I am rather new to the IT industry. I have been out of college for about a year and am looking for a more full-time or professional position. I apply for a position at an auction and publishing company. Before I even get the interview lined up, I have to take an hour-long knowledge test and an hour-long programming skills test. After that, I get an in-person interview. I am instructed to arrive an hour early and I had about a two-hour drive to get to the location.

I’m a woman, so I wear nice black pants, a button-up shirt, and a blazer over it, kind of like a relaxed women’s suit. When I finally get into the interview, I am getting strange vibes from the interviewer. We get through some questions, and then she loudly sighs.

Interviewer: “Is this how you usually dress?”

I am visibly shocked because I am dressed professionally.

Me: “What do you mean?

Interviewer: “All women are required to wear dresses, knee-length or a bit longer.”

I laugh, thinking she is joking. She doesn’t react.

Me: “Is that the policy for the sales floor?”

They do a lot of in-person sales, so I could kind of understand this policy for them.

Interviewer: “No. That’s for everyone. If you work here, you must wear a dress every day.”

This is an IT job that includes quite a bit of dirty work, like running wire under raised floors — quite a bit of crawling around.

The interviewer seems offended that I would question this policy.

Interviewer: “To look professional, all women must wear dresses. Pants make women look tall and less feminine.”

WHAT?!

I just kind of go along with the rest of the interview and ask the receptionist about it as I am leaving. It isn’t just this interviewer.

Receptionist: “Yes, that is the company policy. We even get lectured if our dresses are too long or too short; they must be around knee-length. And the dresses must be paired with heels. The only exception is if you’re pregnant.”

This was in a midwestern US state, so yes, they had to wear dresses and heels when it was cold and snowy. No exceptions, except for pregnancy.

I was so glad I didn’t get a call back from that place.

In hindsight, I should have raised more of a fuss with the interviewer, but I was young and still had the idea that if I said something wrong, it could ruin my career.

Since then, I’ve gotten a Master’s in cybersecurity and I now have a job that I love. It was so refreshing to go into a field where employers are excited to hire me and treat it as an opportunity for both of us instead of just a “privilege for me to work for them.”

This story is part of our International Women’s Day roundup!

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I’m repairing two damaged cables for a major telecom provider, both on the same piece of equipment. It’s important to note that the nature of our work doesn’t allow for advance notice of outages.

I’m doing my work up on my ladder and my colleague is dealing with another issue a couple hundred metres down the same street.

I glance down and see a police car sitting across the street from me and another one further down where my colleague is. I think nothing of it and keep doing my work. I look down again a few minutes later and they’re parked together conversing. They’re there for a good twenty minutes in total. 

Again, I think nothing of it and finish what we need to do. The next day, my boss calls me.

Boss: “Did you happen to talk to or see a couple of police officers at that job on [Street] yesterday? Apparently, some woman called 911 because her TV cut out.”

I have a nine-to-five salaried job with overtime pay. I’m living in Europe, and in my country, this is the standard. The job is okay and the colleagues and the working environment are nice. Even my boss is competent and nice. My office has a fluid attendance, where we only HAVE to be there during the core times — 10:00 am to 2:00 pm — but can work whenever we want to, as long as we do our 38.5 hours a week.

I’m not a morning person, so I regularly come in shortly before 10:00 am; therefore, I have to stay later. No problem, because during the core time, I still can talk about important things with the others, and in the evening, I just write emails. I always do my work and get no complaints.

My boss, on the other hand, is a lark and is there at 7:45 sharp every day. One of my jobs is being an assistant to her for many little things, but it has clear limitations, so it is more like general assistance to my small department. And even though she KNOWS I will come in to be ready to work at 10:00 am, she calls me several times a week at 9:00 am on my way to work to talk about the plans for the day. Those calls last between fifteen and twenty-five minutes and are like a stand-up meeting, only she is drinking her coffee and I am not really awake yet. (No worries; I use public transport.)
She starts with this only after I am several months in and it gets worse over time, until she calls me every single day on my way to work, while I actually want to read my books and slowly ease myself into a working mode. It gets so bad that I always wear my headset so my arm won’t get tired while phoning.

