I worked at an indie movie theater. I was enjoying a nice, fancy dinner with my husband when someone at the table next to me recognized me.

After a brief, but friendly acknowledgment, the guy thought that it was an appropriate time to quiz me.

Man: “Hey, can you tell me what movies you’re showing, and what they’re about?”

My mom orders a diet service that mails you pre-made meals you heat up. Due to a light dusting of snow, her order is delayed. She has been waiting ALL DAY for her package and hasn’t eaten anything, and when it finally arrives… it’s not her order.

We’re Mary Smith at [Address] Street, and the box says Jane Smythe [Same Addess] Court. Mom calls the company while I prowl the White Pages looking for Jane’s number. I get lucky; she’s listed! Sadly, she has NO package.

I drive the mile and a smidge to her house to give Jane her food because it’s faster and easier than Jane getting a credit, reordering all her food, and getting it next week.

Meanwhile, Mom manages to get the company to call the driver to turn around; he still has our package! He gets to our house after 6:00.

Delivery Driver: “Okay, here’s your right package! Where is the other package?”

Mom: “Oh, my daughter already delivered it.”

Delivery Driver: “Why would she do that?!”

Mom: “It was close by and we didn’t know when you would get here.”

Delivery Driver: “But we get paid by the package!”

Mom: “But you delivered the wrong package. You wanted to be paid twice for delivering the same package?”

The delivery driver mumbled something and walked away. Seriously?

One day, I decided to buy a fancy iced drink from a popular coffee shop chain at a location inside a grocery store. I wasn’t familiar with their menu, so I asked whether the “lite” drink contained artificial sweeteners; I didn’t know if lite meant low-calorie or low-fat. They said that drink did not have artificial sweeteners, so I ordered it.

Once I got my drink, we continued grocery shopping. I tasted the drink and the flavor was good, but by the time we got to the back of the grocery store, I could tell something wasn’t quite right. My tongue started tingling and felt numb. I wondered if it did have artificial sweeteners and tossed out the rest of the drink.

After I got home and put away the groceries, I looked up the ingredients online and found out that the lite drink did indeed have artificial sweeteners. Back then, I wasn’t a very assertive person, but I was upset about being told the wrong information. I called the main number for the coffee shop chain to complain.

The customer service representative who answered the phone listened to my story. I was expecting an apology, an offer to refund my money, or at least a coupon to try a different drink flavor. But when I complained about my tongue going numb — which could have been an allergic reaction — the response from the representative was:

Representative: “Oh, yeah, that’s happened to me before, too.”

That was it.

I was so shocked by the lack of concern that I hung up without pressing them further.

It’s been over ten years now, and I still refuse to buy anything from that coffee chain, even though that location is within walking distance from my house.

When I was in middle school, my church worship team was invited to perform a set at a downtown music festival. As expected, our leaders had to tell the organizers what instruments and equipment we had so the techs could properly hook us up.

Enter me, the percussionist. We already had a drummer on a kit, but I kept the beat and played whatever other instrument had to be played. Maracas? My job. Bongos? No problem. Slamming chains on an upside-down metal washbin? Loved it.

But my main instrument was the weird hippie stepchild of the percussion family: the cajon. It was basically a drum that you sat on to play. If not for the instrument company logo on the front, you’d think it was some sort of alternative-style chair. To play it, I had to sit with my legs apart, lean forward, and slap the panel for every beat. Weird as it was, it was a necessary component.

When we got to the festival, everyone else was getting hooked up. Absolutely no one was paying a shred of attention to me, but I was used to it and just trying to stay out of the way of everyone who had more finicky instruments and equipment.

While the announcers kept the crowd entertained, radio host style, we started filing out onstage. Everyone else set up, I carried my cajon onstage, put it down, and sat in preparation to play.

Cue an extremely flustered tech running onstage after me. Utterly confused as to why he was heading for me and not one of the guitarists or vocalists, I really didn’t say anything.

Tech: “You have a cajon? Nobody told me we had a cajon!”

He set up a mic where it would best pick up my cajon. That was the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone set up a microphone, even if he was muttering about how “Nobody told me there was a cajon!” the whole time.

Because of my history of mental health problems, I’m on disability benefits. I work part-time for a local mental health charity, usually about twelve hours a week. I get a text message from the Department of Work and Pensions telling me I have a jobseeker’s appointment scheduled and must attend. I talk to the online Universal Credit Journal to get clarification since this shouldn’t be necessary.

Me: “I got a text saying I have an appointment on [date]. I am not available that day and am not supposed to need appointments as I have limited capacity to work.”

Employee: “Failure to attend can cause a delay or suspension to your benefits.”

Me: “I cannot attend that date; you’ll have to reschedule. Also, I would prefer a telephone appointment.”

Days go past with no further replies, and the appointment is only a few days away. Several years earlier, I was too ill to attend an appointment and the DWP cut off my benefits. I eventually won a tribunal appeal and had my benefits reinstated, but it was a lot of stress and took over two years before I received the back pay owed. Obviously, I’m not keen to go through that again.

Me: “Please note that I have given plenty of advance notice that I cannot attend on [date]. This is not a failure to attend. I am not a jobseeker. I am not seeking employment. I have been told by doctors and psychiatrists not to seek further or alternative employment. I am able to work part-time at [Local Charity] as they specialise in working with those suffering from mental health issues and are uniquely able to support an employee who does. This has all been made clear to the DWP multiple times. Given that the DWP has been responsible for several of my mental health problems in the last fifteen to twenty years, I would prefer not to visit the job centre as it is highly likely to result in an anxiety attack. We are also in the middle of an extremely serious health crisis, in case you weren’t aware. Please acknowledge receipt and understanding of this message, and if an interview is needed, contact me to arrange a telephone appointment.”

I eventually get a reply saying simply:

Employee: “I will phone you on [alternative date].”

I have a lot of stress and anxiety about this. Finally, the appointment comes.

Employee: “Hi. We just wanted to check you were all right since we haven’t had any recent contact. That’s all, bye.”

All that stress and messing about and making me ill just to check if I’m okay? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Department of Wankers and Pillocks.