It is summer 2012, and London is hosting the Olympics. I am one of many thousands of volunteers wearing assistance vests that are helping the multitude of visitors to the city.

I am also wearing a rainbow badge on my vest to indicate that I might be able to assist LGBT tourists. A gay couple are walking past and one of them approaches me.

Tourist #1: “Hi! We haven’t got much to do at the weekend, so we were wondering if you knew about the gay scene?”

Me: “Absolutely! London has a great scene and caters to many kinds of LGBT visitors. I know that tonight there is a special Olympics-themed performance at a club called Heaven, and if you wanted something a bit heavier a club called Fire is going to be quite popular.”

The other half of the couple comes over.

Tourist #2: *To [Tourist #1]* “What are you asking him, babes?”

Tourist #1: “Apparently our best choices tonight are going to Heaven or burning up in Fire.”

Tourist #2: “Wow, London really does have everything!”

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I’m a document designer for a financial services firm. I’m not a web designer, but I update the firm’s website and work closely with our developer, so I’m generally the point person for issues with the website.

I have this exchange with a colleague via email.

Colleague: “Hi there. When I go to [immediate access restricted by agreeing to a disclaimer] pages on the website, the disclaimer pop-up doesn’t have a scrollbar, and I can only scroll down to the ‘accept’ button by highlighting the text and dragging it down.”

Me: “Okay, that’s odd. What browser are you using? Do you have any extensions enabled? You should be able to scroll to the bottom of the pop-up with the scroll wheel on your mouse.”

Colleague: “Chrome, some extensions yes, not using a mouse, using a laptop trackpad.”

Me: “Hmm. Struggling to replicate this. Using a trackpad, one swipe should get you to the bottom so you can tap the ‘accept’ button. We excluded a scrollbar on the pop-up as part of the website branding and design. Can you try an incognito window in case it’s one of your extensions blocking the scroll?”

Colleague: “Oh, if the scrollbar isn’t supposed to be there, it’s working fine.”

Me: “…”

This colleague works on our Application Support team — the one that manages support for all our business applications, including the client portal and trading software. He copied the entire Tech team and his boss on the chain.

In our big open-plan office, some colleagues would buy sweets in bulk, selling them at higher prices to others with profits going to charity. It was a win-win for everyone: people with a sweet tooth need not go out to nearby sweet shops, the charity would get an income, and we’d get to meet people from other departments who’d stop and chat for a minute or two. It was all a very nice atmosphere. The sweets were laid out on a spare desk, with a price list and an honesty box next to it.

One day, a colleague realised that instead of making a profit, the operation was currently running at a loss.

I had noticed a pair of young men, both late teens I suppose, who’d saunter up to the sweets desk, pick things up, put things down, pick things up again, put money in the box, take change out, and so on. They always seemed to be trying to act casual. I had been privately suspicious of them because of this behaviour, but I didn’t say anything as one shouldn’t judge by appearances.

However, when my colleague pointed out there was a discrepancy, another colleague said, “Well, I wonder who it could be,” in a pointed way, and I got the distinct impression they already had a good idea who it was.

From then on, they started doing a complete stock-take and accounting of sales and income after anyone bought some sweets (but out of view). When the teens came for their sweets, with their usual performance, colleagues leaped up after they’d gone to do a complete check of the stock and cash. They found that there was money missing, and it seemed to not be a surprise to anyone. From then on, the sweets were kept on someone’s desk, and people had to hand over cash to someone, just like in a normal shop.

Months later, the two young men burned down a train. On their way back from an evening on the south coast, they started mucking around with a lighter and singeing the furnishings for fun, and the train went up in flames. Fortunately, there was no one hurt, but they got jailed.

The all-time most unrealistic demand I ever heard was from a coworker. She said the same thing to me, other coworkers, Human Resources, and management, and she honestly believed she was in the right.

Her demand?

Coworker: “I cannot be around people who take psychiatric medications. That stuff turns you violent. So, for my own safety, anyone taking them cannot work near me. This is a matter of health and safety, and you have to accommodate me.”

She got right up to threatening legal action if her demands were not met. After a month of this, management said:

Management: “Yeah, you’re still in your probation period, and this job obviously isn’t suitable for your ‘needs’, so bye-bye.”

And thus she was fired. At least she didn’t have to work with us “crazy people” anymore!

A great restauranteur opened a chain of cafés/relaxed dining restaurants. They were great. They served Italian cuisine — very simple, quality ingredients, shown at their best with simple presentation. It was a favourite of ours.

At some point, the chain was taken over by a ginormous global food conglomerate. This story takes place sometime after that, but we had many good meals there after the takeover.

This time, I order beef carpaccio as a starter: a simple dish of thinly-sliced raw beef with parmesan, olive oil, and some salad leaves. The dish arrives, and the beef is brown. It’s raw beef, and it’s brown. It is clear to me that it has been exposed to the air for hours and oxidised.

Me: “This shouldn’t be brown. Something is wrong.”

Waitress: *Picking up my plate* “I will ask the kitchen.”

A few minutes later, a manager comes to our table

Manager: “What’s the problem?”

Me: “The beef carpaccio had oxidised; it was brown.”

A few minutes later, he comes out, triumphant!

Manager: “Yes, you are right. It shouldn’t be brown!” 

I was a little stunned. He definitely seemed to think I should be pleased that he had validated my complaint. Was I the only person on the premises who knew that beef carpaccio was raw and that raw beef was red?

It was obvious to me that the dish had been prepared hours before and (presumably) inadequately covered in cling film. The waitress didn’t know the dish, which she should have; the menu wasn’t that long. But more worryingly, either there was no one in charge of the kitchen, or that person wasn’t watching the dishes leave, or they didn’t know what beef carpaccio looked like, or they didn’t care. None of the options filled us with confidence. We paid for our drinks and found somewhere else to eat.

The restaurant has been purchased by yet another corporation and is still trading ten years later. I haven’t bothered going back.