Some years ago, I was working in a minor management position in the Civil Service. I was about to go on maternity leave for six months. My assistant manager was covering part of my duties, and the company had brought in a temp to cover the rest. I was to spend a week training her before I took off.

My department had quite a relaxed atmosphere; I’m one of those bosses who are happy for people to chat and socialise a little as long as all the work is completed first. We were a small team and relatively close, and everyone went out of their way to make the temp feel welcome.

She had only been in the office for around four hours, training with me to use our computer system, when she complained that she had a headache and wanted to go out and buy some painkillers. I suggested that she take her lunch break, pick up the tablets she wanted, and get some fresh air away from the screen.

She went off… and never returned! The company contacted the temp agency later and was given the feedback that I seemed too happy and positive, and she didn’t want to work in a place like that. Personally, I wouldn’t want to work in a place that wasn’t like that…

I’m working at a shop-in-shop postal office. It’s super hot outside, but we have air conditioning — phew!

I see a lady coming in, her face as red as a beet or tomato. She’s clearly overheated, so I worry. People like that usually have a short fuse! When she comes closer, I suddenly recognize her; she’s my old teacher! I haven’t seen her in over a decade! 

She comes in with a huge parcel.

Teacher: “Please tell me you can ship this.”

Me: “Eh… I don’t think I can.”

Teacher: “I saw on the website that this size is allowed. I just went to [Store], but they demanded that I make a shipping label because they don’t have a printer, and when I got home, their site was down! So, please…”

Me: “I don’t think I can. [Coworker], can you please come and help?”

Coworker: “Oh… this size? The last time we accepted a parcel this big, the delivery guy scolded us. You should go to a real post office… but I don’t know if [Other Store] has a true post office there…”

There is a moment of silence. I see that [Teacher] looks defeated. I think [Coworker] notices, as well. 

Coworker: “You know what? Let’s just try it. If we have the option to print a shipping label, we’re gonna do it.” *Tries* “Yes, we can! All right, now, if we just hide this package in the back of the shipping cart…” *Does so* “There, let’s cross our fingers! You paid, so whatever happens, it’s not your fault! And [My Name], let me deal with the delivery guy today.”

[Teacher]’s eyes watered, and she mumbled a sweet, trembling, “Thank you so much.” 

And the delivery guy… didn’t notice the big parcel. It was below the maximum allowed size, so I don’t know why he complained last time. According to [Coworker], the delivery guy doesn’t like big parcels because he’s worried about the weight and how to fit it in his bus. Well, this parcel was long but weighed less than 700 grams! A liter of water is heavier!

And my old teacher? It turned out that she DID recognize me! She was still in touch with my parents, but she was unsure and didn’t want to embarrass herself by asking me if I was “that little one from way back then”. From my parents, I found out that cursed path this parcel followed… and that [Teacher] was immensely grateful for what my coworker and I did.

Several years ago, I got the chance to participate in a plus-size fashion showcase as a model. This was my first — and so far only — modeling gig, and even for getting into the show, I was still majorly nervous.

Mind you, I had plenty of support! My husband and the rest of my family all thought this was a cool opportunity and were happy for me, and my fellow models, especially those who did this for a living, were encouraging and sweet. On top of that, we were getting to model gorgeous pieces from some stores that I really like.

However, my nerves came to a head at my second fitting. Picking out my outfit to represent [Store #1] was very easy, but at [Store #2], nothing seemed to be working. I’m not only plump, but I’m short, and even with my show-day heels on, the pieces I was trying on just didn’t seem to sit right.

Our fashion coordinator, who did final sign-offs on the outfits we would wear, must have seen my frustration, because she called me over and pulled a sleeveless purple jumpsuit off the rack, along with a faux fur coat.

Coordinator: “Let’s give this a try, okay?”

I changed into the jumpsuit, and I looked at myself in the mirror. I loved the color, but again, the fit didn’t seem right. [Coordinator] seemed enthusiastic, but I was now in a pessimistic mood.

Coordinator: “We’ve got the right look here, especially once you put on the coat.”

Me: “Ugh, I just don’t know! I’m not feeling it!”

[Coordinator] rolled her eyes a bit, but the next comment was delivered with kindness.

Coordinator: “[My Name], this is my job. Do you really believe that I would let you onto the runway in an outfit that I wasn’t 100 percent certain of?”

For whatever reason, that was the comment that finally helped calm my nerves. And of course, she ended up being right. With the coat, the outfit was sensational, and I got MANY cheers when I walked in that particular outfit at the show!

This story is from a while ago now, and it is very much paraphrased and some of the legal language has been simplified to layman’s terms.

I am applying for a legal job that’s very much inside my profession — so much so that when sending in my resume, I include in my hobbies section my personal blog, which at the time is a relatively well-read website about the very niche section of law I studied. (This is before social media, and the average Internet user’s attention span was, shall we say, longer?)

I started the blog when I was in law school, and I thought including it when applying for this particular law firm was a good idea since they notoriously only hire graduates from my particular law school.

I am halfway through my interview, and I feel it is going well. I am answering the questions calmly and quickly, making sure to showcase my deep knowledge of the subjects. I am being interviewed by three partners at the firm, and one of them has been silently glaring at me the whole time. He finally speaks up.

Partner: “I noticed that on your resume you lied about your authoring [Legal Blog]. That’s not a good look.”

Me: *Momentarily taken aback* “I… I didn’t lie about that. That’s my blog.”

Partner: “That blog is written by an A.B. Smith.”