Over the months, I try several times to raise her awareness that I do not actually like this and that it maybe could wait until I get there, but she never understands and calls them “just a jour fixe.” This is French for “fixed day” and is a short regular meeting about the status quo. Team members report how far they are and what their next job is.

Maybe I am too friendly about it, but I’ve learned from experience with previous bosses that they are not happy about criticism. When I try to leave a little earlier because of the extra time in the morning, she gets wind of that.

Boss: “You need to work your full hours, because those jour fixes are just phone calls.”

Then, I try to roll my cadaver out of bed earlier, so the call at 9:00 am will count as work time, but I am groggy all day and it hurts my productivity. And I swear to God, after a week, my boss starts calling me even earlier, again on my way to work! When I try to send her to the mailbox, she calls me several times, as if it was an emergency just to talk about the plans of the day, her agenda, and some to-dos for me — which I already know about. I just give up and it still wrecks my nerves. Until…

One day, I have an actual important question that cannot wait, but my boss is already gone for the day. I write an email. She does not answer for an hour. Then, once, I call her during her time off, because this thing really needs to be done today. It is quite short, but she ends the call with:

Boss: “Just for the future: I don’t like to be called during my time off, so please ask me while I am still at work.”

And then she just hangs up.

That is it. From that day on, I write up those calls as working time. We log our time in Excel sheets that I have to convert to the appropriate salary forms at the end of the month, so my boss does not see them. I have an hour a week of extra overtime, so at least I get paid for that.

Then, at the end of the next month, I have several days on which I work longer than the legally allowed maximum work hours per day. I fill out the forms at the end of the month, having several days in red, and send them to HR. They know this is a problem because the fines are quite hefty if the bureau of finances sees that. First, they ask me what those irregular times each morning are and tell me to answer my emails in the office, so this will not happen again. When I tell them what those weird times were and what I tried, they become very polite and end the call pretty quickly.

During the call from the boss the next morning:

Boss: “I have a meeting with HR today. I assume it’s just about some new laws.”

She comes back from the meeting red in the face. HR seems to have ripped her a new one.

Boss: *Sheepishly* “Are those morning calls really such a hassle for you?”

And FINALLY, she listens when I tell her that I am quite groggy in the morning and that an email would suffice because I generally know my to-dos. If she wants jour fixes, I will happily have them while AT work and with my own coffee.

To end this on a happy note: we got along nicely after that, and I could talk a little bit more openly with her. She still liked her jour fixes, but we did them at 10:00 am, when I had arrived at work and was actually awake.

It’s about eight years ago. I’m eighteen and working at a bar in the town centre somewhere in the UK.

We’re based between two of the grimiest pubs and the clubs in there, so we get a lot of dodgy, rude, and drunk patrons on a regular basis.

One night, at around midnight, this group of guys comes in wearing suits, and I can immediately tell they’re pretty drunk and obnoxious. They come to the bar, which is about two or three deep — around twenty or thirty people waiting ahead of them — and they start loudly asking for service, even though there are people patiently waiting in front of them. My team and I just roll our eyes and get back to serving people.

I finally get round to serving them.

Drunk Guys: “Finally! Some f****** service! What took you so long?!”

I just ignore those comments and ask what they want, and they start talking amongst themselves like they didn’t have enough time to work this out while waiting.

The ringleader proclaims that they’re going big tonight so they want a bottle of Grey Goose vodka.

Me: “I can only serve you a maximum of a double in any one drink; if you want me to make it stronger, go for it.”

He ignores most of what I said.

Ringleader: “Didn’t you hear me? ONE BOTTLE OF GREY GOOSE!”

We can’t sell the bottles of spirits under any circumstances. I call the manager up in the back and explain the situation. He says exactly what I’ve already told the customer, so we agree that if I explain the policy one more time and he still demands a bottle, I’ll do it.

