(Every few days, a printing press needs to be shut down and cleaned because the ink spatters all over where it isn’t meant to be. The workers climb inside and wipe everything with solvent-soaked rags. Since it is a messy task, we put on disposable impermeable hooded jumpsuits [Tyveks AKA whitesuits], and since these factories are very hot, it’s common to take off your uniform to keep it free of sweat and solvent, and just go into the whitesuit in your underwear. The change rooms are a pain to get to; you have to cross the entire huge building, go upstairs, and come halfway back. Since it is 99% men working there, sometimes the guys just quickly go down to their boxers in some quiet corner and hope no woman walks by. As one of the rare women, I have to be a bit more private. I slip into this tiny closet that has a urinal in it; no running water, no sink. It is just a urinal that someone has connected to a drain [the bathrooms are too far away, too, so I guess people got desperate]. I have to move very carefully so I don’t get my clothes dirty, but I do it and swiftly get at my cleaning task. Later that day my supervisor calls me into the office and, WITHOUT EVEN CLARIFYING THAT THE GOSSIP HE’s HEARD IS TRUE, starts in on me about my inappropriate behavior.)

Supervisor: “Maybe you like the attention, but it’s not professional to give the guys a ‘show!’”

Me: “Huh?”

Supervisor: “[Guy I thought was my friend] told me! You changed clothes right in the middle of the factory floor instead of in the bathroom or change-room!”

Me: “Yes, I suppose technically I did… INSIDE the urinal closet. Why would I want pervs staring at me?!”

(I never even got an apology from either my boss for assuming the worst about me, or my “friend” for spreading rumors that made me seem indecent. That’s the reward I get for enduring the stench in that little closet, to save the company the ten minutes’ wasted time for me to walk to the proper change-room.)

(I work in quality control. Part of my role is to manage the calibrated equipment we need to measure the parts we make. Some of it can be shockingly expensive due to how accurate it is; add to this the cost of having it calibrated every year by a laboratory and the cost can really stack up. When someone from maintenance maintenance needs to borrow a set of slip gauges, small metal blocks, I am reluctant, but my boss overrides me and makes me give them to him. I am still worried, so I chase him up at the end of the day.)

Me: “Hey, have you finished with those slip gauges?”

Maintenance: “What? No, we’re still using them.”

Me: “Well, when will you finish with them? I need to make sure they get returned.”

Maintenance: “I don’t know, a week or two.”

Me: “What? We need them in inspection. Why do you need them for so long?”

Maintenance: “They’re keeping the machine level!”

(I made him show me; he had wedged several of the slips under a tonne of machinery. These little blocks cost between £30 and £120 each and are only ever supposed to be handled with gloves. He and my boss both got reprimanded, and the site had to buy them all again, and then pay again for calibration.)

(My job involves safety training for the employees, but most people in the company see it as a waste of resources. I’ve had to come up with very strong arguments against their attitude.)

Coworker #1: “I have to go to [Industrial Plant with very strict safety rules] next month.”

Me: “You’ll need an escape mask. Before you go, remind me to show you how to use it.”

Coworker #2: “Isn’t it excessive? She’s only staying one day!”

Me: “And the Titanic only made one cruise…”

(I am “the IT guy” for a large distribution center with lots of automation and machinery. I am checking the wireless network signal in a work module that has three floors of product racks crammed into a two-story building, with conveyor belts running through it to boot. I finish in the back of the module and decide to use the back stairway instead of walking back through the crowded module, but the door is jammed shut. Walking back to the front, I meet the head of security.)

Guard: “Hey, [My Name], did you open that back stairwell door?”

Me: “I tried, but it was stuck and wouldn’t open more than an inch or so.”

Guard: “That’s a fire exit door, so when it gets opened we have an alarm go off in the monitoring station. We would’ve called the fire department, except there was only a single door in alarm.”

Me: “Sorry, didn’t know.”

(There were no “emergency exit” signs on the door, or any other indicators that it was a fire exit. The guard and I begin going our separate ways, then I stop and call back to him.)

Me: “Hey, [Guard], seeing as how that’s a fire exit door, is the fact that it wouldn’t open a problem?”

Guard: *look of startled realization creeps across his face* “I think I’ll call maintenance.”

(I usually work in the factory, but on this day I am replacing our sales person who is sick, when a customer comes in.)

Customer: “I need someone to come to my house and take the measures for the windows I want to order, but they can only come after four in the evening because I am at work until then.”

(I set it all up and tell her our technician will call her and come by next day after four. The next day, the lady returns.)

Customer: “What kind of a business is this?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “You said someone would come to my house and take the measurements. Why hasn’t anyone come?”

Me: “Didn’t you say that we can’t reach you before four o’clock?”

Customer: “So?”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s half past two.”

Customer: “Well, I got off early.”