The old Woodward’s store in downtown Vancouver used to have a photo booth near the food court. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, my friends and I loved to go down to the photo booth. We would save up our change, bring props, and get all sorts of fun selfies.

One day, I was there with a friend having fun as usual when I noticed that a very small girl, maybe three or four, had appeared next to the photobooth. She was looking longingly at the curtains and at us.

I could see that her mom was nearby, so I said something like, “Sweet girl!” to her.

Mom: “She’s really curious about what’s going on in there.”

Me: “Would it be okay for me to bring her in there and take some pictures?”

The mom was 100% on board with this idea, and the little girl was somewhat in awe of being allowed to go into the booth. I still have two of those four pictures. I gave the other two to the girl and her mother.

I’m meeting a friend at a small coffee shop about halfway between our respective houses. I’ve never been to this coffee shop, so I message my friend as I enter to see if she’s already there. A brief check and I don’t see her, so I figure I’ll order and grab a table.

As I’m heading to the counter, someone reaches out and grabs my arm. I realize it’s my friend; she has her back to the door so I didn’t immediately recognize her. Sitting across from her is a guy I don’t know.

Friend: “Hey, [My Name]! Glad to see you.”

Me: “You, too! Did you get your coffee?”

Friend: “Yeah, I’ve just been chatting with…”

Guy: “[Guy].”

I sort of acknowledge him and realize my friend isn’t quite panicking, but she’s sort of starting to dig her nails into my arm.

Me: “Ah. Well, sorry I’m late. I’ll just go get some coffee.”

Guy: “Oh, do you mind if I hang out with you guys?”

Friend: “You know, that’d be great. But she and I haven’t seen each other in a long time, and we want to catch up.”

It has only been a couple of months if that since we’ve seen each other in person, and we text all the time. Plus, her brother and my brother are best friends. But I get the idea.

Me: “Yeah, sorry, just been a while. Lots to catch up on.”

Guy: “Cool, cool. All right, thanks for the drink.”

He finally gets up and leaves. I slip into his empty seat.

Me: “So…”

Friend: “Sorry about that, I—”

She’s interrupted by one of the baristas coming over; I think he might be a manager.

Barista: “Did he bother you at all? I tried to keep an eye on him, but we got really busy.”

Friend: “Oh, no, it was fine. I was waiting for my friend anyway.”

Barista: “He comes in occasionally and tries to get people to buy him coffee. We haven’t had issues yet, but he’s made a few people uncomfortable. If he comes back, let me know. In the meantime, can I get you some coffee?”

Friend: “I still have mine, but she might want something?”

I went up and ordered, and the barista didn’t let me pay because my friend had bought the guy a coffee. She told me that he’d come into the coffee shop right behind her — not following her but the next person in the door. They’d started chatting while in line, and when she mentioned meeting someone, he’d wormed his way into getting her to buy his coffee and then sitting down with him. He wasn’t outside when we left as far as we were able to tell. 

It’s been almost ten years, and I wonder about him occasionally. From my friend’s discussion, he didn’t have any obvious issues, but we didn’t want to assume. We didn’t meet at that coffee shop again, although that was more due to relocations and it no longer being in the middle than outright trying to avoid this guy.

My friend, fiancé, and I traveled to Iceland back in 2016. As we were hiking up to the tucked-away warmed pool of Seljavallalaug, we got to talking with a couple from California.

Woman: “Where are you from?”

Me: “We’re all Canadians.”

Woman: “How long did you have to drive?”

Me: “Our hostel isn’t too far away — about an hour or so drive.”

Woman: *Giggling* “Oh, no, let me rephrase my question: how long did you have to drive to Iceland?”

All of us, even the woman’s partner, stopped and stood in awkward silence. I asked if she was serious (just to make sure) and, unfortunately, she was. I had to fight back the temptation to be sarcastic.

Me: “Well, you see, Iceland is an island, and Canada is a part of North America — not to mention that Greenland is between the two, and it’s also an island. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Woman: “Oh, so you flew over on a plane. I thought with all the ice, you could drive over it.”

When I was probably six years old, I was playing “kick the crackerbox” in the kitchen with my older sister. I had my socks on, and I slipped and fell chin-first into a stool. I was taken to the emergency room and had seven stitches put in.

As this was the late 1980s, there were still cigarette vending machines in the hospitals. A guy had bought himself a pack of smokes, and with his change, he had gotten a pack of Reese’s Pieces. He gave them to me and told me he hoped I would feel better soon. Thirty-five years later, I still remember that moment.

I also remember my grandmother pouring the candy into a bowl for me the next day and how painful it was to eat them with my wound — but they were all the more pleasant because of it.

I seriously doubt that man remembers that day, but I will never forget that random act of kindness that a stranger gave to a little kid in a lot of pain.

A friend and I are customers in a shop, mostly just doing the tourist thing. Someone’s kids are sprinting around the store doing a hide-and-seek kind of game around the shelves. They’re noisy but not destroying anything, so I’d count that as a small blessing for the staff.

Friend: “Hey, let’s get lunch after this. My stomach is starting to gnaw at me.”

I grab my phone and use it to Google food places nearby, and we find a fish place with pretty good ratings. We’re kind of gathered around my phone, looking at their online menu.

Me: “Their parmesan pollock looks pretty good…”

Kid’s Voice: “Pollock!”

I look up, surprised, as one of the kids goes sprinting through the store yelling “pollock” loudly like he just learned a new swear word. My friend snorts in amusement, and I shrug. It doesn’t take two minutes for the other kids in the store to take up the new word.

Friend: “I guess it does kind of sound like a word you’d say when you stub your toe…”

I snicker.

Apparently, the kids’ mom thinks so, too, because she storms over to us while we stand in line and starts berating us for “teaching children bad words”.

Me: “Ma’am, I didn’t teach your children any bad words.”

Mother: “Then why are they yelling that word all over the store?”

Me: “Because they probably don’t know what it means, just that it sounds like it might be a bad word?”

Mother: *Crossing her arms* “If it’s so harmless, then maybe you should explain the word.”

She has a smirk as if she thinks she has caught me in a lie and I’m going to fumble with the explanation.

Me: *Rolling my eyes* “Fine. It’s a fish.”

Mother: *Blank stare* “Excuse me?”

Me: “A pollock is a member of the cod family.”

Her blank stare continues.

Me: “Cod. You know, like codfish? We’re going to a fish restaurant, and I want to try it.”

Mother: *Suspiciously* “If it’s called cod, then why did you call it a pollock?”

I open my phone and show her.

Me: “Because it’s called pollock on the menu.”

The woman scowled at my phone for a long time and then turned and stomped away, muttering about made-up words to hide swear words.

My friend and I paid for our items and left the store, still occasionally hearing a child’s voice yell, “Pollock!” The fish, swear word or not, tasted great, by the way.