At work, I am the “young guy” to call when a printer doesn’t work. Nine times out of ten, one of the older guys is trying to print on the wrong size or it just needs resetting. However, as most of the team is part of an older generation, I quickly become the font of all knowledge for IT, even though I don’t know what I am doing 90% of the time.

I don’t mind; the guys are always appreciative, and they’re understanding when I can’t fix it and have to call the real IT guys. And I am learning lots from them.

This goes on fine until our office is merged. One of the workers who move to our office is a woman who is only in her late forties but treats all technology as alien. She will cuss and bang her keyboard and sarcastically state how “great all this modern technology is.” 

I admit, [Worker] gets under my skin from the word go; I am grateful that she works for another team and I can (try to) tune her out.

A few weeks in, I hear her talking with someone about some issue she has.

Worker: “Oh, is he our local IT guy? I didn’t know that.”

I know what is happening and, despite there being some sort of desperate hushed clarification attempted, I know [Worker] has decided that I am the go-to for all of her issues.

Nothing happens for a few more days, but then she attempts to summon me to her desk, a feat made more painful as she doesn’t bother to learn my name. Eventually, I give in and walk over.

Worker: “Listen, I am having an issue with this program. It’s not saving where I want it to. How do we fix that?”

Me: “Well, I’m no expert on these things, but I would suggest using ‘Save As,’ rather than saving on closing. That should give you control every time.”

Worker: “I have no idea what you are talking about; you will have to show me.”

Me: “Okay, I can do it this time. I don’t work for IT but I can point it out.”

I show her the big, named button. She seems unimpressed.

Worker: “Okay, I guess I will try that.”

She turns away from me and I gratefully leave her desk.

This happens on and off for the next few weeks. Each time, I repeat that I don’t work in IT or just give her the helpline number. I have taken to wearing headphones, as is allowed in our office. This seems to work until one day when I feel something whiz by my head. I jolt up, whipping my headphones off.

Worker: “Oh, good. You’re paying attention. I can’t get this to print.”

Me: “Did you just throw something at me?”

Worker: “It didn’t hit you. Now, come on, snap snap. I need this printed.”

I thought of all the things I could say and instead just walked out of the office. I kept waking to calm down. I must have been really out of it as I missed three calls from my boss. By the time I’d collected myself, I rang him back but couldn’t get hold of him. I reluctantly went back to my desk.

The office was largely empty, which was very, very odd. I checked I hadn’t missed a meeting. For the next hour, I was slightly paranoid that I should be somewhere else. I got a phone call from my boss; he wanted to see me in Human Resources.

It turns out that someone had complained about [Worker] throwing things at me; she’d made some pretty serious accusations about me when questioned. This meant several more of the team were brought in to confirm. When she was brought back the second time, she repeated her claims, this time going on and on about how, as “IT,” I wasn’t doing my job, I was lazy, I was unprofessional, etc. She even admitted knowing that I didn’t work for IT but thought I should do it anyway.

She was eventually removed from the office and stuck in some dingy below-ground office somewhere. I’ve never had to deal with her since.

About a decade ago, I decided to donate my kidney as a non-directed donor, meaning I didn’t know the person who would get the kidney; the hospital picked him. Knowing that I volunteered with children and had a real soft spot for them, the hospital recommended a twenty-two-month-old child as the person to receive the kidney.

The surgery went fine and I got to meet the child for the first time a month after the surgery. I thought this would be the only time I would meet the child.

A number of years later, I get a surprise call from the pediatric department of the hospital where I donated. They are doing a reunion party where they get together kidney donors and kidney recipients, and they want to know if I would like to attend. Excited at the chance to meet the child again, I agree to attend.

When they finally arrive at the party, while their mother is busy signing in, the boy and his twin brother wander into the party and apparently recognize me. The one that I actually donated the kidney to is a bit shy at first about meeting me, not so much his brother.

Twin Brother: “Are you the one that gave my brother the kidney?”

Me: “Yes, I was.”

Without saying anything else, he runs up to me and gives me a gigantic hug.

Twin Brother: “Thank you!”

His brother seems a bit unsure how he is supposed to interact with his kidney donor at first, but I have enough experience with kids that I am able to get him to open up soon enough. Eventually, the brothers are excitedly dragging me around to face painting and all the other activities they have for the party.

Boy: “Where did you get the extra kidney from?”

Me: “Everyone is born with two kidneys, but we only really need one, so they took my left kidney out of me and put it in you, and I keep using my right kidney.”

Boy: “How did they get it out?”

Me: “They cut a hole in my belly button and then stuck a machine in through it which they used to cut my kidney out and pull it out through my belly button. Then they did the same thing to you to put the kidney into you.”

Brother: “Did it hurt?”

Me: “They put me asleep when they cut the kidney out, so I didn’t feel anything then. It did hurt a few days after, but it got much better after the third day. It was worth it to help.”

Kid: “Oh.” 

The kid stands there, clearly thinking about that for a few more seconds.

Kid: “Thank you.”

