I’m a fairly young-looking girl. I’ve recently started working a fairly horrible shift — three am to eleven am — sorting parcels to make some extra money for Christmas, around three miles from my home. I don’t drive, so I bought a bike to make life easier, as there’s no one I know that can give me a lift at those sort of times.

This morning I set off from home as usual. It was pretty icy out, and I blamed that for the slight veering and wobbling along the way. About ten minutes in, I realised that my handlebars had misaligned, and were getting looser and looser. Thinking that by the time I got home to take it back I’d be late for work, I decided to just push the d*** thing to work and deal with just being a few minutes late… completely forgetting that the route I take is cycle-based into an industrial area outside of town, and most of the rest of the way is pitch-black and without pavement or a sidewalk. But at least I had my visibility vest from work, and nothing happened apart from being rained on.

I finally finished work at 11, realised that I was exhausted, and I couldn’t risk veering all over the road when there was actual traffic, but at least I could catch a bus halfway and just push my bike the rest. I saw an off-duty bus driver pull up at the parcel depot I was leaving to collect a parcel, and thinking that I’d never tried to take a bike on a bus I should probably ask before detouring to the bus stop. He told me that unless it’s a long journey route, there’s no bike racks or space, and none the city buses in this area allow them. And at that point, I realised how much I’d been counting on the idea of not having to walk the whole hour in the rain. I was exhausted. I managed to hold back the tears that started to form and thanked him for telling me. I began slowly pushing the dang bike in the general direction of home, trying to map a walking route on my nearly-dead phone.

About five minutes later, the same guy pulled over next to me in his not-in-service bus and told me that it wasn’t ideal, but the route to the depot to drop his bus off went quite close to town, and he wouldn’t mind dropping me off.

I almost began to see the world as if I were in some anime, and a shining white Knight was offering to help. My eyes widened and glistened as I could only croak the word, “Really?”

My house was actually nearer the depot than the town centre, and this wonderful person dropped me off less than two minutes from my house, for free. He spent the journey asking questions and taking my mind off how awful I’d been feeling since starting these horrible shifts, and telling me how things will get better.

I know it’s a stupid and small thing in the grand scheme of things, but at that moment it felt like the single nicest thing anyone had ever done for someone. And I’m not one for fuzzy feelings or faith in humanity. But today, at least for a little while, faith in humanity seems like a viable concept.

(I work in technical support for a UK ISP. This conversation takes place outside of work between me and a friend who uses the same ISP for home phone and broadband.)

Friend: “[ISP] is rubbish; the speeds are so slow. Can you have a look at it?”

Me: “Yeah. I mean, I can’t do much about it when I’m not at work, but I’ll have a look. Have you rung tech support?”

Friend: “Yeah, they hung up on me.”

Me: “What?”

Friend: “They asked me to unplug my microfilter, and they hung up on me.”

Me: “Wait a minute. They hung up? Were you ringing from your house phone?”

Friend: “Yes.”

Me: “The house phone that uses the same microfilter you unplugged.”

Friend: “Yeah.”

Me: “And then they hung up on you?”

Friend: “Yes.”

Me: “You can’t see where I’m going with this, can you?”

Friend: *pauses* “No.”

Me: “You’re an idiot. Ring them back on your mobile this time, and don’t hang up on yourself this time.”

(The really worrying thing is that he is now an IT Technician in a school.)

(I work for a well-known retailer, delivering groceries to customers at home. Customers book a one-hour slot during which the delivery can take place. Often, if a driver is having a good day, they may be running early, so we may attempt to deliver early. This is my exchange with a customer when I am four minutes early.)

Customer: “Look! It may only be five or ten minutes early, but this is outrageous! I book a delivery slot between eleven and twelve! That does not mean turn up at ten-to. It means turn up at eleven!”

Me: “Well–”

Customer: “No! I will be complaining to customer services about this. It’s harassment and unfair. I’ve had you b*****ds arrive over an hour early. It’s not fair!”

Me: “If–”

Customer: “You can bet that I will be reporting you, too! You have no idea how rude and inconsiderate it is!”

Me: “Let me just speak for a second!” *the customer pauses* “Firstly, I understand an early delivery can be annoying and inconvenient. However, I spoke to your husband on the phone about fifteen minutes ago, since I realised I would be about ten minutes early, and he said it would be acceptable for me to deliver early. Now, I understand that you have, in the past, had deliveries take place over an hour before you expected them to; I can tell that’s quite upsetting and has caused you obvious distress. Rest assured that I will notify my manager as soon as I return that you are unhappy with this happening. I would also like to remind you that you are within your rights to refuse to take the shopping outside of the delivery window. Finally, I again apologise that my early arrival has caused you distress.”

(The customer was so taken aback by my calm and reasonable tone in dealing with them that they lost the will to be aggressive and visibly deflated. The rest of the transaction proceeded smoothly. The time stamp on the customer’s signature, after all that, was 11:03.)

(I work in the creche at a family camp during the summer. We have a strict “no photo” rule as part of our safeguarding policy. The day before the creche opens, parents come to register their children.)

Me: “Hello! Welcome to the creche. Have you filled in the registration form?”

Mother: “Yes. It’s really important that nobody takes any photos of [Child], because he’s adopted.”

Me: “That’s fine; we never take photos in the creche.”

Mother: “I don’t just mean that the photos can’t go online; even for internal stuff, he can’t have his photo displayed.”

Me: “I understand. We won’t take any photos.”

Mother: “Even if he’s in the background, you’ve got to delete the photo. Can you make sure all of the staff know?”

Me: “Yes, nobody will take any photos. We never take photos in the creche; it’s part of our safeguarding policy.”

Mother: “Because it’s really important that we keep [Child] safe.”

Me: “Yes, I understand. Now, does [Child] have any medical issues or allergies we need to be aware of?”

Mother: “He’s adopted.”

Me: “Yes…”

Mother: “So it’s really important that he’s not in any photos.”

Me: “If you go to the next desk, my colleague will give you an ID card so that only people you’ve authorised can pick [Child] up.”

Mother: “It could be really dangerous if any photos of [Child] were published.”

(This story was told to me by a friend who has jury duty for a trial against a man facing several burglary charges. The trial and presentation of evidence go by as you’d expect from any trial. Afterward, the judge thanks everyone for attending and instructs the jury to deliberate, with any further courses of action to be discussed after that. Then the judge asks if anyone has any questions. The defendant immediately puts his hand up and asks this gem.)

Defendant: “Yeah, so, if I’m found innocent, does… does that mean I get to keep the stuff I took?”

(His lawyer put his head in his hands, as the judge and jury struggled to hold back laughter. It took less than five minutes to convict him.)

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