Hearing a moving story that serves as a reminder of the kindness and generosity of people is a pleasant break from the apparently never-ending barrage of bad news. A touching story shared on Facebook by Helen Lupton has touched a lot of people.
Helen and her son Blake had visited the Pleasureland Amusements arcade in Whitby, Yorkshire. It was an amazing day filled with laughter. When they arrived home, though, they discovered that Blake’s beloved purple sloth toy, Slothy, had been left behind.
In an attempt to find the lost toy, a devastated Helen messaged the location. However, the staff informed her that nothing had been reported to lost and found. Blake was crushed because it seemed like there was no hope left.
Helen searched for a replacement toy but was unsuccessful in her mission to put things right. Then out of the blue, she received a message from Pleasureland Amusements. Someone had found Slothy!
Blake’s face lit up with pleasure as Helen broke the good news to him. Since they weren’t local, she asked if they might send Slothy back to them. A few days later, a package appeared, after the personnel kindly gave them permission.
The bundle included a number of incredibly heartfelt surprises. Aside from Slothy, there were two new toys and three containers of goodies. An emotional note inside the gift said, “Hello, we thought Pablo (as we called him before we knew he was Slothy) would get scared during his journey, so we sent him with a friend and some snacks to share with you when he got back home safe and sound.” To prevent him from getting bored, we gave him a fidget pop. I hope Pablo, also known as Slothy, stays safe going forward.
Touched by the care and friendliness of the Pleasureland staff, Helen shared the photos on Facebook. She encouraged others to visit the Whitby arcade and expressed her gratitude for the reminder that there are still nice, honest, kind, and gentle people in the world.
Hundreds more comments were left as the item was immediately seen by many more. A few people responded to the story emotionally; one individual even claimed it made them cry. Employees at Pleasureland were praised profusely; one commenter rated them “five gold stars.”
This charming tale serves as a powerful reminder that goodness endures in the world even in the face of adversity. Narratives such as this instill hope and restore our faith in humanity.
MY LATE GRANDMA’S NEIGHBOR ACCUSED ME OF HIDING “HER SHARE OF THE WILL” — WHEN SHE REFUSED TO LEAVE, I GAVE HER A REALITY CHECK.
The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, cast harsh shadows on the woman standing on my porch, her face a mask of indignation. Mrs. Gable, Grandma’s “entitled neighbor,” as she so lovingly referred to her, was a force of nature, and not a particularly pleasant one.
“How long am I supposed to wait for my share of the will?!” she demanded, her voice a grating rasp that could curdle milk. “My grandkids are coming over, and I want them to take their part of the inheritance before they leave!”
I blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity of her statement. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice calm despite the rising tide of annoyance, “Grandma’s will… it doesn’t mention you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Nonsense! We were like family! She wouldn’t leave me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but everything in the house now belongs to me.”
I offered a small concession. “I’ve packed some boxes for donation. You’re welcome to look through them, see if there’s anything you want.”
“Donation boxes?!” she shrieked. “Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will. Give it to me! I have to see for myself.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The will is a legal document.”
She planted her feet, a stubborn look on her face. “Then I’m not leaving. I’ll just stand here until you give me what’s mine.” She proceeded to stand directly in front of my porch, peering into my windows and muttering under her breath.
I sighed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to give this woman a reality check, a gentle but firm reminder that she wasn’t entitled to anything.
I went inside, grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and returned to the porch. Mrs. Gable watched me, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.
“I’m writing you a bill,” I said, my voice deliberately casual.
“A bill? For what?”
“For services rendered,” I said, scribbling on the paper. “Let’s see… ‘Consultation regarding inheritance, one hour… $100.'”
Mrs. Gable’s face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. “Are you serious?!”
“Perfectly,” I said, adding another line. “‘Unauthorized surveillance of private property, one hour… $50.'”
“That’s outrageous!” she sputtered.
“And,” I continued, adding a final line, “‘Emotional distress caused by unwarranted demands, one hour… $150.'” I handed her the paper. “That’ll be $300, Mrs. Gable.”
She snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the ludicrous list. “You can’t do this!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “And if you don’t pay, I’ll have to add late fees.”
She crumpled the paper in her fist, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just like your grandma!” she hissed. “Entitled and selfish!”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m also practical. And I value my peace of mind.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned and stomped off the porch, muttering about lawyers and lawsuits. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
Later that day, as I sorted through Grandma’s belongings, I found a small, velvet-lined box tucked away in a drawer. Inside was a handwritten note, addressed to me.
“My dearest grandchild,” it read, “I know Mrs. Gable can be… persistent. Remember, you owe no one anything. Your happiness is your own. And sometimes, a little bit of absurdity is the best way to deal with entitlement.”
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. Grandma had known exactly what to do. And she had left me the perfect tool to handle it. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to deal with entitled people is to meet their absurdity with your own. And a little bit of humor never hurts.
Leave a Reply