By the end of the party, both twins were asking if I could come visit them again. Since I love kids anyway, I told them I’d be willing to, but I didn’t want to impose, so I told them I could only if their mother wanted to invite me. I heard the kids tell their mother that they wanted me to visit, but I never did get an invite to visit them from her. It’s been many years since then, but I hope, wherever they are, both kids are still as happy and healthy as they were the last time we met.

During a busy day at work, I decide that I don’t feel like cooking tonight, so I decide to try ordering a pizza online from a new pizza joint in town. Like most restaurants, the website gives you the choice of when you want your order to be ready for pickup, so I enter my usual dinner time. It’s about five hours into the future, because I still have four hours to work for my own shift.

After work, I run some other errands to kill time and then pick up my pizza and head home to eat. With the first bite, I realize that something is off; this is definitely not a fresh, hot pizza at all. I call the pizza joint to complain and ask for a fresh pizza.

Employee: “Hello, [Pizza Joint]. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hi, I ordered a pizza online earlier today. When I picked it up and tried to eat it, it was almost stale. I would like to return it for a fresh pizza.”

Employee: “Okay, can I please get your name?”

Me: “[My Name].”

Employee: “Okay. You ordered a [specialty pizza], correct?”

Me: “Yes.”

Employee: “And what was wrong with the pizza?”

Me: “It’s barely lukewarm, and the crust tastes like it’s gone stale.”

Employee: “I see. Our records show that you were almost five hours late picking up your pizza, so unless there’s something actually wrong with it, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Me: “How could I be five hours late when the pizza wasn’t supposed to be ready until 6:00 pm?”

Employee: “Our records show that you placed your order online at 1:00 pm; is that correct?”

Me: “Yeah, but I chose to have it ready at 6:00.”

Employee: “Um… sir, that’s not possible. We don’t have that option on our website.”

Me: “Yeah, you do. I’m literally looking at the receipt for my order right now. It says 6:00 pm pick-up.”

Employee: “Well, the order came in at 1:00 pm, so we made your order at 1:00 pm. If you wanted a later pickup time, you should have ordered later.”

Me: “Is there a manager I could speak to, please?”

Employee: “Sir, the only person above me here is the owner. I guarantee you he will only tell you the same thing. You were late picking up your pizza. If there was nothing wrong with it, we can’t replace it. Goodbye!”

The employee actually hangs up on me. Frustrated, I drive to the restaurant, pizza in tow, to speak to the owner, who turns out to be the employee’s father. He sides with his son/employee in claiming that I was just too late picking up my order, even after I show him the email receipt that very clearly shows I wanted my order at 6:00 pm. I decide to just get my money back, and after ten minutes of arguing, the owner finally gives me my money back.

But wait… there’s more! When I get home, I leave an extremely negative review on the restaurant’s Facebook page — nothing nasty, just a thoroughly detailed account of what happened — and end up reading similar negative reviews from other customers. About an hour after I leave my review, the owner chimes in on the post, in true Not Always Working fashion, to try and refute my order. Of note here: I am a black man while the owner is white.

Owner: “[My Name], for the last time, we do not have that option on our website. Never have, never will. Maybe if you used regular time instead of [racial slur] time, you would get fresh pizza.”

I chose not to respond any further, but I did report the owner’s response to the local Chamber of Commerce. I live in a very politically liberal area where racism is absolutely not tolerated by local authorities. The pizza joint’s business license for our county was revoked, and they were forced to shut down.

It’s the late 1980s, early in my career, when I land a position with a small agricultural company. Most of the products — specifically live animals — are shipped around the globe, so organizing transportation to the customers is a critical function. The guy who has been doing this Logistics and Traffic role for years is d*** good at his job.

In my first weeks of employment, I also quickly discover that he is an extremely gruff, opinionated, and sometimes blunt individual — what would now be called an “office bully.” He is known to engage in shouting matches with other staff in the hallways, for example. During my first few months, I do not have much need to interact with him so I am able to keep my distance.

One day, my manager informs me that the company wants to send me on a trip to one of our subsidiaries in another country. Since [Logistics Guy] also handles company travel bookings, I have to go make arrangements with him. Cue the “Jaws” music in the background.

After I give him the dates and destination, he grabs a notepad and starts to put together an itinerary. This part goes well as he acts more or less professional and offers tips and advice as we discuss the options. When I mention that my manager told me to have him book a rental car at the destination, he suddenly explodes like a hand grenade. He starts throwing the papers in the air and loudly berating me for such a request.

Logistics Guy: “Everyone else who goes down there gets the local manager to pick them up at the airport! You don’t need a g**d*** rental car! Waste of company money! Forget about it!”

When this tantrum hits full stride, I make a decision that is either going to cost me my job or deal with this guy head-on. I look him straight in the eyes, and in the strongest voice I could summon, I say:

Me: “Shut up! Just shut the h*** up! If you have an issue with any of the arrangements I have requested, go speak to [Manager]! Otherwise, just do as I have asked and let me know when you are done!”

Before he can pick his lower jaw up off his desk, I look at him with the coldest eyes possible and add:

Me: “And do not, I repeat do not ever, ever treat me in this way again!”

