(I am with about ten other security guards, checking ID cards and tickets at the main entrance gate for an under-18s festival. This is my first day on the job, but for the most part, things run smoothly once we get into the swing of things. A group of four young women in their teens get to the front of my queue and hand me their tickets.)

Teen #1: “Here’s our tickets.”

Me: “I’ll also need to see your IDs.”

([Teen #1] removes her ID and presents it to me. After briefly comparing her ticket and ID I pass her through, where she waits for her friends. [Teen #2] then hands me her ID, but the photo has been completely scratched off.)

Me: “The photo on this card has been scratched off.”

Teen #2: “Yeah, it was a bad photo, so I got rid of it.”

Me: “You do realize I need photo ID to let you in? Do you have any other ID?”

([Teen #2] looks confused at the concept that a photo ID needs a photo, but then proceeds to try and give me her credit card, along with various other non-identifying cards, looking more and more dejected as she goes.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept any of these. I need a valid photo ID before I can let you in.”

Teen #2: *hopefully* “If I show you my boobs, will you let me in?”

Me: “Unfortunately, that’s not a form of photo ID, but I will call over my supervisor and see if he can sort this out.”

(I raised my arm to call over my current supervisor, who quickly arrived and asked me what the problem was. He was just as confused as I was at the lack of a discernible picture, but he took the group aside and talked to them. They ended up having to wait for about an hour outside the gate before someone came and gave them valid ID. Unfortunately, I lost count of the amount of times I had to deal with this exact same situation throughout the day.)

(I’m in the kitchen at work, making a cup of adequate instant coffee. There’s only a little bit of milk left in the jug so I resolve to use it all, which results in a cup which is almost full to the brim. Realising I won’t be able to carry it over to my desk, but being too early for rational thought, I decide my best course of action is to lean over the bench and sip the top of my coffee until I’m able to carry it. As I perform this task, my supervisor walks into the kitchen. )

Supervisor: “Um… what?”

Me: “My coffee is too full!”

Supervisor: “Oh! I assumed you’ve just been spending too much time with your cat and you finally snapped! Is there any milk left?”

(I work in a fast food restaurant. A woman comes in, visibly shaking with anger. Still, she’s polite to us, so we assume she’s angry at someone other than us. There are two of us here at the moment as it is shift changeover; normally only one person is there at a time.)

Customer: “I’ll have two doughnuts, please.”

Me: *hands over doughnuts* “That will be [price].”

Customer: “Do you have a phone number or website that I could register a complaint with?”

Me: “I’m the manager on duty; is there something I can help you with?”

Customer: “I was in here last week and the guy behind the counter was really rude to me! I asked for some doughnuts and he told me to eff off!”

Me: “I’m very sorry you had this experience, but there aren’t any men who work here. There’s only three of us, and we’re all females. Do you remember what time this was?”

Customer: “I was coming home from dropping my husband at the airport, so it was around 10:00 pm.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but I’m quite confused. We close at 8:00 pm and throw out remaining stock. Are you sure it was this store?”

Customer: *getting very angry now* “Yes! I took a photo and everything! He was really rude; you’re lucky I bothered coming back!”

Me: “I’ll direct you to our website where you’ll be able to register your complaint with the photo. I really don’t know what to say; as I explained, there’s only three females who work here and we close at 8:00 pm.”

(I called my boss and explained what had happened. As far as we both know, the customer never formally complained nor showed us the photo.)

(It’s early morning, and we are making ourselves some breakfast before we start working. One of my coworkers is of an ethnicity where the sharing of food is of utmost importance. She will not eat her food without offering it to others, even if she only just has enough for herself. She has just made herself some toast.)

Coworker #1: “[My Name], would you like some?” *holds out her plate*

Me: “No, thanks. You eat it.”

Coworker #1: *pushing plate towards me* “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

Me: “Yes, I am; I have my own food on the table.”

(Another coworker comes into the room.)

Coworker #1: “[Coworker #2], would you like some toast?” *holds out plate*

Coworker #2: “Yes, please. I didn’t get anything for breakfast today because I thought I was going to be late.” *reaches out for a piece*

(I watch in amusement as [Coworker #1]’s hand moves the plate away as it is reached for. [Coworker #2] puts down her hand.)

Coworker #1: “Aren’t you going to take it?”

(Again, [Coworker #1] pushes the plate towards [Coworker #2], and again the plate is withdrawn as [Coworker #2]’s hand moves towards it. [Coworker #2] has a confused look on her face as she puts her hand down.)

Me: “You can have some of mine; I still have more in the packet on the table.”

Coworker #2: “Thanks.” *starts moving towards the table*

Coworker #1: *starting to get agitated* “Why won’t you take some?”

Coworker #2: “I didn’t think you wanted me to have a piece.”

Coworker #1: “I’ve been trying to give you the whole plate and you won’t take it.”

Coworker #2: “I only wanted a piece.” *she is finally able to take a piece of toast*

(I could see that [Coworker #1] had no idea that she was doing what she had been doing; it was obvious that subconsciously she did not want to share!)

(I have put up with months of my manager coming in late to relieve me. When he’s on time, he sneaks in and goes straight to the office without telling me. It’s always a different excuse for being late, and when I do find him, he tells me he’s just about to come and find me. This usually means I’ve worked an extra half hour or more because I can’t leave until he takes over as manager. After getting an hour cut from my shift, I still find myself working until my original finishing time and not being paid for it because the budget doesn’t allow for extra. I finally have had enough, so I give my two weeks notice. It’s my last day, and I’ve noticed that it’s now ten minutes after my shift officially ended. I had been wondering whether I should just withdraw my resignation.)

Me: *thinking to myself* “It’s bad enough I’m working extra again; I don’t even work here now and I’m still working.”

(About five minutes later, I look up to see the manager coming in. It’s obvious he’s trying to avoid me seeing him.)

Me: *loudly* “Hi, [Manager]!”

Manager: *startled, almost spills the coffees he is carrying* “Oh, hi, [My Name]. I’m late, because I just got you a goodbye coffee.”

Me: “Oh, that’s nice of you. Thanks.” *takes a coffee to find it’s almost stone cold*

Manager: “I have to ask: do you really have to go? Can I talk you into staying?”

Me: *sips the cold coffee* “Hmmm… Nope”.

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