Me: “That’s a pen name. I am the actual author, and I have the credentials to prove it.”

Partner: “That blog is written by a man, and not by a fresh graduate.”

Me: “Can you please specify where in the blog it indicates the gender of the author or reveals any details about their age or professional status? If you’d just let me—”

Partner: “It’s just not a good look. It’s not a good look for us to consider hiring someone who tries to plagiarize someone else’s work, and it’s an even worse look for you.”

Despite my attempts to protest, this partner seems to hold a bigger sway over the other two, so the interview is cut short, and I am given the polite “Thank you for coming in” speech that means, “It’s a no.” I can’t be sure, but I also get the distinct vibe from this older man that he can’t be convinced that a young woman could write my blog.

When I get home, I admit that I am angry, and when I am angry, I write. I write up a blog about the interview. (I don’t name names, but I do name the law firm.)

I write about how ironic it is that a law firm dedicated to upholding the law has partners who are self-appointed judges, juries, and executioners who are disinterested in looking at the evidence.

I write about the disappointment of going to my particular law school in the hopes of working for this particular firm and that, despite my obvious knowledge of my material and my darn-good score when passing the bar, I have been dismissed because of one item on the “hobbies” section of my resume.

I also write about the hint of sexism in the experience, being very careful to word that section in a way that isn’t libelous (lawyer here!).

I put the blog up and go about my day.

A few weeks later, I get a call from a woman I have never heard of.

Caller: “Hi, this is [Caller] from [Law Firm that I interviewed for]. Is this [My Name]?”

Me: “That is me.”

Caller: “Great! Do you also go by [Pen Name] and write the [Blog]?”

Me: “What is this about?”

Caller: “I am calling to ask you to take down [blog about the interview]. It contains information that is factually incorrect, and we—”

Me: “Who is ‘we’?”

Caller: “I am calling from [Law Firm].”

Me: “Yes, but who are you, exactly? Are you a lawyer?”

Caller: “I’m a legal secretary.”

Me: “And who do you work for?”

Caller: “[Law Firm].”

Me: “Yes, again, I know that. Do you work for a particular partner?”

Caller: *Hesitantly* “I work for [Partner].”

As I suspected, this is the same partner who outright called me a liar.

Me: “Have [Partner] call me directly.”

Caller: “Well, he’s a very busy—”

Me: “Have him call me. I won’t talk to anyone else.”

I hang up, feeling my anger rising again but also feeling a shot of adrenaline from the knowledge that I’ve rattled the cage of the lawyer who wronged me.

Less than an hour later, I get another call. It’s the partner himself! Ignoring niceties, he jumps straight into his demand.

Partner: “Look, take down that hit piece. It’s a blatant lie and—”

Me: “Oh, so in the interview, you accused me of not being capable of authoring that blog, but now you expect me to take down something from that very same blog? Which is it? You can’t have it both ways.”

Partner: “Look, you’ve made your point, but the fact remains that what you’ve written is factually incorrect and—”

Me: “Tell me anything that’s written in that blog that didn’t actually happen.”

Partner: “You called me sexist!”

Me: “Did I mention you by name?”

Partner: “You know that’s not relevant—”

Me: “I know what’s relevant in a court of law. Do you?” 

Partner: “Look, can you please take down the blog? It’s been commented on a lot at [Law School], and it’s affecting our recruitment.”

Me: “Why? Are you worried it’s ‘not a good look‘?“

There is a pause. He recognizes the phrase.

Partner: “Take it down, or we’ll sue for libel—”

Me: “Send it to A.B. Smith.”

There was another pause. I decided right there and then that if this man apologized and admitted his mistake, I would gladly take down the blog and move on with my life. Instead, he just hung up, and I kept the blog up.

Over twenty years later, I still haven’t been sued.

I’m a fan of dirt oval car racing. One night, a car crashes into the catch fence separating the track from the grandstand area. The fence is damaged, but the track crew inspects it, makes a few minor repairs, and determines that the fence is still safe enough to continue racing.

During the next intermission between races, a few kids — ranging in age from about eight to thirteen — walk up to the fence and start tugging on it around the damaged area. Their parents and guardians are sitting in the front row of the grandstands, completely absorbed in their cell phones and beer. Several other fans start shouting at the kids to stop messing with the fence, but the kids pay no attention.

After only a few minutes, the kids have managed to pull enough wires loose to create a hole in the fence. A track crew member finally sees them and runs over, shouting at the kids to get away from the fence.

The kids leave the fence, but the parents have finally taken notice of what’s happening, and they start screaming at the track crew member to leave their kids alone. The track crew member gathers with a few other members of the track crew, and things pause for about an hour.

As everyone in the grandstand starts getting antsy about the delay, a few uniformed police officers appear in the grandstands and approach the guilty family (the children having returned to their parents after being yelled at by the track crew member). The parents start to argue with the officers, but everyone is interrupted by the track announcer’s voice over the loudspeaker system.

Announcer: “Attention all race fans! Due to the actions of a few children — and the negligence of their parents — the fence has now been deemed unsafe, and the remainder of tonight’s racing action has been canceled. All spectators not involved in the destruction of the fence, please stop by the ticket booth for your choice of a refund of your ticket price or a voucher for next week’s races.”

Naturally, everyone in the grandstands was SUPER angry, and the parents of the guilty children were saved from very likely physical violence by the presence of the police officers surrounding them.

I don’t know if the parents were charged with anything or sued by the track, but seriously, folks. Watch your kids.