Ding, ding, ding; we have a winner.
I was able to get inside the square of lights (both not allowed, & physically tough to do - very narrow opening & the lights are hot enough to burn you if you do touch them) basically lying on my back looking straight up with a fisheye lens. Just like if you’re standing on RR tracks, they appear to converge in the distance, so to do the lights when you look up
This may or may not abide by the parameters of the OP, but for me it was extraordinary and life-altering.
Long story, I was homeless after being in SE Asia for a few months last year. I ended up landing in a small town in Victoria (my original home state, but not my home town) couch-surfing at a friend’s place. I rocked up to one of the many charities seeking accommodation, and was advised to apply for a villa in a retirement village recommended by the housing service.
Like most of the western world, rentals in Australia are like fucking hen’s teeth, and AFFORDABLE rentals are, well, essentially non-existent, even in rural areas. I was on government benefits, so nothing was in my reach.
Except, I DID apply, in person, with all my details at the retirement village. Not expecting to hear anything within a couple of years, I resigned myself buying a tent and living on the foreshore of the local beach. My friend had been more than accommodating and I didn’t want to stretch the friendship any more than necessary.
I got a call from the retirement centre within 6 weeks. They had a unit for me, all the mod cons, affordable and when can I move in???
I swear it was because I turned up in person to apply. They saw me, saw I wasn’t a freak-show (ahem), and since November last year, I have been the happiest, most secure and contented person I’ve ever been. 
We are in the middle of moving, so everything is a bit confusing. The other day I left at 4am to do the 3 hour drive back to our ‘old’ house. Once there, I realized that I had left the garage door open at the ‘new’ house that is now 3 hours away. The big one. And the door to our house is unlocked. I have thousands of dollars of tools in the garage, and computers in the house.
Shit. What to do? We are starting to get to know a few neighbors, but I did not have any phone numbers. So, I looked up the (small) town government. Hmmm. ‘Neighborhood Services department’. Turns out they are code enforcement. I explained my predicament. The nice woman drove to our house and closed the door. Thank you Theresa, you saved my bacon.
My girlfriend and I went to San Francisco for a few days. We arranged to rent a bottom-of-the barrel, cheapest on the lot, econobox car.
When we arrived at SFO, the car rental company was very apologetic. They had no econoboxes that day, in spite of the fact that we had reserved one. But they were willing to make good. “We do have a very nice Crown Victoria that you can have for the same price.”
“I’m more confident in driving smaller cars than that,” I said (*). “I’d prefer something smaller, if possible. Have you anything smaller than a Crown Vic?”
“Hmm, let’s see.” Clicking the computer keyboard, speaking sotto voce into the phone, and then, “We can set you up with a convertible Ford Mustang. Same price as the econobox.”
Well! And that’s how my girlfriend and I spent a few days tooling around San Francisco in a late-model Mustang with the top down, for the lowest price the car rental place offered.
(*) I’ve driven some huge vehicles in my life, up to and including 18-wheelers. But in an unfamilar city, I’d prefer something smaller than a Crown Vic. A smaller car is easier to parallel park.
I got front row seats to a YES concert in 1980 by asking nicely at the venue box office. To be honest I was actually being a bit sarcastic when I asked for front row seats but I did it in a real nice way. Whatever. It worked. Great show.
I hear ya, but while they where available, I chose the Crown Vic. I often had to cart family around. It’s a good car for that. Especially older folks that can’t get into an SUV.
The 'Stang sounds like fun though. I always try to rent something different now.
We got a little gadget called MyQ at Best Buy. It controls our garage door via the internet. It works with our regular garage door opener, not instead of it.
The app on my phone lets me open or close the door from anywhere I am that has a signal. I can add or subtract friends, family, even the dog walker. I get alerts when the door opens or closes and can set it to run on a specific schedule. It has been a bacon saver more than once.
Back in the early 1990s I went to see an indoor lacrosse game at the old Boston Garden because there were a couple players from my alma mater playing. I walked up to the box office and said, “I know this is a bit of an ask but I’m just looking for one ticket. Do you have anything at the front of the balcony? I like overlooking the field.”
The guy got a twinkle in his eye and said, “Oh, I have just the ticket for you.”
After wandering around the balcony for 10 minutes trying to find any signs that matched the section on my ticket I broke down and asked an usher. He chuckled and led me to the section at mid-field and all the way down to the front. But we weren’t done. At that point he opened a door at the front of the balcony and ushered me down a couple stairs into a box that hung off the front of the balcony.
Apparently the press box where the TV announcers sat was set up for 3 people, but they only had a two person crew for the game. I got to sit next to them while they called the game. We chatted during commercials about the players I knew from college and I got on TV a few times when they did shots of the announcers. (They told me, just smile and look like you’re our stats guy or something.)
In this story I wasn’t the one who did the asking but I was peripherally involved.
Back in the mid 80s I was a high school student in update New York. I consumed a lot of Canadian TV and Radio during that period and discovered a skit comedy show on CBC Toronto Radio called Frantic Times which I thought was brilliant. I introduced a friend of mine to it and we were both fans of that show as well as the weekly syndicated Dr. Demento show (which was a weekly hour long show playing novelty records like Spike Jones & early Weird Al Yankovich). We collected cassette tapes of all the Frantic shows like we were Dead Heads.
A few years later we were both going to the same college and my friend was working for a local student run (but not university owned) radio station. He wanted to start his own Dr. Demento style program on that station and started collecting novelty records to play.
We both agreed that it would be cool to introduce US audiences to The Frantics. He managed to get an address for one of the Frantics, who were no longer on the air at this point, and wrote the gentleman a letter telling him we were big fans and asking nicely if he’d happen to have any recordings of their skits which he could play on the radio.
A few weeks later a huge box arrived filled with reel to reel tapes of their shows and a nice note asking my friend to mail them back when we were done with them.
I did all of my college at night while working my a day job (with 90% tuition reimbursement!). I did everything as cheaply and quickly as possible, attending junior college instead of university, testing out of anything and everything I could. The goal was to get a degree as fast as possible. I became accustomed to cutting corners all over the place at the junior college level.
All of that changed when I hit University. It was quite a shock to realize just how much more formal things were at university level. Testing out of something? Nope. Skipping a final if you had aced every test? Nope.
They had a Portuguese Language department and I had just assumed that as a fluent speaker having been married to a Brazilian for some years, there’d be some way to get credit. Not only did the Portuguese department say “No!” but I don’t think they even wanted to see my face.
So I asked the dean of my college (one of several colleges at the university) nicely if he could help. He did some fruitless checking with the Portuguese department and then said “I have an idea. Why don’t you test out of a Portuguese course from New York University. I can help you register, and we can then transfer your credits here.”
Some weeks later I was there in a classroom while he proctored the test for me, on his own time.
Several more weeks passed and the results came: I had passed the exam with flying colors.
The dean had me come to his office, where he had my records on his desk and was going over the formalities of transferring the NYU credits to our university.
Bonus…without saying a thing, his pen zipped down the page to some annoying little BS course that was 1 or 2 credit hours, required for all students at our university, and he simply checked a box and signed his name next to it, thereby giving me that one as a freebie.
What a kind man.
I’m sure there is more, but what came to mind is a ski patroller allowed me to duck a rope to ski a closed trail when I asked him.