(I do community service part-time for a local wildlife hospital. My job is mainly to clean bird cages and provide them with food, but I answer emergency phone calls when no one else is around to take them. Today, I’m about to clock out and we get a call. I accept the request to rescue a bird on the beach at the other side of town. It’s inconvenient, but rescues are usually more interesting than cleaning cages, so I accept. Halfway to the bird, I get a call back from the person who called the bird in.)

Caller: “Hello, uh, miss? I think someone’s trying to drown it.”

Me: “Maybe you should get them not to do that. I can’t give a bird CPR, and it’s not much of a rescue if it dies.”

(Ten minutes later, I got to the beach. A woman who was clearly a tourist had been dunking the poor bird in seawater because she thought it looked thirsty. While some birds actually can drink seawater without a problem, this was not one of those birds. The bird was still alive by the time I picked it up, but it was choking from the salt the whole way back to the rescue center.)

(I recently started working as a veterinarian at a clinic. We have one client who has become infamous for not giving his dog the sedative medications we recommended to help keep him comfortable during his visits. His anxiety at the office is so bad, we requested two different medications be used together, though often neither are given. As a result, whenever we have to do anything with the dog, we require the owner to place a muzzle on him, and our technicians have to wrestle with the dog while he is crying out in fear. We expect the client may get some kind of thrill watching these exchanges. The owner and dog are here for their recheck appointment with me, after choosing to try over the counter medications to try to deal with his dog’s problem. It is only me, the owner, and the dog for the exchange.)

Owner: “I think the skin is doing much better! Before, I couldn’t run my hands down his back, but now I can without a problem.”

Me: “That’s great. Is it true he’s still itching?”

Owner: “Yeah, but the scabs have gone away, except for one like this one on his side.”

(He show me one small scab. When I try to touch it, the dog barks and jerks in fear. The owner smirks a bit.)

Me: “Well, that’s good that the scabs have healed, but we’re still left with what to do about the itching. Our options are—”

Owner: *interrupting* “I know, I know, but look how much better it is! Isn’t the belly so much better?” *picks up terrified dog to show me his abdomen, freaking the dog out further*

Me: “It may be, but I can’t touch your dog to see how the skin is really doing.”

(This seems to really annoy the client.)

Owner: “Yeah, you can! I’ll just hold him really tight!”

Me: “But your dog is terrified, and that is not the type of relationship I want with your dog. That is why we want him to be on those medications when he comes in. That way, he can be more comfortable, and I can reward him with treats when he behaves well.”

Owner: “No, really it’s fine!” *hook his arms around the dog to hold him, further scaring the dog* “Here! Doesn’t the belly look so much better?” *lifts the dog again*

Me: “Yes, the belly looks better from what I can see, but I can’t touch him. I’m not going to foster that kind of relationship with your dog. We have two options. Either I can take him in the back with my techs–” *he had previously behaved better away from his owner* “–or you can come back when your dog has had his medications.”

(At this, the owner stormed out of the room, walked past the receptionist, and headed out the door. I zeroed out the re-exam fee, as I didn’t expect to charge him for a visual exam only, and put in a note about our interaction. I just hope he will start giving his dog the medications, rather than trying to force his dog into fearful situations.)

It’s my last night in a hotel in Baltimore, and I’ll be getting up early the next morning to catch a flight, so I go to bed quite early, maybe nine pm. I’m dozing off and I hear some rattling, like someone’s trying to open my door. They can’t do it because they don’t have the right key, and anyway, I’ve put the safety latch on. The noise stops, and I assume they’ve spotted that they have the wrong room, or maybe I just imagined it because I was half asleep.

A few minutes later, however, the door suddenly opens and gets caught on the safety latch, making a huge noise, at which point I scream in terror. There’s a curt apology and they shut the door again.

Terrified, I pick up the room phone and try to dial reception. The phone is clearly broken or not connected, and I’m in too much of a state to work out what is going on. I fling some clothes on over my pyjamas and rush down to reception.

