(I am out shopping with my mum and decide to pop into a little charity shop for a local children’s hospital to try on some summer dresses for an upcoming wedding I’m attending. We want to be as quick as possible as Mum has a lot to do this Saturday, so I scour the racks in record time picking out anything I like the look of. Standing by the dressing room, there’s another customer inside — only one cubicle as it’s a small charity shop. I quickly sort through my options and reduce it to about five dresses; my mum takes the others and puts them back on the rack. I continue to wait for the room; it’s been quite a while at this point, but then the other lady comes out and I head in as quickly as possible. As I’m trying on the first dress, I can hear some people just the other side of the curtain, and thinking there must be a queue I resolve to go as quickly as possible. I quickly establish that the first dress is too short, throw it back on a hanger, and start squeezing into one that may be a little tight when I hear voices outside. It’s not entirely clear but goes something like this.)

Older Lady: “Bit of queue.”

Mum: *joking* “My daughter needs to hurry up is all!”

Older Lady: “Yes. She does.”

Other Customer: “There’s no rush!”

(I poke my head out to show Mum the dress that I like, and she says that it should be suitable for the wedding, so I head back inside, undo the zip, and try and pull it over my head. It won’t budge. I try and get it down over my hips. Nope. I’m in the middle of trying to wiggle it back over my head when I hear the voices outside again.)

Older Lady: “Really, she needs to hurry up!”

Other Customer: “No, really, it’s fine!”

Mum: “Come on, [My Name], fast as you can.”

(I’m feeling incredibly flustered as I can’t get this dress off, but eventually, it comes over my head, thankfully without tearing. I throw it back on the hanger and jump into the next one, decide in two seconds that I hate it, give the next one a little more thought but decide it’s not right, and then try and put the last one on, also quickly deciding that I hate it. I throw them all on hangers, put my clothes back on, and dash out. I can hear the older lady still making comments about how much time I’m spending in there. The ever-so-long queue for the room? Two people.)

Me: “Sorry, I was being as quick as I could! Let me just put these back.”

(It turns out that the older lady works there!)

Older Lady: “Those go on that rail there!”

(I am already putting them away.)

Other Customer: *next in line* “Don’t worry; it wasn’t me getting annoyed.”

(I was in there for maybe five minutes total, and I’m not exaggerating. To the older lady: I will probably be back because your shop is for a good cause, but if you want people to buy clothes you have to let them try them on!)

(I work at a Register Office; a wedding is due to begin in the next half hour. A woman dressed in a formal gown comes into the office.)

Customer: “I’m singing at my friend’s wedding and my laptop battery is about to die! Can I plug it in here?”

Me: “I don’t think we can do that, but I’ll go and check for you.”

(I go and speak to my manager, who tells me that we’re meant to have any electronic device tested and certified before we can plug it in. She says to tell the customer this, but if the laptop is nearly dead and the customer is upset, to come back and talk to her again. I go back out to the customer.)

Me: “I’m very sorry, but we’re really not supposed to plug anything in that hasn’t been tested.”

Customer: “I just need to plug it in for a few minutes!”

Me: “How low is the battery? There are some things you can do to make the battery last longer, like dimming the screen, and there might be a setting to maximise battery power. Here, let’s have a quick look.”

(She opens her laptop and points to the battery display.)

Customer: “It says it has twelve hours on it; is that okay?”

Me: *pause* “Yes, it has over twelve hours of battery on it and it says 93% remaining. You’ll be fine. I take it it’s working okay; you haven’t had any problems with the battery…?”

Customer: “No, it’s fine!”

Me: “Then it’ll be fine.”

Customer: “Okay, thanks. I wasn’t sure what it meant!”

(She did look a little embarrassed as she left.)

(I am the duty manager working the foyer in a major cinema on Leicester Square one evening. This is like Times Square in NYC: a major late-night destination, crowded, noisy, and right in the centre of the city. I am standing by the ticket office when a frantic American lady rushes in waving her passport:)

Woman: “Are you an airport?”

(I’ve worked at this store for five years. I have dealt with this guy every Friday night I’ve worked, as he comes in at 8:00 pm every Friday. At first, I was just a checkout operator and didn’t know much about the store. I’m now a supervisor and am expected to know where everything is, even though I stand in the checkout section for most of my shift. The guy is okay, if you just talk to him normally and have a conversation. But if he wants to know something and you don’t immediately know the answer, he gets very condescending and sarcastic. A colleague has called me to a till to override something with a key only I have. On the way, one of the new employees on self-scan looks to me for help — a literal, wide-eyed, “oh, God help me” look — and I stop to make sure he’s okay. The sarcastic guy is behind him and is asking for help, already looking annoyed that my two-week-old colleague can’t answer his question. I sigh and resign to quickly find out what he needs on my way to the till.)

Me: “Hi. Is everything okay?”

Customer: “I’m after mulled wine. It’s a particular kind of Christmas wine. I can’t find it with the rest of the wine. Do you know if you have it?”

(I know we’ve started to sell mulled wine as I saw an entire side frame of it down near the alcohol only earlier today. I’m trying to remember exactly where the side frame was to direct the guy to. This means there’s a pause of a couple of seconds. Apparently, the concentration on my face and the fact that I don’t immediately answer makes him think the following.)

