My company recently bought some at-home tests for a certain contagious illness. I am NOT a medical professional, but I have somehow been elected to the glorious position of contact tracing anyone who takes a test.

[Employee] comes to my office with his mask below his chin, sniffling and wiping his nose with his hand. I hold out a box of tissues and pinch my own mask tighter.

Me: “Pull your mask up.”

Employee: “I need a test.”

Me: “That’s fine, but you need to wear your mask while you’re not testing.”

Employee: “Ugh. Fine.” *Pulls it up under his nose* “Happy?”

Me: “No. Do it right.”

He makes a show of pulling his mask up properly and pinching the nose.

Employee: “Okay?!”

Me: “Yes, thank you. Read and sign this, please.”

I hand him the form everyone has to sign to take one of these tests. Basically, it states that we are not medical professionals and this is not an official diagnosis but more of a guideline toward the next steps. It also states that if the test comes back positive, he will seek a second test paid for by our company at a medical facility, and if it comes back negative, it is up to him to decide if he wants a second test, which the company will also pay for. He signs and tosses the paper back at me.

Employee: “This is stupid. It’s probably just a cold. [Employee #2] is out there acting like I have the plague.”

Me: “You can take the test at that seat over there and wait for the results.”

[Employee] does as he is told. He waits for the timer before looking.

Employee: “This is bulls***. Give me another one.”

Me: “It’s positive?”

Employee: “Give me another one.”

Me: “No, you need to follow policy and go get tested at a testing site. I can book—”

Employee: “Give me another f****** test!”

Me: “Do you not trust that test?”

Employee: “No! It’s probably pre-programmed to say positive!”

Me: “Then what makes you think the next one won’t say the same thing?”

Employee: “I’m not going to get another test.”

Me: “[Employee], you don’t really have a choice. Can you provide proof of vaccination?”

Employee: “That’s none of your f****** business.”

It is, in this case, because it’s part of contact tracing, and the time he would have to quarantine is different depending on whether or not he is vaccinated.

Me: “Okay. I’ll just submit this report to Human Resources saying you aren’t willing to answer.”

[Employee] sat in the chair, glaring and sniffling. He wiped his nose one last time with the palm of his hand and, without breaking eye contact, wiped that snotty hand on the arm of the chair before leaving. I called building security to escort him from the property and notified HR that we had a potential positive case and that he refused to answer my question.

He tried to come back to work later that day and several other days, but he was refused access until he provided a negative test result. He never came back. I read the report from HR and found that he was not only unvaccinated, but he had also purchased a fake vaccine card to shorten his quarantine period. He was consequently released from his duties at our company.

I am a stay-at-home mom. I’m trying to make my toddler lunch and then get her down for a nap. My husband is currently working from home since his office hasn’t reopened. Someone knocks on the door. I answer and it’s a solicitor. We do have a “no solicitors” sign.

Solicitor: “My name is [Solicitor] and I’m with [Window Company]—”

I put my hand up slightly and cut him off. 

Me: “Hey, sorry. Right now really isn’t a good time. We’re not interested. We don’t own the house and can’t afford to buy new windows.”

I go to shut the door. He looks at me, annoyed. 

Solicitor: “Can I speak to the man of the household?”

I just stare at him before slightly chuckling. 

Me: “Excuse me? I am perfectly capable of speaking for this household, and I guarantee that I’m being a lot nicer than my husband would be. Now, get off my porch.”

He ended up coming back a few days later, and my husband answered the door. He immediately told him that I had already given an answer and slammed the door in his face.

A few years ago, I worked as a contractor. My main client was based over 100 miles away from my home address, so I split my time between a flat (apartment) that I rented closer to their offices and my home. The road infrastructure around their location was frankly awful, so I decided to start taking the train there and leaving my car at home.

One week, I returned home to find that someone had hit my car and damaged the front bumper quite severely. Of course, they hadn’t been kind enough to leave their information, so I had to submit a “no-fault” claim through my insurance.

As the car was driveable, I was asked to take it to a local dealership for an initial assessment.

