It is summer 2020, the height of lockdown in the UK, and mask-wearing in public spaces is mandatory. My job is based in the City of London, and I am tasked with going to the office once a week to do all the Things that keep it ticking over and allow everyone at home to keep working. I don’t mind because there’s hardly anyone on the trains, and the streets of London are eerily quiet.

At my train station, there are two entrances/exits, one on each side of the tracks. The opposite side is accessed via a covered bridge, and there are stairs and lifts (elevators) to get up to the bridge. I am on my way home one evening and have just gotten off the train. I need the exit on the opposite side and, as I have a heavy bag with me, I decide to take the lift. The lifts are small, designed for a maximum of four people. It should be noted that I am female.

Just as the lift doors are closing, a man forces his way inside. There’s a sign outside the lift indicating that only one person at a time should use it, but the doors have closed now, so it’s too late to protest. And who reads signs, anyway? BUT as if his presence in the lift weren’t bad enough, the man is not wearing his mask.

Me: “Can you put your mask on, please?”

The man starts patting his pockets, looking for his mask.

Me: *More urgently* “Sir! Put your mask on!”

Man: *Irritated* “I’m looking for it!”

Me: “It’s under your chin!”

By now, the lift has (thankfully) reached the upper level, and the doors open. As the man turns to leave, I hear it: the perennial cry of the man who knows he’s in the wrong but can’t possibly admit it to a member of the opposite sex.

Man: “Stupid woman!”

And he walks away.

My workplace is close to the train station — about 200m/600ft away. During renovations, they found a buried aerial bomb. In order to safely defuse it, they had everyone in a radius of 500m evacuate and had police lock up the area. Nobody unauthorized was to enter for their own safety. This was across the news on TV and the radio, fire trucks were driving around making announcements, etc.

The bomb was safely defused and transported away.

When we returned to work the next day, we had an angry voicemail from a client.

Client: “I wanted to come by today, but I am standing in front of your doors, and they’re locked! Why are you closed?!”

How he managed to sneak past the barriers and police without realizing he was entering a restricted zone is beyond me.

My husband and I are on a walking holiday in the middle of nowhere in France, picked because it’s literally the cheapest break we could come up with during a time of extreme stress. Every penny counts to us at this time.

One day, it becomes clear that we’ve walked much too far and simply don’t have the energy to walk all the back to the town we’re staying in.

Then, we spot a tiny rural railway station… but we don’t have tickets. There’s no machine. There is, however, someone on duty in the railway station.

I don’t speak French. My husband learned it in school in England in the 1960s but has never used it since. We have a discount card, and the journey would ideally involve a switch to a tram in the town, which you can buy as an add-on to the ticket price for a big discount.

He thinks it’s worth trying.

In slow, imperfect, schoolboy French, he explains this to the booking clerk.

The booking clerk slowly and carefully runs through the options in French: the prices, where to change trains, how to validate the tickets on both the train and the tram, and all we need to know.

In the end, my husband is really proud of himself for how much he was able to make himself understood and how much he was able to understand. He takes the tickets and hesitatingly says:

Husband: “Merci monsieur pour… your… aide. Je suis désolé pour… my… français. Merci de le… uh, support?”

The clerk responds, in English with a clear West Midlands accent:

Clerk: “It was very good, and I thought you’d like the practice. I’m from Coventry.”

I think I fell in love with the guy, just a bit.

(For non-Brits, Coventry is a city in the West Midlands of England.)

It’s a very busy Friday evening, and there’s a long queue for the ticket office at my local station.

The woman in front of me keeps up a long monologue for the entire time we’re queuing, declaiming loudly about how appalling it is that we’re all waiting.

Customer: “This is so unacceptable! It’s just a train ticket! Why is it taking so long? What’s wrong with people? Why can’t you hurry up? Why don’t people buy complicated tickets online? I’ve got a train to catch! Why am I waiting so long? What’s the hold-up? Why is this taking so much time? Hurry up! Some of us have places to be! Why should I have to wait? I just want a ticket! Can’t this go any quicker? How long do I have to be here? What’s the hold-up? For crying out loud! What’s the problem? What are people doing? I just want a ticket! My train’s due any minute! Hurry up!”

After several minutes of this, she finally reaches the ticket window.

Customer: *Slowly* “Yeah, I’d like a ticket to [City]… for, oh, tomorrow afternoon? A return ticket, I think, but I need to come back by [Town in the opposite direction], and I want to stop off at [City on a different line]… The website said it would be £150, but I only want to pay £10. Don’t worry, I’ve got all day.”

I missed my train.

Seriously, do some of these customers even hear themselves? Then again, if they did then we would have stories like these 11 Incredibly Ironic Encounters With Customers!

I’m a woman in my thirties with invisible disabilities that make it hard to climb stairs at the best of times. As it’s peak hour and pouring rain, I decide to take the lift. I’m waiting with an elderly couple when a woman in her fifties walks up to us. I’m listening to music through headphones and don’t immediately realise she’s talking to me, but then I notice her trying to get my attention. I remove my headphones.

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “The lift is for disabled people.”

Me: “Firstly, no, it’s for everyone to use. Secondly, not that it’s any of your business, but I am disabled. Ever hear of invisible disabilities?”

Woman: “Well… I’m disabled, too!”

Me: “Good for you! I honestly didn’t know being an old b**** was a disability. I guess you learn something new every day.”

I watch her do her best impression of a tomato and gape like a fish for a minute before storming away.

I turn to the couple who has witnessed the whole exchange. They are both laughing.

Me: “I’m so sorry for my language, but she just got to me.”

Man: “No worries, love; if you hadn’t said something, I would have.”

The woman didn’t even look disabled herself.

Related:
Invisible Disability, Visible Laziness