Reading email from editor wanting logos for a company, customer requests are:

Detailed yet simple designs are key.

(I work in a call centre. Going on a break, I overhear two coworkers known for slacking off a lot complaining about something, so I decide to stop and listen.)

Coworker #1: “I get really upset when a customer tells me to f*** off.”

Coworker #2: “Me, too. It’s really mean of them.”

Me: “If you don’t mind me asking, how often does it happen?”

Coworker #1: “Two or three times a day.”

Coworker #2: “Yeah. Me, too. About the same.”

Me: “If customers aren’t telling you to f*** off at least a dozen times a day, you aren’t working hard enough.”

(I walked away while they stood there with their mouths open.)

(I work in the technical department of a web system used to record pupil data in schools. It is a complex system, so we are used to customers needing help with some of the advanced functions. We prefer to direct customers to the manual and encourage them to learn the functions as we are only a small team. A call comes in.)

Customer: “I need you to move the pupils from [Year #1] into [Year #2].”

Support: “Okay, it is normally straightforward to just drag the pupils to the new class. Can you tell us what you’ve tried, and what the problem is? We’ll look into it.”

Customer: “I haven’t tried; I don’t have time to do this myself! You should do it!”

Support: *click*

(My husband and I are returning to our apartment after picking up some dinner when a large dog runs up the car. We park and get out of the car with the dog jumping up on us excitedly. We see someone standing there watching from in front of the apartment building’s security door.)

Husband: “Is this your dog?”

Random Guy: “No.”

Husband: *trying to calm dog down* “Let’s see your tag, girl…”

(The dog has a very chewed-up, plastic tag on her collar, listing a number. He goes to call on his cell phone while I try to keep the dog calm and with us, as she keeps racing around and I’m afraid she’ll run off.)

Husband: “I’m on hold.”

(Five minutes later.)

Husband: “I’m still on hold.”

(A few more minutes later:)

Husband: “Hello. I found this strange dog running around our street and— Okay, I’ll get a pen.” *writes down number*

Me: “What’s up?”

Husband: “The number on the tag is the tag’s manufacturer. They sold it to [Local Vet Clinic]. They’re giving me the clinic’s number so I can call them to get the owner’s number.”

(He then dials the vet clinic, who puts him on hold for another five minutes before looking up the owner’s number. Keep in mind we’ve got a rambunctious, strange dog and it is below freezing outside where we are.)

Husband: *on phone* “Hello, I’ve found a— The phone disconnected.”

(He redials and get’s the owner’s voicemail. During this, the dog is getting more and more impatient, and she suddenly lunges at me, jaws open. I freak a bit and let go of her collar, and she takes off running.)

Husband: *on phone* “Hello. I think I found your dog at [Street]; please give me a call back.”

(He hangs up and sees that the dog has run off.)

Husband: “You want to look for her?”

Me: “Yeah… It’s freezing out and I’ll worry all night if we don’t try. Did the clinic give you her address?”

Husband: “Yeah, it’s only a few blocks from here; let’s start looking that way.”

(We troop along that way, and after a block or two the dog comes back bounding up to us. This time both of us grab her collar, and my husband tries calling the owner again and again. No one picks up. Finally we get to the dog’s supposed address. The lights are all on, and the door is open, although the screen door is shut and locked. We knock, no answer. We knock again, loudly. No answer. Pissed off by now, we start loudly yelling into the house, “Anyone home? Anyone here lose a dog?” Finally, a middle-aged woman comes and opens the door and stares at us.)

Me: “Um, is this your dog?”

Woman: “Oh. Yeah. My kids let her out. My daughter is out looking for her.”

(She abruptly grabs the dog and disappears back into the house.)

Me: “Wow. You’re welcome I guess.”

(We walked home to our very cold dinner, happy we found the dog’s home, and incredibly annoyed at the owners.)

Dear readers,

We would like to issue a retraction on the original title to this story. In short, we really messed up here, and we’re sorry.

Some of you felt that we were mocking people who genuinely suffer from anxiety, or taunting readers who have asked for trigger warnings for potentially upsetting stories. We would like to explicitly state that this was not our intention.

The original title was a reference to a Hollywood trope where no harm comes to animals, and it was very poorly crafted. Adding “Trigger Warning” in front, and the unfortunate reality that there are other stories we have posted where animals are in distress makes it clear how bad this was. There’s simply no other way this title could have been construed but as totally awful. Looking back now, we are horrified at the result, and we are so, so sorry for how tasteless and insensitive this was to you.