On arrival on the day of my appointment, I spoke to a member of the service team, and after they couldn’t find my booking, we realised that I had gone to the wrong branch. Both sites were part of a chain of third-party used and new car dealerships in the UK and I had misread my appointment information. However, the service manager told me that they could squeeze me in and do the initial assessment for my claim and that they didn’t know why I had been told to take it to a dealer so far from my home address anyway.

Oh, how naïve I was.

A week later, I phoned the insurance company to ask for an update on my claim and had the following conversation with one of their agents.

Agent: “Apologies, sir, but there seems to be some confusion. According to my notes, we have you down as a no-show at your appointment?”

Me: “Oh, yes, sorry. I got the location wrong, but I took the car to another branch of the same dealership and they completed the assessment for me. They told me that they would contact the original location and sort this all out. Have they not sent the info through?”

Agent: “Hmmm, it doesn’t seem like it, but let me look into this and call you back.”

Twenty-four hours later…

Agent: “Hello, sir. I’ve looked into this, and I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I’ve spoken to the dealership that did your inspection and have found your paperwork. Unfortunately, though, the bad news is that they were not qualified to complete the inspection and we’ll need you to bring the car back in for another appointment.”

Me: “What do you mean, they’re not qualified? They are part of the same chain and told me that they could do the inspection!”

Agent: “Ah, yes, I’m afraid that, although they are part of the same chain, we vet individual branches, and whilst I am sure the branch has been certified by other insurers, they aren’t certified by us, so we can’t accept their report.”

Me: “I appreciate that this isn’t your fault, but you can imagine that I’m not happy about this. Fair enough, it was my mistake initially, but they assured me that they could do this report, and I specifically told them who my insurance was with. Surely, they should have known that their work wouldn’t be accepted?”

Agent: “Well, I’ve spoken with the head of their service team, and they told me that you took it to them of your own free will, so they don’t think they are at fault here. Frankly, they want to bill us or you for their work.”

Me: “Well, yes, it’s fair to say that nobody forced me to take my car to them, but that does rather overlook the fact that they told me that they were qualified to do work they were uncertified to complete, doesn’t it?”

Agent: “I agree. I’ve spoken to my management, and we are going to push back on paying them on the basis that they shouldn’t have accepted the job in the first place. Unfortunately, though, we do still need you to take the car to our certified dealer.”

Eventually, I got my car inspected and repaired. In the end, I did have to pay the excess on my policy, but at least the uncertified dealer withdrew their efforts to charge for the initial assessment. I hope karma bit whoever hit my car in the first place hard, though!

I order sleeves for cards on the Internet. The seller ships them to my house and provides me with a tracking number. On a Thursday, I get a text from the delivery company informing me that my package will be delivered the next day. Since I won’t be home that day, I use their online service to switch the delivery to a nearby shop where I can pick it up when I come back.

I do so the next Monday. The clerk hands me what seems to be a very large and heavy package for sleeves, but I figure the seller just padded it down with stuff to avoid any damage.

I get home and open it. It’s a drill battery and its charger. I snap a pic and send it to the seller with several question marks before actually having a look at the packaging. It has been obviously relabeled. I say “obviously” because not only does it have a second label peeking from under the top one but it also has an additional label that says, “Relabeled for pickup by [Delivery Company]”.

Before I call the company’s helpline, I figure I can check the pickup place first. I go back there and sprain my ankle on the way, but the clerk can’t do anything for me. I limp back home and call the helpline. I explain to them that I got someone else’s relabeled package.

Employee #1: “You must contact the seller. They labeled your package wrong.”

Me: “No, you don’t get it.”

I reexplain that it was relabeled.

Employee #1: “You must contact the seller. They labeled your package wrong.”

Me: “But you guys relabeled it!”

Employee #1: “You must contact the seller. They labeled your package wrong. [Delivery Company] does not relabel packages.”

I give up, hang up, and call again, hoping to be put through to someone who can go a bit further than reading from a script tree. I have no such luck and get the exact same response. Exasperated that I seem to be the only one trying to fix [Delivery Company]’s mistake, I ask to be put through to a manager.

Employee #2: “But ma’am, they’ll just tell you the same thing I’m telling you!”

Me: “I don’t really care. Please transfer me.”