Reception explains that someone misread their room number, thought my room was their room, and tried to get in. When they failed, they found a security guard loitering around who, instead of checking with reception if they had the right key or room number, just decided to use their master key to get into my room.

While they’re explaining this, the culprits — idiot guest and even more idiot security guard — are stood right by me and clearly think it’s hilarious that I’m so upset about this. I’m sure it’s terribly funny to make someone think they were about to be murdered in their bed!

I didn’t get any sleep at all that night because my heart was racing. I did, however, get that night refunded by the hotel, who did accept liability for their receptionist’s poor handwriting and their security guard’s spectacularly bad judgement.

(I work the front desk. As part of our ongoing safety training, we do storm drills at the beginning of spring and throughout the season. The maintenance manager asks me to call out such a drill.)

Me: *on the overhead* “Code Yellow drill, Code Yellow drill. All staff please report to the lobby.”

(The manager and I wait a few minutes, watching people show up. After a few minutes, we figure everyone’s there, and he’s about to start his safety talk when a couple other employees walk up.)

Me: “Too late! You’re dead!”

Manager: “Yep. Blown off to Kansas.”

(The employees start to walk away.)

Me: “Hey! Not too dead to miss the meeting!”

(Everyone laughed as they came back.)

(I’m standing in line at a sandwich shop that makes your order in front of you. There’s only one person working behind the counter, and there are three groups in front of me. [Customer #1] is not watching her child, who is running around.)

Customer #1: “I’d like a six-inch chicken sandwich on wheat, with [long list of veggies and sauces].”

(The child runs over to the soda fountain and tries to press the buttons. He can’t reach so he starts throwing the lids like Frisbees.)

Customer #1: *glances over at the child and smiles* “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Child: “I want cookies!”

Customer #1: “What kind of sandwich?”

Child: *still throwing the soda lids* “Cookies!”

(Eventually, the mom ends up getting him a turkey sandwich and two cookies before they leave, leaving the soda lids on the floor.)

Customer #2: *looking at her phone* “Yeah, uh… I’d like a… meatball sub.”

Worker: “What kind of bread?”

Customer #2: “Huh?”

Worker: “What kind of bread would you like?”

Customer #2: “Oh. White, I guess.” *looks over at [Customer #3] who is sitting at a table, also looking at his phone* “What kind of sandwich do you want?”

Customer #3: “Huh?”

Customer #2: “What kind of sandwich?!”

Customer #3: “Foot-long!”

Customer #2: *ignoring the worker who’s trying to finish her first sandwich* “What kind of foot-long?!”

Customer #3: “Cold cut!”

(This goes on for a while before they finish their order and leave. [Customer #4] is quiet and fairly polite until they get to the condiments.)

Worker: “I’m sorry; we seem to be out of spicy mustard. I can check in back, if you want.”

Customer #4: “Sure. Thanks.”

(The customer waits until the worker is in the back before taking two dollars out of the tip jar, leaving just a few coins. The worker comes back and finishes the guy’s order before he leaves. She sees the tip jar and honestly looks like she’s about to cry before coming over to me, putting on a smile.)

Worker: “What kind of sandwich would you like today?”

Me: “Just a six-inch meatball sub on white bread, please.”

(The rest of the order goes smoothly until after I’ve paid. The worker hands me a small paper bag that has about five cookies in it.)

Worker: “And here are your cookies.”

Me: “But… I didn’t order any.”

Worker: *smiles* “Your family comes in here all the time, and you’re always super polite. Go ahead. Besides, if nobody takes these we have to throw them out, anyway.”

Me: *smiles, too* “Well, are there any in particular you like?”

Worker: “I like the oatmeal raisin, myself.”

Me: *takes the oatmeal raisin cookies out and hands them to her* “Here, then.”

Worker: *takes them* “I… Thanks.”

Me: “No problem. Hope things get better.”

(I gave her about five dollars for a tip and helped her pick up the soda lids. Just shows you that a little kindness can go a long way sometimes.)