I have an identical twin sister. People often ask if we ever experienced sympathy pain or anything like that, but I’ve had something a bit more literal.

Despite being identical physically, we had completely different personalities that growing up, most people could tell us apart by our clothing (I was more feminine), or that my glasses were purple and my sister’s were blue, or how my sister was often getting injured. My sister was outgoing and very sporty and would often make impulsive decisions that ended with her getting hurt somehow.

Despite being very different people, we’ve always been very close. We’d often joke around with each other and with others about classic twin tropes, including sympathy – the idea that twins can viscerally feel each other’s emotions and pain.

This was April in 4th grade (for non-Americans, we had just had our 10th birthday). I was home reading on the couch when my mom got a call from the soccer coach. My sister had had an accident during practice – a clean, minor fracture through her left tibia. She was in a lot of pain. I remember hugging her and comforting her a lot the next day, and we joked a little bit about how I could almost feel the pain too.

Then, two days later, I was, rather stupidly, walking downstairs at the same time as taking my glasses off to rub my eyes. I predictably tripped, fell, and tumbled. I don’t remember the number of steps I fell, but it was enough that I had serious fractures. I broke several bones in my right leg, the same bone in my left leg as my sister, as well as having a minor fracture in my right wrist. My leg took five months to recover.

Before that week, neither of us had ever had a serious injury. Then, within 48 hours, both of us had. We joke about it still, that she got injured throughout her childhood, but I saved it all up for that one “special” day.

Growing up, I never really saw the appeal of dressing up. I wasn’t vehemently against the idea; I just never saw the appeal. I have always had horrible fashion sense, and my interests have always been branded as nerdy or boyish or both, but I never really put much stock in that. I would dress in whatever was comfortable, including sometimes summer dresses or skirts or what have you. But I wasn’t dressing to look nice. I was just me.

My family was generally supportive, though many of my family members, from my older cousins to my mom to my grandparents, were all waiting for the day I’d be a bit more girly. It’s also important to note that I was quite well known in my family as being clumsy, to the point where there was a bit of a running joke that I didn’t look like myself unless I had a band-aid or I was actively fumbling with something.

When I was eleven, my older cousin Natalie was getting married. I was made a junior bridesmaid, and it was the excuse my family was waiting for to go all out on prettying me up. And to be fair, I didn’t mind. There was one other junior bridesmaid, from the groom’s side, and she was good company. We were wearing the same green dress as the adult bridesmaids, so the fashion thing was taken care of for me. I got a manicure with the other bridesmaids, and it was fun. Almost every kid likes being treated like they’re older than they are, after all.

We were staying in a hotel near the place where the ceremony was being held. I was doing my best to be as careful as possible, but the morning of the ceremony, as I came down the stairs of the hotel, I remembered I had left something upstairs. I turned around and ran upstairs and tripped up the stairs…

Despite my family’s best efforts and really good make-up work, I still looked really disheveled in the wedding photos, with visible bruising and my glasses taped up. My aunt (Natalie’s mother) wanted me to remove them for the ceremony, but I can’t see two inches away from me without them. Natalie was laughing, though – she said it wouldn’t have looked like me in the photos unless the glasses were taped up!

I’m working at a busy fast-food place when a guy storms in, looking irritated.

Customer: “You guys know Google Maps has you listed on the wrong side of the highway, right?”

Me: “I didn’t know that, sir. I can let my manager know so we can report it to Google.”

Customer: “Yeah, well, I drove all the way over there, couldn’t find you, then had to cross the highway and come all the way back. That’s very inconvenient. So I’m going to need some free food.”

Me: “I’m sorry for the trouble, sir, but we can’t give out free meals for something like that.”

Customer: “You’re telling me I waste my gas, my time, AND my patience, and you won’t make it right?”

Me: “Sir… we’re not Google. We don’t control the map listings.”

Customer: “Well, if you actually cared about your customers, you’d fix it and comp my order!”

Me: “I’m happy to escalate the map issue to our manager, but I still can’t give you free food.”

He grumbles, orders nothing, and leaves. Later that day, we see a brand new one-star review online:

Review: “Terrible service. Wouldn’t give me free food even though Google Maps sent me to the wrong side of the highway. Inconvenient!”

Left on… Google Reviews.

I work as a teller in a bank. An elderly customer comes in.

Customer: “My checks have been bouncing recently, and I’d like to know why?”

Me: “Okay. I can handle that for you. Do you have enough funds in your account to handle your obligations?”

