One of the managers has to take some time off for urgent “family matters”. The details are quite sad and you would think people would get on and do what they could to take the load off him or at least not give the guy more stress.

But not [Employee]. [Employee] doesn’t care about anything past his nose. I’ve had the joy of dealing with him while his actual manager spends most of his time at home.

Me: “[Employee], your numbers are terrible this month. What’s going on?”

He just shrugs.

Me: “No, seriously. You’ve done less than anyone. What’s the issue?”

Employee: “The machine keeps playing up.”

Me: “When did you highlight it?”

He just looks at me funny.

Me: “When did you tell someone that it was playing up”

Employee: “Not my job, is it?”

Me: “Your job, [Employee], is to follow the work instructions. On every work instruction is the contact details of maintenance, who it states must be contacted in case of issues with machinery.”

Employee: “No, it doesn’t, and even if it does, how am I supposed to contact them when I’m stood here?”

I get the work instruction, find the one he signed, and point out the bold print.

Me: “‘Contact maintenance on [number] or tell [Supervisor].’”

Employee: “Well, I didn’t see that.”

Me: “Nope, you saw it, and I know you’ve raised issues before. I’m passing you over for a write-up.”

Employee: “That’s bulls***. [Manager] would never write me up.”

Me: “Guess what? He’s not here. I am.”

Employee: “Well, I’ll call him.”

Me: “You dare, and I will have you written up for that, as well. He is not to be disturbed and you know d*** well why.”

He stormed off. I passed the details to Human Resources. As I was talking to them, they got a call from [Manager]. Apparently, [Employee] called him several times. When he answered and told him to stop calling, [Employee] hit him with a barrage of profanity.

The write-up I put forward wasn’t needed; they fired [Employee] without it. He was gone before the end of the day.

My local supermarket is inside a larger shopping centre. As I enter the centre, a bunch of teens are messing around on the stairs — jumping off, kicking things down it, and getting in people’s way.

I push my way through when they try to stop me but I can see others are intimidated by them, and my words do nothing.

I see the supermarket’s customer service desk and go over.

Me: “Hey, could you get security over to the stairs? A bunch of kids are being a nuisance.”

Worker: “Well, those aren’t owned by [Supermarket]; they are managed by [Shopping Centre].”

Me: “Yeah, but I’m guessing you have the ability to contact them?”

Worker: *Suddenly full of attitude* “Well, yeah, I guess. But it’s not my job.”

Me: “Your customers are being harassed, and you don’t feel bothered enough to make a phone call?! Is there someone else I can talk to?”

Worker: “Fine, whatever, I’ll do it.”

I stand and wait. She doesn’t move. Realising that I’m not going anywhere, she picks up the phone next to her, and without saying anything, she shortly puts down the phone.

Worker: “They’re coming.”

Me: “Great, I will wait.”

She huffs and picks up the phone again, pushes a button, and talks to someone. I can hear her describe what’s going on.

Worker: “Yeah, some kids or something.” *Pauses* “The stairs.” *Pauses* “Yeah, whenever. Don’t run down here.” *Pauses* “Yeah, someone is complaining.” 

She hangs up and turns to me.

Worker: *To me* “Happy now?”

Me: “Ecstatic, thank you.”

I did my shopping and exited by the stairs. I saw the same bunch of kids being seen to by a first-aider. Looks like one of their jumps landed badly. If only there was some way of preventing it.

In 2015, Italy banned plastic shopping bags from supermarkets, instead replacing them with a compostable version. In between the ban and the widespread presence of cloth-backed shopping bags, there was an awkward period of time where the only way most people could carry their groceries was inside compostable bags that weren’t as sturdy as the old ones, which often meant that, in order to not break them, you either had to live a short distance away from the supermarket or you had to have a car ready to plop the bags in.

As a teen at that time, I figured that the fastest way to solve the issue was to simply use an old backpack. The first few times, it all went smoothly, but one day:

Security Guard: “Stop right there. You can’t enter the supermarket with a rucksack.”

