(My dad is a truck driver for a company that has offices and a warehouse on site. The warehouse worker’s canteen is inside the warehouse but away from the loading and unloading bays. My dad and his workmates are having lunch when a man in a hard hat and carrying a clipboard comes in. They don’t recognise him but he has a shirt on with the logo of the company.)

Man: “I’m the new health and safety officer here, guys, and I wanted to let you all know that as of now, you are all in breach of this site’s safety regulations as you are not wearing your hard hats in the warehouse.”

(My dad and his coworkers are a bit surprised by this but don’t say anything. The guy looks annoyed by this.)

Man: “I’m serious, guys! There are consequences when you don’t follow the rules; it can get you suspended or even fired. All of your attitudes are terrible. You should be grateful that I’m telling you this now, so you can avoid being written up for violations.”

(My dad raises his hand.)

Man: “Yes?”

Dad: “Are those steel toe cap boots you have on?”

(He points to the man’s shoes, which are clearly just black loafers.)

Man: “Of course not.”

Dad: “You have to have steel toe cap boots on when you are in the warehouse.”

Man: “Oh.”

Dad: “You should be grateful I’m telling you this. You could get written up for violations.”

Man: “Well, never mind. We are in the canteen after all.”

Dad: “Since you’re new, you can get us all a coffee.”

Man: “But there are 12 of you.”

Dad: “Well, use a tray, then. Safety first!”

(Needless to say, he didn’t stay long in the job.)

(My first job is as a dental nurse working with the city’s university dental hygienist course. I love the job, and I get on well with the students and the tutors. However, I quickly start to find that I don’t get on so well with the other nurses. The majority of nurses have worked with each other for a long time, know each other outside of work, and have the same interests. At first, this doesn’t matter, but slowly, things start to get unfair. I often find myself on the crappy end of jobs, and one of them causes me do serious damage to my right wrist; I tear the tendons and am signed off work for a long time. This is where things get super bad, as my manager never reports the accident, which is something she gets in a lot of trouble for. When I eventually return, I am on very light duties, spending more time as a glorified receptionist than a nurse. The other nurses double-down on their disdain for me. I suddenly find myself even more left out than before, and any slight mistake is blown out of proportion. One of the nurses actually yells at me in front of trainees because I haven’t signed a cleaning sheet. When I complain to the head nurse, she says that I was in the wrong so tough, despite the fact I admitted to the mistake, but I am angry about the way it was handled. I cannot describe the misery I feel for the next six months, but luckily, I am able to find another job in a field that is as far removed from dentistry as possible. On the Monday morning after I get the contract for the new job, I approach the head nurse on clinic first thing before clinic starts.)

Me: “Morning, [Head Nurse], can I have a quick word with you?”

Head Nurse: “No, I’m going up for breakfast break now. It can wait.”

Me: “It can’t really; I won’t get time to talk to you about this before clinic starts, otherwise.”

Head Nurse: “Sorry, not happening.”

Me: *shouting across the clinic as she walks off* “Okay, I’ll leave my resignation letter here, then!”

(She d*** near sprinted back to me, asking if I was joking. I smiled, told her no, and handed her the letter before turning and going back to my duties. I was, at that time, the one who made all of the department appointments, organised clinics, and knew the brand-new booking system better than anyone else. That next month as I served my notice, watching the panic slowly dawn on them was the best!)

I was meeting a friend for breakfast one morning, and rather than drive I decided to get a taxi using a well-known taxi app.

Everything was going fine until I innocently mentioned that my weekend plans involved visiting my baby niece. The driver asked if I had kids or was married, and I happily said no and that I had no intention of either.

Big. Mistake.

I was treated to the remaining fifteen-minute journey listening to a lecture on how his culture’s children were better than mine because they stay with their parents, care for them, and don’t leave them. He said I probably moved out as soon as I could, because that is what “my culture” encouraged. He was genuinely shocked when I said I visit my parents weekly and we all live very close to each other.