As I stood up and turned to go, he grumbled briefly in a low voice but I was not listening. I shook like a leaf on the way back to my desk, wondering what kind of crapstorm might be in store for me. But an hour or so later, he came by my desk and tossed a copy of the itinerary on my desk with a growl that sounded like, “Here you go.”

My manager never came and talked to me about the blow-up, so I guess what is said in Logistics stayed in Logistics. For the rest of my two years there, we never avoided each other, but he never tried to bully me at any time, either.

Fast forward almost a decade later. I took a new position with a similar company not far from my former job. On my orientation tour, we stepped into the Logistics office and who should I meet but [Logistics Guy]. By then, he seemed to have mellowed quite a bit and was calm and professional any time I saw him in the office. That I was glad to see, and we never discussed our past history.

He retired a few years later, but I always remember that he — unintentionally — taught me the value of not taking any s*** from office bullies.

I work in a shoe store. The ground floor is exclusively women’s shoes and upstairs is men’s and kids.

I am quite ill and it’s very clear from my looks and voice. Most customers treat me nicely because I have a babyface and basically look fourteen, and looking sick helps too with people going a little easy on me.

I am stationed on the ground floor doing register while my manager helps customers and does other floor duties. It’s quite a busy Saturday.

A male customer puts two pairs of women’s sneakers and a men’s cap on my counter. After checking the sizes, I put them back in the box, not folding them back in the tissue paper though, as most customers don’t care and most of our boxes have the paper crumpled up anyway from people trying the shoes on.

Customer: *Immediately condescending* “No, no, no! You’re not doing it right! You gotta put them in right!”

He unboxes them again, folding them in the paper and stuffing them in the wrong way so they don’t even fit properly, all the while berating me for not doing my work properly in a condescending tone. I am already done with this man for treating me like a child.

Me: “Yeah, sure, sir.”

This process repeats with the second pair because I don’t fold them in the paper neatly enough. I scan the two pairs of shoes, €25 each, and the cap, which is €15.

Me: “Your total is €65, sir.”

Customer: *Frowning* “Huh, that’s not right.”

I give a short explanation of how I came to that price by adding the two pairs of shoes and the cap together.

Customer: “Oh, no, I got this cap upstairs together with these flip flops! You weren’t supposed to scan the cap!”

He shows me one of our store bags which indeed contains flip flops. At this point, I’m not sure why he’d have a bag but not put his cap in it, and I’m also not sure about why he’d put it on the counter with the rest of his purchase where I’d obviously scan it. Note that in no way I’m being accusatory in this next part, just following policy.

Me: “Oh, no problem. Would you mind showing me your receipt so I can just check it?”

Customer: *Immediately yelling, very angrily* “I don’t have to do that! You have no right! I paid for this! You’re not doing your job right! You don’t even know what you’re doing! I paid for this!”

Me: *Very calmly* “Sir, I just calmly asked to see your receipt. May I please see it? It is not an abnormal question; we ask customers for their receipt more often just to check. I really just quickly need to check it; there is no issue.”

The customer repeats over and over that he doesn’t have to, that I’m rude and a bad employee, that I don’t know what I’m doing, etc., probably just trying to intimidate me.

Me: “Sir, I respectfully asked you to show your receipt. I expect you to treat me with respect also. I did not ask you to do anything unreasonable.”

The customer sputters something about me not being respectful and the same lines about not having to show his receipt.

His fellow customers in my line are giving him the ”Oh, man, what are you doing?” look. The lady directly behind him stares at me pitifully and shakes her head every time I argue with him again about how I am not being unreasonable. My manager, an older man, arrives a bit late because he was on the busy floor and didn’t notice the aggressive man screaming in my face for the last two minutes.

Manager: “What’s going on here?”

The customer magically produces the receipt! Seriously, I have no clue how he got it so fast, and exactly upon the introduction of my manager.

Customer: “Here, I paid for this.”

He remains more calm and respectful to my manager. I relay to the manager shortly what happened, while he stays next to me because obviously, the tension is still incredibly high.

I complete his now €50 transaction, a procedure we could have had done and over within two seconds if he hadn’t been so defensive.

The customer throws money at me over the counter while pointedly look the other way. I bag his stuff and put the receipt in the bag. Normally, I give it to customers separately, partly so they don’t lose it and can stick it somewhere safe for possible returns or bookkeeping, and partly because it gives me a chance to offer them a last smile as a little customer service, but this man revoked his right to either of those.

The customer is even angrier now if possible, digging into the bag.

Customer: “You’re supposed to give it to me in my hand! In my hand! What if I lose it or if someone steals it to return?”

Me: “I’m not going to give you your receipt nicely in your hand when you throw your money at me.”

My manager moved from behind the counter then to physically usher the man out of the store whilst he was still berating me for basically being awful, horrible, disrespectful, etc. The relief was so strong I just started shaking like a leaf as soon as he was gone. 

Later, I heard from another coworker that the guy had also been condescending to her, so I suspect this man is used to bullying women but has no backbone in the face of another man, and that’s why he immediately caved once my manager showed up.