(I work in a store that sells scarves, hosiery, handbags and jewelry — all pretty budget-friendly, not too high-end. My manager is not only very incompetent, but also racist. She basically tells her employees to hover over anyone who looks “foreign” because she is certain they are shoplifting. I always refuse to do this, and I get a lot of crap from her for it. Our lighter scarves and shawls are very popular with Muslim women because they come in lots of colours and prints and are often the right size to be worn as a hijab. One day a woman comes in, gathers some scarves, and goes into the fitting room with them.)

Manager: “What is she doing with those?! Go look over there and check on her!”

(I feel apprehensive, since I know most of our customers who are followed or “checked on” like this know exactly why it was happening, and either leave or don’t buy anything.)

Manager: “She’s probably stuffing scarves in her bag right now! Why else would she go into the fitting room?!”

Me: *fed up* “Seriously? If she wants to wear these as a hijab and try them on first, you can’t expect her to try them on in the middle of the store!”

(My manager fell silent and let it go. She later gave me a whole spiel about “not talking back,” even though I had been right and the lady had bought a lot of scarves. I left that job shortly after, and made sure upper management heard about her behaviour. Among other things, she had been throwing away job applications from people with “foreign” names!)

My dad worked almost his entire working life for the governmental placement bureau. Before rising in the ranks, he helped manual labourers to a new job. One day he received a welder who was long-term unemployed, which was strange given the high demand in the area. My dad decided to have him tested on his skills to see if additional training would help him. The instructor reported to my dad that there was nothing wrong with his skills, and that he could even teach the very skilled instructor a few tricks.

My dad started to suspect that a lack of social skills was the problem and, upon the first request for a skilled welder, he picked up the phone and called the person responsible for hiring. He informed them that he was sending someone but asked if they could test his skills before interviewing. He then proceeded to send the unemployed welder to go to the workplace for an interview and bring back a signed form as proof he went. Without this, his benefits would stop.

This was at the start of the morning, not that far from the office. Noon came and went, but no sign of the guy. Dad, starting to worry, called the employer who was very enthusiastic and asked to send more of that kind. After the test weld, the guy was hired on the spot! His new employer stated that “they couldn’t afford to turn him down.” Since he came unprepared, they even bought him lunch. It turned out that the guy was just “un-interviewable,” but luckily, his skills spoke for themselves.

(I work in the library. We have two computers to help the patrons check out books, but usually, we only use the first one. One day, the printer on this computer is broken, so in order to be able to give the patrons a ticket with the return date for their books, we use the second computer. No one is sitting at the first computer, but still, most patrons go up to the second computer, looking expectantly at me to come over, instead of coming to the computer I am sitting at, ready to help them. I get tired of repeating myself, so when this happens for the 148th time today, I say this:)

Me: “I’m sorry, but it looks like my invisible colleague does not want to help you at this time. I guess those are the perks of being invisible.”

(My colleague behind me could not help herself from laughing out loud, and luckily, the patron had some sense of humor, too. But really, when you are in the store, getting groceries, you do not go up to the cash register where no one is sitting, either.)

(In Belgium, you can send a letter by certified post, meaning you need an ID to show when you want to receive this letter. These letters, more often than not, are bad news – a letter from a collection agency or a letter from work saying you’re fired, for example. When this letter arrives, I am not home, so the postman leaves a slip so I can pick it up the next day. As it is a Friday afternoon, this means I’ll have to wait until Monday to pick it up. I’m slightly worried, for I am a non-working student with — as far as I know — no outstanding debts anywhere. Finally, Monday arrives and I go to the post office, where the following exchange happens.)

Me: “Hello, I’m here to pick up my certified letter. Here is the slip I got on Friday.”

PO Worker: “Okay, no problem. May I just see your ID, please?”

(It is at this point I realize that I don’t have my ID. It’s usually always in my wallet. I excuse myself to the worker and go back home to look for my ID. I realize that the last time I used it, I was working a student job in the Netherlands two weeks before. Possibly I left it there. I call the company:)

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name]. I’m just calling to see if by any chance I left my ID in your office two weeks ago. I no longer seem to have it.”

PO Worker: “Oh, yes! We did find your ID and we sent it to you by certified mail. Did you not yet receive it?”

Me: “…”

(Technically, I was supposed to go to the police to report my missing ID, get a temporary paper as a replacement while replacing it, and use the paper to get the letter with my ID. The post office worker who I explained this to was, luckily, very understanding. She made an exception to take my driver’s license as proof, and made me open the letter then and there to check if it indeed had my ID.)

(It’s the release day of a new set of Pokémon games, and there is a line of people to pick up reserved copies. We had so many reservations we have to turn away people who just try to pick them up, but so far it hasn’t caused any problems. Currently in line is a boy in a Charmander costume, probably about ten years old but maybe younger. A couple of older customers have been playfully telling him to use Pokémon moves like scratch and flamethrower.)

Customer #1: “Charmander, use fire fang!”

(The kid begins making chewing sounds until he decides to actually use fire fang and bites the customer in front of him in the queue on his leg. The customer yells and grabs his leg, jumping around.)

Customer #1: “S***, dude, is everything all right?”

Customer #2: “No, it’s not all right! I’m a grass type.” *in the games, grass is weak to fire*

(I don’t think my boss ever truly recovered. To this day, every time we get Charmander merchandise in, he breaks down laughing. [Customer #2] was perfectly all right by the way; he had a small mark but nothing terrible. He had reserved four copies of the games: a set of limited editions, which he got, and a set of normal ones in case the limited editions couldn’t be delivered. We sold the normal set to the kid, who had no copies reserved.)