What the ringleader didn’t realise is that I have to put the whole bottle through as double drinks, so this bottle ended up costing him £170 before any mixers when it’s only £35 in the local supermarket.

He throws his hands up in the air.

Ringleader: “You’ve ripped me off! I’m not going to pay that! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

Me: “I did.”

He just fobs me off and goes to walk out. Little does he know, I’ve already asked the bouncers to keep him in the building until he’s paid up.

His mates laugh at him as he goes white as a sheet, realising he’s just spent a lot of money. His friends give him a little bit of money to pay help up; the ringleader then spends the night sulking with his £170 bottle of £30 vodka.

The shelter I’ve been working at for a couple of years now is over thirty years old and is quite notorious for keeping things the way it’s been since they opened. The daily notes are physically kept in binders, 1980s-style punitive measures are imposed on clients in conflict, and the electrical panels are labeled with cards that went through a typewriter. You get the idea.

The floor supervisor has been in the position for over twenty years. They emphasize that even though jeans are allowed, we need to strictly adhere to the dress code. That means button-up or collared shirts, no logos, only long pants/dresses, no hats unless you’re outside, no visible tattoos, etc. In other words, dress nothing like the vast majority of the people we serve.

Supervisor: “We’re meant to dress the way they should aspire to dress.”

I am told that other staff — including staff above my paygrade — have long hated the dress code and unsuccessfully tried to change it for years. None of them are bold little s***s like me, though.

Given my previous experience with underserved populations, I also know this is a terrible idea. Generally speaking, what people in these communities lack in financial resources, they make up for in their abilities to read people and navigate emotions. If they think you’re an authority figure or acting inauthentically, many will write you off outright. And for the most part, they have a great social and emotional radar.

The dress code says men’s shirts must, “…have visible buttons or a collar.” I sew two buttons near my hip on a plain T-shirt and wear it in. They say nothing the first time, but they have a meeting where they “aren’t pointing out anyone in particular” and update that specific part of the policy to prevent me from doing it again.

Next, I wear capris. After all, nothing about pant length is mentioned, either. This time, the code is updated and we are informed via email. Still, there is no one-on-one conversation about it.

A few months and minor malicious compliances later, our workplace gives us logoed T-shirts with the institution’s name and website on them. Hooray, we think! We will at least be able to wear T-shirts now. Nope. After a week of several coworkers wearing the shirts they gave us, we get an organization-wide email.

Email: “The [Company] T-shirts that were recently distributed do not comply with the dress code and should not be worn during work hours.”

Knowing me as the office rabble-rouser, several pissed off coworkers come to me independently to ask how they, too, can rebel. Enter this story’s biggest malicious compliance.

As a minimalist, I have no desire to hold onto a shirt that I would not wear. We had no input on the design or color of the shirts, and I simply do not need it taking up space in my closet. The most reasonable alternative would be to turn the shirt back in and explain that, so I do that.

[Coworker #1] is moving soon and doesn’t need an extra thing to pack, so she also turns hers in. [Coworker #2]’s partner hates dark green (the shirt’s color), so he turns his in. This happens all the way to twenty-five total employees, with some borrowing other’s excuses.

After five days, the supervisor has a box with two-dozen shirts sitting in his tiny office. He actually has to keep them on his desk, and I can hear him bumping his hand against them when he uses the mouse. Three months later, they are still there. He’s not dumb; he knows those shirts are an “F you” that lives in his office.

He cannot donate them to the shelter due to some other ridiculous handbook rule about organizational spending, and he bikes six miles to work, so driving them home isn’t a reasonable option. He’s tried putting them in general office storage, but his boss has said the shirts are the supervisor’s problem since he ordered them. Currently, he’s just stuck. We know it bothers him, but he knows he can’t bring it up since it’s his own rules that prevent us from wearing them.

There have been no dress code changes so far, but the top-of-the-year meeting regarding our handbook has “dress code” on the table. Three of the people who returned shirts are a part of that advisory board of five. I’m cautiously optimistic that we’ll finally be rid of some of the dumb, short-sighted elements of our dress code come February.