I am a female who has worked traditionally male-dominated jobs my whole life: auto mechanic, concert stagehand, and presently boat captain.

I live in an island city that does not have much in the way of shopping, so when I am on the mainland, I stock up on tools and essentials I can’t get back home. I stop into the store and grab a few pairs of pliers and other small tools to add to my work bag and head to the counter.

Cashier: “Do you have a phone number with us?”

Me: “No.”

Cashier: “What about your husband or son?”

I’m unsure how to answer because I have honestly never been asked about marriage or children while checking out. After all, they are my tools.

Me: “Ummmmm… No, I am happily single, thank you.”

The cashier did not say another word nor looked at me for the rest of the transaction.  

Lesson learned: sometimes the woman buying the tools is actually going to use them!

Me: “Good morning, [Law Firm].”

Former Client: “Hi there, it’s [Former Client]. I was hoping to speak with my old attorney.”

Me: “He’s not available right now, but I’d be happy to pass along a message.”

Former Client: “Well, my ex filed something against me, and I have a hearing on [date only a week or so away]. I was hoping [Attorney] could represent me again.”

Me: “Let me check the calendar… I’m sorry, he already has that day fully booked and wouldn’t be able to represent you.”

Former Client: “Could I talk to him?”

Me: “If you’d like to schedule a consult regarding your new matter so you can get some legal advice before the hearing, I can get you on his calendar. It would be half an hour or one hour at his usual hourly rate—”

Former Client: “No, no, no, I don’t want to do that. I just want to talk to him.”

Me: “Sir, he doesn’t offer free legal advice, not even to former clients.”

Former Client: “I’m not asking for free legal advice!”

Me: “But you’re asking that he talk to you…”

Former Client: “Yes!”

Me: “…about your legal matter…”

Former Client: “Yes!”

Me: “…without charging for it.”

Former Client: “Yes! That’s all I want! Have him call me!”

The former client did not receive a call back.

When I worked for a navy contractor, my immediate boss invited several people from work to his home in Maryland for a BBQ party. Upon arriving, there were about a dozen other friends of his that he’d met either in the military or working for the government in the DC area. I was chatting with one of his friends when the topic of work came up.

Me: “I work with Steve at [Navy contractor] in Virginia.”

Friend: *Pointing to the northeast, towards Fort Meade.* “I work up that way, for the government.”

I figured he would’ve said whether he was either in the US Army or worked for a military contractor. However, the National Security Agency is also located on Fort Meade.

Me: *Quizzically.* “NSA?”

Friend: *Nodding yes, but saying…* “No.”

I am a Robot Design judge during a First Lego League (now called FLL Challenge) competition. This is a robotics competition for older elementary-schoolers and middle-schoolers. The teams of kids build and program Lego robots to run various challenges on a board for points. While the majority of robots struggle to semi-reliably do one to three of the easiest missions, every year I see a few really amazing robots doing truly impressive feats on the board.

While each team gets two or more adults to aid them, the actual building and programming of the robot are supposed to be done entirely by the kids. Adults are there to give general guidance and keep the kids on task. They can help the kids figure out the missions and how they’re scored, help kids learn how to program, help them figure out why things didn’t work, and maybe provide the occasion small suggestion, but the robots are supposed to be the kids’ work.

Me: “I’d like to talk to someone about the code. Which kids feel like they know the programs best to explain them to me?

Kid #2: “[Kid #1] and his dad did most of it.”

Me: “Okay, [Kid #1], I see you used a My Block. Can you explain how it works?”

“My Blocks” are what they call functions, basically small self-contained bits of code that can be called over and over again by other parts of the code.

Kid #1: “What’s that?”

Me: “This paper here. Can you explain this program?”

Kid #1: “Oh, is that the thing for following lines? Dad wouldn’t let me do that one.”

He turns to one of the coaches who are sitting in the room but have been asked to be quiet while we judge the kids.

Kid #1: “Dad, how does it work?”

Sadly, we had to give the team a failing score on programming due to adults clearly doing the work. “Luckily”, their robot still didn’t follow lines well and ultimately was nothing special — a bit better than the worst robots but not by much. That meant we could still allow them to compete; we knew they would score poorly enough that we wouldn’t need to worry about how to handle a potentially unfair advantage of an adult helping. We try not to punish the kids for the adults misbehaving if we can avoid it; the competition is supposed to be about celebrating their work first and foremost, regardless of how their robot does, not making them feel bad about it.

The extra irony is that very well-written, fully functional line-following programs are easily available online, and so long as you credit your source, you’re allowed to use a program like this. After all, we would hardly be preparing kids for a real programming job if we discouraged code reuse. If the dad had just suggested they look online, they could have legally gotten more reliable code than whatever he wrote.

Still, this is what I love about judging middle-schoolers, they are so shockingly honest. On the occasion that I judge Core Values, which is mostly focused on teamwork, I’ll always ask if the kids worked well as a team, and I’ll always have at least two teams flat-out tell me they didn’t, despite knowing this is the one thing we’re judging them on in that room. Got to love the forthrightness of kids.

Related:
Faith In The Future Of Humanity: Restored!

A guest approaches the desk near the beginning of my morning shift.

Guest: “I’m in room [number], and my room wasn’t cleaned yesterday. And I requested towels, and no one ever brought them up!”

I pull the reservation up and see that it was complimentary, and she is departing today. Current policy where I work states that unless a guest pushes for recovery (free stuff and credits), then I can’t offer it. There’s nothing I can really do about the problem other than what I am about to say to the guest.

Me: “I apologize for those problems, ma’am. I’ll make sure housekeeping is aware that this is an issue going forward.”

Guest: “Okay, but that’s not for me. Did you hear what I said? I said my room wasn’t cleaned and I didn’t get the towels I asked for!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I understand, and I’ll make sure housekeeping is aware—”

Guest: “Okay, but that doesn’t help me!”

Me: “What would you like me to do, ma’am?”

Guest: “Just forget it. Who is your manager?”

Me: “My manager’s name is [Manager]. She won’t be in until later.”

Guest: “Okay, I’ll call up here later.”

I’m really stressed by this interaction by this point and genuinely want to help — that’s why I’m in hospitality, after all — so I try one more time to try and get the guest to ask me for recovery directly.

Me: “Ma’am, if you would just tell me what you would like me to do for you—”

Guest: “Oh, just forget it! You’re useless!”

The guest stormed out, and I was left upset and frustrated, unable to help simply because I wasn’t asked directly. She’ll probably complain to my manager that I didn’t offer her anything for her inconvenience. Yaaaaay.