When I was very young, probably three or four, I couldn’t tell time. All of the clocks in our house were analog at the time, so it wasn’t really unusual, but it meant I had to just trust my parents when they told me how long something was going to take.

One morning I was up early, as young children sometimes are, and my dad was supposed to do something with me that day, but he was still in bed. I went in to wake him, and he told me to give him “five more minutes.”

Periodically, I would pop back in to ask if it had been five minutes yet — obviously not entirely clear on what those five minutes were meant to be used for — and was told no each time.

Finally, on about the fifth return to his room and being told it had not been five minutes yet, I loudly exclaimed that this was the longest five minutes ever.

My dad’s laughter finally got him up out of bed, and it wasn’t until much later that I realized that his “five minutes” had likely lasted closer to an hour.

(After my freshman year in college, I get a summer internship in a lab. I’m doing pretty basic stuff, but as an eighteen-year-old with hardly any experience, it seems pretty cool. During my second week, I break a small piece of equipment, completely my fault.)

Me: “Uh, [Coworker #1]? I broke the pH meter probe.”

Coworker #1: “Oh, that’s okay. I’ll go grab another; I’ll show you how to replace it. Wait here.”

([Coworker #1] leaves to go to the storage room to find a new probe while I stand there waiting.)

Coworker #2: *walks in* “What are you doing? Why aren’t you testing these samples?”

Me: “I broke the pH meter probe; [Coworker #1] is getting a new one.”

Coworker #2: “You what? You broke it? Do you have any idea how expensive these are?! This is coming out of your paycheck! These things are like $400!”

Me: “What?!”

Coworker #2: “Yeah. You break it, you buy it.”

Me: “It was an accident!”

Coworker #2: “Doesn’t matter. Be more careful next time. You’ll never get a job if you break stuff all the time.”

(He goes to his bench and [Coworker #1] comes back.)

Me: “Are these really $400?”

Coworker #1: “Huh? Yeah, I guess.”

(He shows me how to replace the probe and I finish my work. When I go home, I calculate how long it’ll take me to pay off this $400 probe, at $6.70 an hour: about a week and a half! I’m pretty frustrated. The next day:)

Coworker #1: “Hey, did [Coworker #2] tell you that you have to pay for the pH probe you broke yesterday?”

Me: “Yeah, he did. Don’t worry; I’ll be more careful! This won’t happen again.”

Coworker #1: “That a**hole. You don’t have to pay for it! Don’t worry about it.”

Coworker #2: *leans out from his lab bench* “I can’t believe you bought that!” *laughs maniacally*

(Ever since then, when I train people, I urge them to be careful but make sure they know they don’t have to pay to replace things broken by accident!)

(My friend loves cats; her husband does not. After much discussion they agree to adopt one, but they must both agree on the cat. At the shelter they are introduced to many cats, but my friend’s husband isn’t too keen on any of them. Then, my friend notices one last cage tucked away in the corner, which turns out to belong to a timid little grey female. The shelter employee opens up the cage so they can interact with her, but as my friend’s husband reaches in to pet her the tiny, wide-eyed girl lets out a fearful hiss. My friend fears this is that is the end of that, but instead he turns to her with a wide grin.)

Husband: “I like this one; she sounds like Darth Vader!”

(They took her home that day. Three years later, she is still the undisputed queen of their house and the perfect cat for them.)

(My friend and her husband are traveling for vacation. My friend works for an international fast food company writing training manuals and tweaking ingredient amounts for certain food and drink items. They successfully make it through airport security and are gathering their belongings on a bench thirty feet away to head to the gate. When she is putting her laptop back in the case, she feels something odd inside. She pulls out a large ginsu knife.)

Husband: “Uh, honey? What is that doing in your bag?”

Friend: “Oh, my gosh! I forgot to empty my bag from the [Company] conference! I was doing a demonstration with the knife, and I put it in here to bring home and never took it out!”

Husband: “How did TSA miss that?!”

Friend: “I don’t know! What should I do?”

Husband: “There’s a trash barrel. Quickly! Put it in there!”

(They gathered their belongings, knife hidden underneath her jacket, ran up to the trash barrel, and threw it away. I wonder what else gets missed.)

(I work as a contracted security guard at a university. My company’s posting is at one of the university’s newest acquisitions, a former corporate campus. Staff and faculty move in slowly over several months. This takes place one day while I am out on my rounds; I discover that a previously empty section is now occupied.)

Woman: “Excuse me, you can’t be up here.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Woman: “I said you’re not allowed to be up here. You have to go.”

(I gesture to the keys and radio on my belt.)

Me: “Ma’am, I am Security Officer [My Name] from the main gate-“

Woman: “Yeah, you’re contractors, right? So, you’re not supposed to be where we are.”

Me: “That’s not true. We can—“

Woman: “No, your place is at the gate. Not where we’re working.”

(A few of the other people in the department hear her and chime in that they agree.)

Me: “I see. Well, regardless of how you feel seeing us around, we’re allowed to be here.”

Woman: “But I said–“

Me: “Part of our duties requires us to go on patrol and check to make sure that not only is everything all right, but to help anyone who asks. That means that we have access everywhere and are allowed to go everywhere. That ensures that we can get to any emergency at any time. Also, contractors are not any less important than ‘real’ employees; we’re usually the first ones anyone calls.”

Woman: “You’re not Public Safety. You’re not real security.”

(I finally lose my patience.)

Me: “My $300 security guard license says otherwise.”

(I walked away, the woman still talking angrily. I notified my site supervisor, who pulled me off of rounds and went up to the new department herself. She experienced the exact same thing I did, and took down the names of every single person in that area. My supervisor then filed a harassment complaint with Public Safety, who made the ENTIRE department take a harassment and sensitivity course. You bet they were sunshine and rainbows the next time we saw them!)