As I seriously considered how painful it would be to ditch out of a car doing 40 mph on a busy road, he then started extolling the benefits of arranged marriage, how well it worked, and why it was the best thing ever. He said I should really consider it because I need to have kids, because who would look after me when I am old, otherwise?

Throughout, his tone was calm and reasonable, and he kept asking if I agreed with him — prompting non-committal noises from me. I was honestly worried at making him angry if I disagreed, like he was waiting for me to say something.

When we arrived at the restaurant, he parked about as far away as he could manage. It was raining. I didn’t care. 

Next time someone asks me about my personal life, I’m going to stick to the tried and tested “Yes, I have a son! He is three and moves very quickly! He’s a fussy eater, though. Want to see a picture? Yes, I know that’s a snake… Where are you going?”

(I am about to be made redundant and so have been searching desperately for a new job. I have posted my CV on several job sites and set up various alerts for jobs in the West Midlands. I’ve had various agencies call me offering me various jobs that either aren’t in the field I currently work in, pay way too little for me to accept, or in one memorable instance, require a little too much travel.)

Agent: “Hi there. I am calling on behalf of [Agency]. I think you would be a perfect match for a six-month contract we have.”

Me: “Great! What’s the job?”

Agent: *describes a pretty good job offer with good pay* “…and it’s based in Watford.”

Me: “I’m sorry; did you say Watford?”

Agent: “Yes, is that a problem?”

Me: “Just a bit. You know I live in Birmingham?”

Agent: “Yes… Is it a bit too far for you?”

Me: “It’s over 80 miles away!”

Agent: “Oh! Well, you could always stay in a hotel during the week!”

(I have done this before in a previous job for 18- months and hated it, so I am not willing to even entertain it.)

Me: “What? No way. I doubt the company would pay that expense.”

Agent: “Would you be willing to relocate maybe?”

Me: “No! Why would I leave a city I have grown up in, and move away from immediate family for a contract job? And nothing you have said hints at a relocation payment.”

Agent: “Uh, well, no, you’d have to pay for it yourself. Maybe you could stay with family close by?”

Me: “Okay, no. That is ridiculous. I am not taking a job that means I would never be home.”

Agent: “Well, it would only be for six months. Are you sure it’s a deal-breaker?”

Me: “Yes, I am, and even if distance wasn’t a problem, I have a pet…”

Agent: “Oh! Oh, yeah, I totally get that. Pets are a big responsibility! Thank you for your time anyway!”

(So, the fact that I didn’t want to have an eighty-mile commute, relocate, live out of a hotel, or couch surf for six months was not a valid excuse, but the second I mentioned having a pet it was understandable? Not to mention that this guy hadn’t even thought to check a map before calling me! I am still baffled to this day.)

(I work in a rock pub, and on this particular Saturday we are short-staffed and low on our draft beers — so low, in fact, that by 10:00 pm we are out of cider, lager, pilsner, and bitter! We still have about four other drafts to choose from, and a selection of bottled beers and ales. All of the drafts that are off have a glass over them to show they are empty. One customer has been in since before my shift started at 8:00, and so is aware of which drafts are off.)

Customer: “Can I have a pint of [Bitter]?”

Me: “Sorry, sir, we’ve run out of that; can I get you something else?”

Customer: “For f***’s sake. Fine, what bottles have you got?”

Me: “Well, [Bottle #1] and [Beer #1] have been popular substitutes.”

Customer: “How much is [Bottle #1]?”

Me: “It’s [price].”

Customer: “What about [Beer #1]? How much is that?”

Me: “It’s [slightly higher price].”

Customer: *exasperated sigh* “What kind of s***hole is this?”

(I blink at the customer, slightly surprised by the comment is he is a semi-regular here.)

Me: “Well, sir, it is the kind of s***hole you are more than welcome to leave.”

(He looked at me slightly taken aback and hopefully realising how stupid his comment was before ordering his beer.)