Customer: “Mulled wine… You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?! Do you even know what mulled wine is?! I don’t know why they employ people who don’t know basic things.”

(I blink at him for a second in astonishment.)

Me: “Apologies. I was just trying to remember exactly where I’d seen the mulled wine. I can show you if it’s easier.”

(We silently walk down past the checkouts, and I tell my colleague on the till that I’ll be two seconds, as I just want to get rid of this customer. As we’re heading to the alcohol section just beyond the checkouts, an entire aisle end of mulled wine catches my eye.)

Me: “Oh, look! It looks like they’ve moved some to this end now. Here you go!”

Customer: “Oh, uh. Thank you. Sorry…”

(He looked appropriately apologetic as he had to have walked past the aisle end twice — once to go to the alcohol, and once to find me. Hopefully, the next time he comes in, he won’t be so rude!)

(Unlike in the States, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day in the UK, with the exception of hospitals and hotels. I work in the latter, and we are putting on a special service in the restaurant for the holidays. Many families not staying at the hotel book tables months in advance to avoid cooking on Christmas Day, so we have been sold out since early November. I notice an older woman, looking a bit forlorn and tired, approaching my service stand.)

Older Woman: “I don’t suppose you’re serving Christmas Day lunch, are you?”

Me: “Yes, do you have a reservation, madam?”

Older Woman: “Oh, no. Do I need one?”

Me: “I’m afraid so, madam. We’re fully booked all day.”

Older Woman: “Oh, I see. I’m terribly sorry to be a bother.”

(Normally, I would just smile politely and say goodbye, but there is something about this woman, alone on Christmas Day, that makes me do something different.)

Me: “Excuse me, madam, are you dining alone?”

(She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the pained expression on her face that she is. She nods silently.)

Me: “Please excuse me a moment; I will see what we can do.”

(I go and find my manager and explain the situation.)

Me: “She’s dining on her own, and I feel bad about sending her away. We have room at the bar, if she’s willing, and I am sure one more plate isn’t going to stretch the kitchen.”

Manager: “If [Head Chef] and [Bartender] are fine with it, then it’s not a problem with me.”

(I quickly check that it’s okay with the head chef and the chief bartender, and go back to find the woman.)

Me: “Madam, if it’s okay with you, we have space available at our bar area for Christmas Day lunch?”

(She beams a huge warm smile that immediately lets me know that I have made the right decision. I get her seated comfortably and leave her with a menu. Once all our other diners are settled for the service, I check in on her to find her having an animated conversation with the bartender. Upon seeing me, the bartender pulls me aside quickly. She is fighting back tears as she is talking.)

Me: “What’s the matter?”

Bartender: “Oh, my God, that poor woman! I simply mentioned that I really liked her earrings, and then noticed they matched her wedding ring. Her husband would always buy her matching jewelry to go with her wedding ring and it sounded lovely… until she told me that he died in a car accident three months ago, and this is her first Christmas alone!”

Me: “Oh, my goodness! That’s awful!”

Bartender: “It gets worse! All the family came in for the funeral, but because they had to take time off for that, they can’t come and visit for Christmas! She’s all alone for the holidays!”

Me: “I see.”

(I come back to the bar and start talking to the woman, who, after some gentle conversational prodding, tells me the same story told to the bartender. She sounds emotional during the exchange but is able to hold back the tears. She even shows me some photographs of her late husband. It is then that I have an idea.)

Me: “Madam, what are your plans for the rest of Christmas Day?”

Older Woman: “I was just going to go home and watch the telly.”

Me: “I see. Madam, pardon me if this is too forward, but to say thank you for working on Christmas Day, my manager has allowed my family to come in for the dinner service at 6:00 pm today, when my shift is over. I will get to have my Christmas dinner with my family, and I would be honoured if you would join us.”

Older Woman: “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly be such an imposition! I just wanted to be out of the house for lunch, which you’ve been ever so kind to organise for me, but I wouldn’t dream of being more of a bother than I already have.”

Me: “It would not be a bother, or an imposition, madam. You see, the moment you showed me the photograph of your late husband, I realized that having you join us for a family meal would be appropriate. You see, three months ago, my father attended a funeral for an old friend he used to work with many years ago, who he remembered very fondly, and even gave him a roof over his head in his younger days when he was having a rough time at home. Your husband and my father used to be friends, and I know he would love to see you for dinner tonight.”

(Her eyes narrow as if she is looking at me for the first time. Then, they widen as she says:)

Older Woman: “You’re [Father]’s little girl?”

Me: “The very same, madam.”

(She screamed happily — enough that she made a few nearby diners jump! — and gave me a huge, tearful hug. I took a little break and caught up with her, and then reminded her to be back at 6:00 pm sharp; she was welcome to stay by the bar, too, but she insisted on going home to put on a more festive outfit! She joined us for my family dinner, my father recognized her immediately, and from that moment on she became great friends with most of the family she met at Christmas dinner that day. On the years when she doesn’t spend Christmas Day with her family, she instead spends it with us.)