I frankly don’t care.”

Middle-Aged Lady: “YOU LITTLE F***! My husband owns [Some Big Company]! I’m infinitely much richer and more powerful than you!”

Young Man: *grinning* “So, powerful and rich you take the metro to go home?”

(Stunned, the middle-aged lady looks like she’s been struck by lightning. She sheepishly leaves the car at the next station. The young man then turns to the girl and her mother, who are literally speechless.)

Young Man: *to the mother* “Sorry for that. There’s your seat!”

(The whole car cheered and applauded him. Whoever you are, Metro gentleman, you have my thumbs-up!)

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(It’s just after 7:30 am. I’m going on a day-trip to Denmark with a few friends of mine, and we’re about to drive on board the ferry. Friend #1 is driving. We’re one of the last cars to board, and we have to park on the ramp, which will only be raised and leveled out after all the cars are on board. Not only do we have to park at an angle, we also have to parallel park. Friend #1 has only driven for about a year and a half at this point, and is, understandably, a little freaked out. Luckily, she has help from a helpful, and VERY enthusiastic, parking attendee. He never stops smiling.)

Attendee: “Okay, are you ready for some parallel parking?”

Friend #1: “No!”

Worker: “Sure you are! I’ll guide you, come on!”

(He proceeds to guide her through the entire process; how to turn the wheel, when to stop and drive forwards and backwards, and even gives her encouraging remarks alongside the rest of us.)

Me: “You’re doing great, [Friend #1]!”

Friend #2: “Yeah, you can do this!”

Attendee: “Almost there. Ready to move forward a bit?”

Friend #1: *horrified* “No!”

Worker: “Yes, you are!”

(Although it’s a tight fit, she parks the car perfectly. We thank the worker for his help.)

Friend #3: “We should have filmed this.”

(I grew up in a small town that had a two-car ferry pulled by ropes across the river. This story takes place when I’m eight and we’re vacationing in BC.)

Me: *looking at the back of the giant ferry* “Dad, how do they get the ferry to go between the islands? I don’t see the rope.”

Dad: *who’s an engineer* “Well, you see… they have a hook on the bottom of the boat. And each island has a set of ropes and pulleys under water. So the captain has to use the hook to grab the rope and the boat is pulled across that part of the water. He has to grab the rope at just the right time, or the boat will crash into the island. Watch closely, and you might be able to see the hook.”

(Thanks, Dad. You could have just said the boat has an engine and propellers.)

(I’m Indonesian and I live in an area where there are lots of tourists. Being Bali itself, there are barely any traffic laws enforced and lots of tourists tend to rent out scooters and treat them like toys. I’m turning into my favorite restaurant at a T-junction with no red light and my blinkers on, and today I felt like being extra cautious since the scooter I borrowed is my friend’s. I slow down and see a tourist and her son far away in the opposite direction but as I cross from the other side of the street, I see her actually speed up in her attempt to pass me when clearly there is a hump coming up. It’s rainy season so the roads are wet and of course when she tries to brake while going 40 miles/hour the bike violently slides. I am watching the whole thing since I have already parked my motorbike. Luckily no one was badly hurt.)

Me: “Are you all right, lady?”

Tourist: “This is your fault, you stupid girl! That was an illegal turn!”

Me: “Well, no, that wasn’t illegal. This is a two-way road.”

Tourist: “You apologize and you go pay for my bike!”

Me: “No, you were going too fast on rainy day. I had my blinkers on and clearly about to turn in. I saw you and you were far away.”

Tourist: “I don’t care! I have an international license!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean anything, especially when you drive like that! I’m sorry this happened though. I suggest you go to the mechanics. They’ll fix up the scratches and it’s really cheap. Don’t go to the place where you rented the bike or they’ll make you pay $100.”

Tourist: “So you admit it? It’s your fault!”

Me: “I meant sorry this had to happen to you, not sorry my bad. Lady, I did nothing wrong. In fact I was actually trying to help you out!”

Tourist: “No, this is your fault! You owe me money! YOU OWE ME MONEY!”

(I look at the bike, it’s brand new but with a few scratches because of the crash. While the argument just goes back and forth, her son is clearly huddled under a tree crying and also he was wearing NO helmet while riding on the back with his mother.)

Tourist: “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! WHY DID YOU DO THAT? YOU OWE ME MONEY OR I’LL CALL THE COPS!”

Me: “Lady, go ahead. I’m not worried. But clearly the money seems more important to you than your son who could be injured.”

(She looks at her son who is in shock. She asks him if he’s all right and takes a second to check for any bleeding and then goes back to me.)

Me: “If you’d like I can point you towards the closest hospital or clinic.”

Tourist: “NO! You owe me money! You are just a stupid girl! I’m calling the cops! Give me your address, phone number, and the money!”

Me: “Lady, I have no money! Not on me and certainly not enough in the bank and if I did I wouldn’t give any of it to you! I’ve offered to go to the mechanics with you but I’m not paying a cent for your own negligence! I’m a painter, lady! I’m broke!”

Tourist: “Well, I’m broke, too!”

Me: “Right, you’re so broke you rented a brand new bike during your vacation in Bali. Here let me call the police for you.”

(At this point I decided to call my boyfriend’s mom, a cop who is head of the district we’re in. As I’m calling I began to tear up a bit from all the frustration. I wait on the phone for a good five minutes until the tourist gave up and asked me for my number to show her a good mechanic. And after that full hour of arguing, she didn’t even feel it important enough follow through on the mechanic BECAUSE SHE WAS LATE FOR A MASSAGE!)