Employee #2: “All right, please hold.” *Hangs up*

I’m kind of fuming by this point between having been hung up on, spraining my ankle, and not getting my actual package. I Google the battery, find out it’s three times as expensive as my sleeves, and decide to sell it on eBay to recoup my losses.

The next day, I get woken up by the doorbell. I have to point out that I sleep naked and am almost literally blind without my contacts. I answer the intercom and hear:

Voice: “Hello. Can you come down? I have a package for you.”

Still limping, I rush to put on a T-shirt and pants, completely foregoing underwear in order to save the delivery driver some time. I also don’t put contacts in. I hobble my way down two flights of stairs and across my courtyard. I am handed a package that feels much more like the one I expected, and I sign for it.

Driver: “Next time, can you please hurry? I had to wait for you for too long!”

I leave without saying a word to avoid murdering the idiot.

For a week, I forget about the whole thing. Then, the phone rings.

Caller: “Hello, Miss [My Name]?”

Me: “Yeah?”

Caller: “I am [Caller], head of the local [Delivery Company] branch. I am calling you today because you might help me to locate a package.”

Do you mean the package that I called to try and give back to you guys but you hung up on me? That package?

Me: “How so?”

Caller: “You did pick up a package from [Pick-Up Place], right?”

Me: “Yep.”

Caller: “See, we assume there has been a relabeling mistake. Did you pick up one or two packages?”

Me: “Only one, sir.”

That’s true; the second one was delivered to me.

Caller: “Oh? That’s weird. We have two pick-ups in our system. What a mess!”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, but I don’t think I can be of much help, I’m afraid!”

Caller: “Nah, it’s okay. Now we know for sure that it must be at [Pick-Up Place]. Sorry for bothering you. Have a nice day!”

I wanted nothing more than to be able to help him. However, he was calling about a relabeling mistake, and I know for a fact that [Delivery Company] does not relabel packages!

I come from a country that has weird expectations of women’s bodies. I have always been a chubby girl. I was taunted my entire childhood for that, and after pregnancy, I have gained some more weight. I have always been on various diets and exercises, and my weight fluctuates like the weather.

I have moved temporarily to London and am clothes shopping one day. It’s a beautiful high-end shop known for good collections of formal clothes. Every design that I like is not available in my size, and naturally, I am upset about it. A shop assistant comes up to help me.

Clothes shopping has never been fun for me at all, so I am apprehensive to ask for help. I am also worried that I may offend her by declining help.

Me: *Timidly* “Umm… I am not finding anything that fits me well.”

Employee: “What size are you looking at?”

Me: “I am not very familiar with the sizes here. Eight or ten seems too small and sixteen and above is a little too big. I am guessing twelve to fourteen may be my size but I am not sure. There aren’t many options in that size range.”

Employee: “Well, ma’am, that’s a popular size range in work attires. This is the middle of summer and peak shopping season; we usually run out of those sizes pretty soon, but I can check our system and let you know if we have any in stock in our store or any nearby stores. If you are sure, we can place them on hold, too. Do you want to do that?”

I was surprised that A) she did not judge me, B) she is happy to help, and C) if my size is popular, then there are many women like me, so I am not abnormally huge! With these thoughts in my head, I show her a few designs that I like and she gets a few of them for me to try on. When I am done making my choices and am leaving with my purchase, I summon the courage to thank her.

Me: “Thanks so much for your help! You have no idea how incredibly helpful you have been.”

Employee: “No problem at all, ma’am! I am glad you found something you liked.”

Me: “Well, that’s the point. I usually never find anything in my size. I have had people mock at me for not being slim. Clothes shopping for people like me is a nightmare. You’ve made it so much easier today.”

Employee: “I don’t know why anyone would make you think like that! Most women I have met are in this size range, but we really shouldn’t limit ourselves by our bodies.”

I got really emotional because of her words. We talked a bit about body shaming and such. I had never felt so empowered about my body.

I am slowly on the path to accepting myself for who I am rather than by what society wants me to be. I maintain a healthy lifestyle and am still no skinny person, but I have stopped worrying about my weight when I occasionally decide to indulge. It’s a long journey of self-acceptance, but thanks to that kind lady who gave me the much-needed confidence. I can never forget her!