Customer: “Eh?”

Me: “Is there enough money in your account to cover the amounts of the checks?”

Customer: “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

Me: “Here, can I have your account number?”

Customer: “What do you mean by account number?”

Me: “…May I see one of your checks?”

Customer: “Oh! Yes, here’s some of the checks that bounced.”

He pulls a wad of papers out of his pocket. They are, in fact, rejected check notifications from various sources. The common thread is ‘insufficient funds in account’.

I look up his account from the information he gave me, just to confirm, and, indeed, his funds are much lower than many of the checks he’s been writing. What’s interesting is that he usually gets a deposit every month, but recently he hasn’t been.

Me: “Did you recently quit a job?”

Customer: “No. I’ve been retired for a long time.”

Me: “Did you lose a pension recently?”

Customer: “No. I never had one of those.”

Me: “How about Social Security?”

Customer: “Yes. I’ve been getting the checks every month.”

Me: “Have you been depositing them?”

Customer: “I… don’t understand.”

Me: “Do you happen to have your Social Security checks on you?”

Customer: “No. I gave them to my landlord to pay my rent.”

Me: “Okay then. Do you have a friend or family member who can help you with these things?”

Customer: “No. I’ve been all alone since my wife passed.”

Me: “Okay. So, for now, please go home and relax. I’m going to call Adult Protective Services for you. There will be someone over to help you soon, okay?”

Customer: “Okay.”

He then went and stood awkwardly in the corner as though he was waiting for a bank employee to come out and help him.

I called Adult Protective Services, and fortunately, it didn’t take long for them to send someone over to help, especially since he didn’t want to go home without ‘being helped’.

A few days later, a social worker came by with his social security checks that he’d been handing to the landlord in order to cash them into his account, and for my part, I made sure his overdraft fees were waived.

It’s important to treat everyone with compassion and understanding, because you don’t know what they’re going through, even if they’re behaving in a ‘stupid’ way.

On July 4th, I was doing my best impersonation of a human traffic cone at the intersection of the two busiest roads in town, which, of course, was also the parade route. The parade was cruising west down Street A and then making a dramatic left turn south onto Street B. Both streets were closed off in the other directions, and our town’s convenience store and gas station just so happened to be sitting pretty at that same intersection on the southwest corner.

Everything was going smoothly, with a couple of thousand people lining the parade route and standing in the closed sections of the streets to get a good view. Since there hadn’t been a car in ages, I had my back turned to the closed northern road, thoroughly enjoying the parade.

Then, out of nowhere: HONNNNK! I whipped around to see a woman in a car just a few feet behind me, waving her arms like she was trying to swat a fly. She wanted me to move the traffic cones and let her through. I was stunned but approached her to explain.

Me: “Ma’am, the road is closed for the parade. You can wait here for about half an hour or find another way around. Where are you trying to go?”

Driver: *With a thick Eastern European accent.* “To the gas station! I need gasoline for my car!”

Me: “Ma’am, you can’t get through. The parade is happening right now, and there are all these spectators in the way.”

Driver: “Parade?”

Me: “Yes, that parade.”

Driver: “Parade?”

Me: “Yes, our July 4th parade. Right there.” *Points.*

Driver: “You let me through?”

Me: “NO. You can wait here for about half an hour or turn around and go somewhere else.”

Driver: “Why?”

Me: “Because of the parade.”

Driver: “Parade?”

This bizarre exchange continued far longer than it should have, but eventually, it seemed like she understood that she wasn’t getting through and needed to turn around.

Driver: “I turn around and find another way?”

Me: “Yes!”

She nodded and pointed back up the road behind her.

Driver: “Okay?”

Me: “Okay.”

She backed up a bit, and I turned back around to see what was going on with the parade. Suddenly, I felt a gentle bump against the backs of my legs—it was her, trying to nudge me aside with her car.

Me: “WHAT THE H*** ARE YOU DOING?!”

Driver: “I go through now, to get gas?”

I facepalmed, literally, and pointed firmly up the road

Me: “TURN AROUND AND GO AWAY.” *Pause.* “TURN AROUND AND GO AWAY.” *Pause.* “TURN AROUND AND GO AWAY.”

She sat there, trying to process that I wasn’t going to let her bulldoze through a crowd of schoolchildren in the parade. Finally, she started to turn around. I kept pointing and repeating myself until she finally disappeared back up the road.

It only took ten minutes. Strangest damn thing, language barrier or no language barrier.