You deserve better, and we promise to begin enforcing, in earnest, the following steps to prevent this from happening again:

Trigger warnings will only be used in a serious and respectful way. This was not done consistently in the past, and we’re sorry for this. Moving forward, we’ll be issuing Content Warnings which will serve as a warning to protect readers, and never to demean them. We absolutely respect that for some readers, certain types of content are difficult and distressing to read.

To this end, we will also begin tagging any stories about animal cruelty or abuse with the tag “Animal Abuse” – regardless of the outcome of the story. We will attempt to go through our archives and retroactively tag stories that are appropriate for this tag, but please do message us if you feel we have missed any.

Thank you for calling us out on this mistake, and our sincere appreciation for your support. Please let us know if you have any additional feedback. We deeply wish to make Not Always Right a better experience for you, and hope you can continue to enjoy our site.

Sincerely & humbly,
The Not Always Right editors

(A few decades ago teachers were able to sign up to a lucrative retirement plan that would come into fruition in the 2000s. The government expected and thus preemptively advertised a shortage of teachers to entice school-goers to aim for teaching as a career path. At the same time, universities lowered their entry requirements and steered towards a profit-based program, advertising the shortage and near guarantee of a job at the end of your studies… and fools flocked to the industry, myself included. I had the scores to get me into other industries, but I fancied teaching because I love kids, and the shortage side of it didn’t hurt. Fast forward to the end of my five years of university. The shortage never came to fruition, so I was essentially competing with 44,000+ teachers in my state alone to find work that didn’t exist. Nevertheless, I enjoyed teaching and was generally pretty chipper about it, happy to accept any casual work that came my way. I figured that I’d just do the best job that I could and hard work would eventually pay off. I was naive. Here’s some examples of real conversations that I had that contributed to my decision to leave teaching. They were all in different schools with different teachers.)

Full-Time Teacher: “This is my first year out of uni. I got this class straightaway.”

Me: “Well done; that’s fantastic.”

Full-Time Teacher: “Yeah, I was a butcher before and ran my own business. My wife is a teacher in [Very Affluent Suburb in the city] where we live. But she said male teachers get a job straightaway, so I did it, and here I am.”

Me: *cringing* “That’s great; it must be a nice change for you.”

Full-Time Teacher: “Yeah, but I do miss the extra $45,000 more I earned each year there.”

Me: *thinking I earn half of that alone* “Yeah…”

(Another time…)

Teacher #2: “I thought teaching would be easier. I’ll admit it.”

Me: “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, there is a lot of prep work to do, even as a casual without the planning and marking those with a class would need to do. But it’s so rewarding.”

Teacher #2: “Oh, no, I meant because I hate children.”

Me: “…”

(Another time…)

Teacher #3: “Oh, I am 77. I don’t need to teach, but it’s nice to come in.”

Me: “You look very well for your age. Teaching must keep you young.”

Teacher #3: “No, dear, I am just rich. I can afford good makeup. I don’t need to teach, but I like gossiping in the teacher’s lounge.”

Me: “…”

Teacher #3: “Getting teaching work is hard, though, isn’t it, dear?”

Me: “Sometimes, I suppose.”

(Another time…)

Teacher #4: “Where do you live?”

Me: “[Area].”

Teacher #4: “Why don’t you work there?”

(I don’t know how to answer this, but [Teacher #4] walks off before I can reply, anyway. The next day I walk into the office, and that same casual teacher is talking to a full-time teacher. I overhear this gem.)

Teacher #4: “Did you hear her music? Are you really going to call her back for more work?”

(I sign in as they looked over at me. I turn around and walk straight to the classroom. She looks embarrassed as h***. The stupid thing is while she is trying to boycott my casual work at that school, I’ve only ever taught there while she, too, was at work. She was obviously given work before me, and since she can’t be in two rooms at once, I’ve not taken any work that could have been hers. And finally…)

Teacher #5: *after telling me I’ll get full time the next year and a class of my own* “So, you just have to put your preference down for which stage you’d like to work with, and then we can assign the full-time teachers for next year. You’ll be great with stage three, I think, but you can be anywhere.”

Me: “That sounds excellent, thanks.”

(Fast forward a month over the school holiday break. I haven’t heard anything from the school. I decide to call and ask so that I can make other arrangements and update other schools and so on…)

Teacher #5: “Oh, sorry, I thought they told you. We hired a new teacher because she’s [ethnicity] and the school gets extra funding.”

(I quit teaching soon after. I miss working with kids and the job itself. I do NOT miss working with many of the teachers I had to deal with.)