(I work nights, but I run a business on the side making jewellery and trinkets. As such, I tend to get a lot of deliveries during the day when I am asleep. My post people know this, and are really good at either knocking loudly to wake me when they need signatures or leaving it in one of our agreed safe places. They are also very understanding that I answer the door dishevelled, pyjama-clad, and largely unable to communicate. One day, after a long shift, I have been asleep for about three hours when there comes a loud knocking. I stumble out of bed, manage to get the keys in the door, and locate a smile to greet the post person at the door, as I have already spotted their uniform red shirt and logo through the glass. I notice right away that the woman staring me down is not only not one of my normal post people, but that she has a look on her face not dissimilar to the way one would greet a rancid dog poop that had just made unwanted contact with their favourite pair of shoes. I just brush it off as she thrusts the signing computer at me, and I scribble on it, waiting for her to give me my package so I can get back to bed. Instead of doing this, her look intensifies for an extended moment before she speaks.)

Postwoman: “You know, people like you make me sick.”

Me: *half asleep still* “Huh?”

Postwoman: “Sleeping all f****** day whilst honest people do honest work. Spending your benefits online.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Postwoman: “Just take your benefit-bought s***.”

(She violently thrust the package my way, and I managed to catch it in time. I was still too sleepy to actually form a proper reply to her words. This was lucky for her, because I have a temper, and I’d have probably shouted her ears off. Needless to say, though, I was on the phone to the depot in seconds, and I’m sure there was one heck of a telling-off for her when she got back for her next pickup. I think it may even have gotten her fired or reassigned to a different area, as I have not seen her in the week or two since the event.)

(I get off the bus and run into some British Heart Foundation volunteers offering free CPR training.)

BHF: “Hi there. Do you have eight minutes to learn how to save a life?”

Old Couple: “Oh, no, thanks, dear. We’ve lived enough already!”

(I work as an advisor at a bank. It is Halloween and we are all dressing up. Due to an accident as a child, I had to have my right leg removed just below the knee. I use this to my full advantage and usually dress up as a pirate, with an actual peg leg instead of my usual prosthetic. I am waiting for my two pm appointment when I hear a lot of shouting outside my office. I hobble to the door and open it.)

Customer: “THIS IS ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS THAT YOU REFUSE TO ACCEPT MY DISABILITY!”

(She turns to me and looks at my peg leg. She stares at it in horror before running out of the building.)

Me: “Wow, I wish I could run that fast… What’s going on?”

Manager: *who is dressed as one of the Village People* “Your two o’clock.”

Me: “What’s the problem?”

Manager: “She said she had a disability and demanded a wheelchair.”

Me: “We don’t have wheelchairs.”

Manager: “That’s what I told her, and offered her a seat, instead. She took offense to it and started shouting. Then you came out and—” *looks at my leg* “—scared her away.”

(She made another appointment a week later and came in in a wheelchair, with smugness the likes of which I had never seen before. She couldn’t navigate herself into my office, despite it being wheelchair-friendly, and in frustration she stood up, picked the chair up, and threw it across the room, cracking several of the floor tiles. She refused to pay for the repair work because again, we refused to accept her disability, before running out of the building again. She finally did pay, but made one final appointment to close her accounts. Her reason: for the third time, we refused accept her disability. We still don’t know what her disability was meant to be, but after all of this we suspect it may have been mental.)

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Long ago, when I worked short day shifts in a local shop, I would leave my dog at home during the day and pop in to let him out mid-shift. He was always perfectly behaved, and never chewed anything or bothered the neighbors. I was therefore surprised one day to return home and find that he had shredded my post for the day. This happened two further days running, and I then received a warning from my local post office that my dog had “been threatening” towards the postman, and that I would need to secure him away from the letterbox or ensure he was not in the house alone if I wished for deliveries to continue. He is a gentle giant, who has never growled, barked, or shown any sign of aggression towards anyone; in fact he normally loves to say, “Hi,” to delivery folks.

Nonetheless, despite being puzzled by this, I restricted my dog’s access to the front door, got a post-cage just in case, and carried on the rest of the week until my days off. On my first day off following the warning, just for the sake of my own curiosity, I permitted the dog to react to the postman putting letters through the slot with full access to the door. Lo and behold, the postman arrived, and I heard him calling the dog, tapping on the door, and rattling the slot. I peeked out from the living room to see he was waving the letters around as though he was actively trying to get the dog to eat them.

The guy was actually trying to make the dog eat my mail and react to him.

Next day, I lay in wait with my camera and recorded the entire incident. I took the video up to the depot, asked to speak to the manager, and showed it to him. It turned out the same guy had been the one to complain that my dog had “been threatening” to him.

To this day I have no idea why someone would do this, and my dog never ate another letter. I also have no idea if they fired or retrained the postman in question, but I really hope so.

(I work at a very small, very busy convenience store. It’s my first day at the register:)

Customer: “A £10 top-up for [Mobile Phone Network].”

Me: *prints out voucher, takes payment, and hands voucher to customer along with receipt* “There you go. Take care.”

(Two minutes later, the customer storms back into the store, barges to the front of the queue, and starts yelling.)

Customer: “Where’s my f****** top-up? All you gave me was the receipt!”

Me: “I can assure you, I gave you the voucher, too. I checked it as I handed it to you.”

Customer: “So, where is it now? You didn’t give it to me!”

Me: “I have no idea. Maybe you dropped it? All I can tell you is that I’m certain I handed you the voucher.”

(At this point both of us notice a small piece of paper by the shop door. The customer picks it up. It turns out to be a mobile phone voucher. I’m expecting an apology. Shows how new I am.)

Customer: “How do I know this is mine?”

Me: “Is it for £10 and [Mobile Phone Network]?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “…”

(The customer stomped out.)