(Within a few months of starting my job, I develop a latex allergy. Because I need to wear gloves to collect samples, my boss orders in some nitrile gloves for me. They are only for me to use because of the higher price compared to the latex gloves. A few months later, I start getting horrible itching on my hands during work. It sometimes spreads to my face and arms, and gets so bad I need to jump in the shower the moment I get home and scrub myself raw to try and make it stop. After a process of elimination, I figure out the source and go to my boss.)

Me: “So, you know how I’ve been itching lately?”

Boss: “Yeah.”

Me: “I think I know why, and if I’m right, you’re not going to like it. I think I’m allergic to the nitrile gloves, as well. I need to test it out.”

Boss: “Oh, my God, you’re so bloody precious.”

(I was allergic to the nitrile. I now have vinyl gloves and strict orders not to develop any more allergies.)

(The Vice President of our company has authorized me to send some biological samples to a microscopy lab, but she has apparently forgotten that she gave permission. This particular Vice President is one of those people who can never, ever be wrong.)

Vice President: *yelling* “You sent the samples to [other lab]? You can’t just do that! You’re never allowed to bring these samples offsite without my permission!”

Me: “But you gave me your permission.”

Vice President: “No, I didn’t! I never would have agreed to that! We have procedures here, and apparently you don’t feel like following them!”

(I walk out of her office and straight to my desk, where I pick up the Request Form that she signed the previous day to authorize me to bring the samples to [other lab]. I return to her office and place the form on her desk, assuming that I’m playing the trump card by showing her, indisputably, that she approved this transfer of samples. She’s quiet for a few moments while she stares at the Request Form, and I think I’ve won. But then:)

Vice President: *yelling again* “That’s not my signature!”

(And that’s why, at the company where I work, even getting everything in writing is insufficient.)

(I work as a lab technician in a factory. I’m one of the few females in a workplace full of males who — sometimes literally — think they know it all. There is one coworker in particular who served a short stint in the Navy years ago and now tries to insert this into conversation wherever he can, in order to talk about his “hard time served in the military.”  This guy served a few months and then was quietly discharged due to some obscure medical condition. The way he talks about it, though, he was on the front lines, digging trenches, giving orders, etc. I’m just going about my job, and it’s common for people to come into the lab for an assortment of different reasons. Also note that I’m wearing a Harry Potter shirt this day with the spell “Expecto Patronum” on the front.)

Coworker: “Hey, turn around. I want to read you shirt… Expecto Patronum… Oh, I know this! It’s Latin for, ‘Expect Greatness.’ I learned it in the Navy!”

Me: *trying not to burst out laughing*

Coworker: *sees me grinning from ear to ear* “Is that it?! I’m right, aren’t I?”

Me: “Uh… Actually, it’s a spell from Harry Potter.”

Coworker: “Oh… Huh. Must have been something similar that I learned in my time, I guess.”

(Sure, dude… Whatever you say. I got a good laugh out of it with my Harry Potter-loving friends and coworkers.)

(I’m from a non-English speaking country and I’m doing a post-grad at a botanical institution. Two colleagues from my country have been here for six months and they show me the basics of living in Cambridge.)

Colleague: “So, if you finish working late you can either get food at the petrol station or at a deli in this road… but for the main shopping, there’s a supermarket down this road. When you go to the cashier, she’ll ask you three questions. I don’t know what she means, but it’s easier if you always say, ‘No, no, and no.’”

(I did my main shopping on the first weekend and I found out that the dreaded three questions were, “Do you have a reward card?” “Would you like a bag?” and, “Would you like any cashback?” Also, they were always pronounced in the same way, and very clearly by all cashiers, so I don’t know how my colleague couldn’t figure out what they said. When I explained it to him, however, he was very happy to get cashback at the supermarket instead of walking all the way to the ATM!)

(I work in a laboratory, and part of my job involves sampling products with long metal scoops. Our autoclave is broken, so to sterilise the scoops, we’ve resorted to spraying them with ethanol and then burning it off over a bunsen burner. It’s a little dangerous, especially when the ethanol inside the scoop ignites and a small flame shoots out of the opening. I am currently sterilising a batch of scoops when the safety officer comes in on his regular inspection. He looks around the lab, then stops next to me, watching me spray then flame a scoop.)

Safety Officer: “So, is there anything here, in the lab, that you have concerns about? Anything that you feel is a safety issue?”

(I look at him, then at the burning scoop in my hand.)

Me: “No, not at all.”

Safety Officer: “Oh, good.”

(We got excellent marks on that inspection.)