About 800 years ago I was working the graveyard shift at gas station. This is before everything was self-serve. A regular pulled in. I remembered them because the family was from Sweden, super friendly, they all spoke with Nordic accents, and drove a new Volvo - not a common car back then in Houston.

Dad driving. Mom next to him. And their son, just a couple years younger than me, hopped out on arrival to open his mom's door, and held it for her again when they left. His mom gave him such a nice smile each time. Obviously I have never forgotten this.