This is one of those weird cosmic coincidences. Five or so years ago I was driving home from work and noticed a homeless girl, probably in her early 20s, standing at the exit of an underpass. It was the middle of a Phoenix summer in the afternoon, so this girl was braving near 115-degree weather, which is hot enough to cause heat stroke. Her shirt was in tatters, held together with safety pins, and she only had a rough-looking bag slung over her shoulder.

As I didn’t have any food or cash on me, I pulled over and talked to her. It turns out she’d been kicked out of her home by an abusive now-ex boyfriend, who had destroyed all of her belongings out of spite. I offered to get her some healthy food from a nearby grocery store, which she gladly accepted. In the end, I got her some healthy-ish meals that wouldn’t spoil easily — lots of dried fruits and unsalted nuts — vitamins, a new shirt, and tampons, as the poor girl had been without for several months. She was immensely grateful, and refused any further help from me. She went about her day, and I quickly forgot the incident.

Fast forward a few years later, and one of my roommates was in a horrible car accident. When I rushed to the hospital, guess who the EMT who got her in the ambulance was?

That girl helped save my roommate’s life, and I’ll forever be thankful to her for it.

Just goes to show you that kindness really can save a life!

This story is part of the second Heatwave roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

18 Chill-Inducing Stories About Freezing Weather And Those Who Can’t Handle It (And A Few Who Can)

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(I am running a sample table at a store, serving an artichoke dip. A young girl around 12 and her mother walk up to my stand.)

Me: “Hello! Would you like to try some artichoke dip? We are serving it with some really good crackers today.”

Young Girl: “Is it hot?”

Me: “Oh, no, we serve this cold.”

Young Girl: *rolling her eyes* “I mean is it hot, hot. Like spicy.”

Me: “No, it’s not. It’s just cream cheese, artichoke hearts, and some different seasonings.” *there is really nothing even remotely spicy in any of the ingredients*

Young Girl: *grabs a sample, barely licks it with the end of her tongue, screams, and throws the sample on the floor* “That is so hot! You liar! Liar!”

Mother: “How dare you hurt my baby?! I’m going to report you! You should have a sign that warns people when food is spicy!”

Me: “Sorry, but it’s really just cream cheese and artichokes. We do give warnings when something has anything spicy in it.”

Mother: “Are you calling my daughter a liar?”

Random Customer: “I am. Your daughter is a brat. Stop giving this lady a hard time and control your kid. This is not remotely spicy. Has she never eaten food before or something?”

Mother: “How dare you?! I’m going to report you, too!”

Random Customer: “You want to report a fellow customer? Let me know how that works out for you. I’ll be standing here ready to tell the manager exactly what really happened if you try to report this lady.”

(The mother took her daughter and stormed away, throwing another sample on the ground in the process. To my knowledge, she never reported me.)

(I am pouring salt onto the freshly-made fries for a woman on our front counter, which she watches me do the whole time.)

Me: “Here are your fries. Would you like anything else?”

Customer: “What’s that spray you put on the fries?”

Me: *looks back at the fry station, trying to figure out what she’s talking about* “Spray?”

Customer: *points at the salt shaker and looks back at me* “That stuff I watched you put on it.”

Me: “It’s salt?”

Customer: *pulls a fry out and takes a bite, staring at me the whole time* “It’s good.” *stares at me a few more seconds, then snatches her bag and leaves*

(I work in the office of a veterinary hospital. We get a lot of spam calls of random people trying to sell us stuff. Also, because we’re a vet clinic, I’m in the habit of letting them know the owner/vet has no time to talk to these spam calls because she is with clients or in surgery; sometimes I say this even if she isn’t. Usually, they at least understand this, because we’re a business and it’s what we do. One day I get a caller who apparently doesn’t catch what type of business we are.)

Me: *answering phone* “[My Name], vet hospital. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I need to speak to the owner, please.”

Me: “She’s in surgery right now; can I take a message?”

Caller: *pauses* “Oh! Oh, dear. Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. I’ll call back another time; I hope she’s okay!” *hangs up*

(Best way to get rid of a spammer!)

(My parents kindly pick me up at the airport when I come back from a work-related conference in Las Vegas. While on my trip, I went to the Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon, and also went to a store that is pretty well-known in the sewing circles for selling gorgeous trims. I spent a lot of money on sewing supplies, as well as touristy gifts. I bring my bags into my parent’s living room in order to hand out the gifts I brought everyone.)

Me: “Hey, Dad! I got your dam mug!”

Dad: “At the dam store?”

Me: “Yeah! While on the dam tour! Wait a sec, and I’ll get it.”

(I open the bag and immediately notice a piece of paper that was not there before. The notice is from TSA, stating that they inspected my bag. No worries, I think, and start to look for my Dad’s mug. I know I had it in a plastic bag, which appears to be right on top. In front of my parents, I pull out the plastic bag and realize it is squishy; it looks to be some of my lace trims at a quick glance. I am confused as to why TSA would take out the trims that were nicely packed in a clear box and throw them into a plastic bag. I open the bag completely to see… it isn’t a bunch of trim. It is a bunch of very pretty, lacy underwear with the tags still on them.)

Me: “Um… These aren’t mine.”

Dad: “And just what exactly did you do in Vegas?”

Mom: *trying hard not laugh* “What on earth are those?”

Me: *pulling out more and more lacy undies* “These are all Victoria Secret?! Where the heck is my stuff?!”

(Sure enough, my stuff was in my bag, but TSA “gifted” me with roughly $300 worth of lacy undies. I tried calling them, but the lady on the other end laughed and told me that if I thought it was theft, to call the cops. I left a report with the cops, but no one else ever claimed the rather large bag of undies. And Dad did get his dam mug.)

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