(I’ve dropped by work while on maternity to talk about coming back on a part-time basis. I catch up with my manager first, and we have been talking about my son for nearly half an hour.)

Me: “He’s been a bit grouchy lately. My doctor thinks the formula I’m using might be upsetting his stomach.”

Manager: “You should just castrate him. That usually does the trick.”

Me: *thinking he’s joking* “Oh, I’d love to, but I don’t think childhood castration is legal.”

Manager: “Oh, I thought you were talking about your dog.”

(I don’t have a dog, and the conversation up to that point had been exclusively about my son…)

(Our store warehouse has two floors. However, due to the size of the first floor, only people of a certain height are permitted to go up. All of this occurs on the radios we use talk to each other.)

Coworker: “Boss?”

Boss: “Yes?”

Coworker: “Umm, [Coworker] is stuck.”

Boss: “Stuck? How is he stuck?”

Coworker: “His head is in the ceiling.”

Boss: “WHAT?!”

Coworker: “[Supervisor] bet him that he couldn’t walk upstairs in the warehouse.”

Boss: “Of course he did… is he hurt?”

Coworker: “He’s laughing…”

Boss: “[My Name] and I will be right over.”

(Both [Coworker] and [Supervisor] were suspended without pay, and the entire first floor was stripped and moved to the ground floor. The first floor is now closed off, but people sneak in to take secret naps. Apparently, [Coworker] did get his money for winning the bet.)

(I work on reception in an office located in one of England’s industrial estates, where there are few nearby shops. Twice a day, a coffee van drives past my work to sell snacks, and I go out every morning for a caffeine fix. One morning, an executive director walks past my desk and starts handing me some money.)

Director: “I’m going into a meeting with the other executive directors for a couple of hours. Can you get me [four coffees].”

Me: “No worries; [Coffee Guy] should be here any minute.”

Director: “How much will that be?”

Me: “No more than £10, probably.”

Director: “Here’s £15, and get one for yourself.”

Me: “Thank you! Are you sure?”

Director: “Of course. It’s not your job to get me coffee.”

(Almost everyone in my office is lovely. To have the directors respecting everyone in the building – even “lower” [for lack of a better word] people and people in completely different departments – just reminds me what a great job I have.)

(My dog has died before my shift. I’m noticeably upset and one of the managers asks me:)

Manager: “[Me], whatever is the matter?”

Me: “My dog died on Saturday.”

Manager: “Oh, and you can’t find a good taxidermist?”

Me: “WHAT?!”

Manager: “To preserve it. I do it with all my pets. My last cat is a footrest.”

(I felt physically sick and ran to the toilets to throw up. When I got back to the staff room, another manager was there looking really sympathetic. He sent me home and apologised for the other manager’s behaviour. What’s worse was the first manager later texted me several links to taxidermy websites, and even came over to my house. My mum threw a cooking pan at him. When I got back to work, I heard he was on probation for harassing staff out of hours.)

(I quit my job a few months ago for various reasons. My situation has improved since then, and the company has also implemented some changes, so I’m meeting up with my former boss to discuss the possibility of my return. It’s worth noting that he’s bald, whereas I like to dye my hair all sorts of colors whenever I can. The job, however, is an administrative position in a very conservative office, so that should be out of the question. The conversation goes well, so by the end of the interview…)

Me: *joking* “So, I guess there’s only the most important question left. Which hair colors would be permissible?”

Boss: *with a solemn face* “Ye who are blesséd with full hair… do with it whatever the h*** you want.”

(And that’s how he ended up with the first administrative assistant showing up to work with bright green hair.)