Me: *Nonplussed* “Uh… why? I didn’t see any sign telling me that.”

Security Guard: “It’s not obvious why?”

Me: “Not at all. In fact, nobody ever made a fuss before. What’s up with that?”

Security Guard: “Just because you could sneak out unseen before doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want, whenever you want.”

Me: *Frustrated* “What does that have to do with anything? I asked why I can’t bring in a rucksack inside anymore.”

Security Guard: *Facepalming* “You’re pretty dense. How could you get away with it before?”

It dawns on me that the guy thinks I am going to shoplift by shoving stuff inside my backpack and then leaving.

Me: “C’mon, man, have you seen the bags they give now? How can I carry them on my bike for two kilometers without them falling off?”

Security Guard: “You should be able to.”

Me: “Again, I want to shop, not to steal.”

Security Guard: “Yeah, right. Leave now, kid, while you still can.”

I was tempted to argue, but a glance at a nearby clock told me it was not worth the time. I turned my back and went to shop somewhere else. I know people in some areas shoplift a lot, even teens, but do they do it often enough to turn away people with backpacks on principle?

In the past few months, the real estate market has been crazy in my area. People being out of work and low-interest rates have brought around real estate investors looking to buy houses on the cheap and then rent them out.

My husband and I decided to take advantage of the lower rates and scored a sweet refinance deal. The following day, I get this call.

Caller: “Good afternoon, Ms. [My Name]. I’m [Caller] from [Company]. We’re looking to buy investment properties in your area and we’d really like to help you out. I understand you still owe [amount] on your home?”

Me: “Not anymore. We just refinanced.” 

Caller: “Oh… um… Was it for more than [amount]?” 

Me: “Oh, yeah. Looking forward to upgrading the place.” 

Caller: “Well… Um…” *Audibly shuffles papers around* “Was it more than six months ago?” 

Me: *Laughing* “We closed on it yesterday.” 

Caller: “Oh…” *Long pause* “I… um… don’t think we can help you, then.” 

Me: “Didn’t ask for your help.” 

The guy didn’t even say anything; he just sighed and hung up the phone.

It’s the last day of the big office move. We have 150 people, equipment, and stock all being transferred to new premises. A few of us are getting the last of the odds and ends. I’m stood in the doorway propping it open and talking to a coworker, checking we have got everything.

Woman: “Ugh, are you two going to do anything?!”

She shoves past us.

Me: “What’s her problem?”

Coworker: “Oh, yeah. She got caught not helping and was told off by [Big Boss].”

Me: “Well, she needs to wind her neck in. I’ve been here since five.”

It’s not long before she comes back, muttering how this is all a “waste of time”. She stomps right up to us.

Woman: “What exactly are you two doing? Apart from being a doorstop!”

Coworker: *Sighs* “We are doing a final sweep of the rooms to check everything is off and we have taken everything.”

Woman: “Pff, what’s the point in that?”

Me: “What’s the point in checking we have taken everything?” *Pauses* “To make sure we’ve not forgotten anything.”

Woman: “Did I ask you?! And I don’t need you to hold the door for me. I swear I’ve seen more use out of a—”

I don’t hear the rest of the sentence as I step away and let the door close in her face. This door is an old wooden door, normally not used as it sticks shut whenever it gets wet, like today. [Woman] bangs and shouts and curses, and then she bangs some more, all while we load the last of the stuff in the van.

Eventually, I get a call from my boss.

Boss: “What the h*** is going on down there? I’ve had [Woman] scream down the phone at me, saying you locked her in.”

Me: “I was just doing what I was told; she said she didn’t want me to hold the door for her.”

Boss: “Just let her out.”

Me: “There’s more than one door to the building; none of them are locked.”

Boss: “Just let her out, please.”

I went back to the building and opened the double doors not fifteen meters from her, and she pushed past me again with a variety of insults. I know she complained about me, but she did so while also swearing at her boss, so it went nowhere.