My daughter is a teacher, and one of her fellow teachers wanted to teach how to calculate the area of a circle. She decided to make it fun and educational with more than just some math formulas.

She put the price and size of pizzas from several local shops on the board. She then taught them how to calculate the area of a circle and had the students calculate the price per square inch of the pizzas. Her students had a good time and were amazed at the differences in value based on both size and company.

I always wondered how many of those students sat down with a calculator the next time the family ordered pizza, and how many carried that over into college.

The procurement manager at our small company abruptly had to accelerate his retirement by a few years due to health concerns. At the same time, his assistant, who had been training to be his replacement, had to move across the country to help out family, seeking out a new job out west at the same time.

We were left scrambling a bit to find a new procurement manager. Some of our other employees knew enough to keep things running in the short-term, but everyone who knew the system was either already in a vital role and didn’t really have the bandwidth to take on more responsibilities, or was happy where they were and declined a shift into the new role. So, we posted the job on some outside job boards.

I was thus rather surprised when one of the receptionists from our front office applied for the position. Looking at her CV, her only jobs had been working as a receptionist and a tutor, with nothing in procurement or supply chain management. But, after consulting with my boss, we decided to give her an interview anyway. Everyone has to start somewhere, and maybe she would end up being a good fit for the role that we could promote internally.

The very moment that I walked into the room for our interview, before I even had a chance to approach my chair, [Receptionist] launched into a rapid-fire description of an idea she had for a marketing campaign for our product. A, that is not what the procurement manager position covers, and B, that is not something I, as part of Human Resources, would cover. I tried to get a word in edgewise as I sat down, to try and clarify what position she was interviewing for, but she just talked right over me, meandering her way through this marketing campaign idea, through an idea for renovations we should make to our office, to pitching the idea of issuing everyone company credit cards. None of these things were related at all to the procurement manager position.

Finally, she wound down enough that I was able to explain that the position was for a procurement manager, with the responsibilities of evaluating the quality and pricing of the various parts we needed, timing our restocks, and trying to source new suppliers if needed. Three times during this explanation, [Receptionist] broke in with, “Oh, but I think I should…” and then circled back to her marketing idea or talked about how employee morale was something she would focus on.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of getting absolutely nowhere, I gave her the typical ending pleasantries. I thanked her for her time and told her that I didn’t feel she would be a good fit for this role but that she should keep her eye out for other postings. Meanwhile, I was making a mental note to talk to our customer service manager to find out if [Receptionist] was steamrolling people who tried to call us the way she had been steamrolling me. (She wasn’t, as it turns out, at least not before this.)

To my slight surprise, she gave me a big smile and a cheery “Okay!” and bounced out of my office.

It turns out, she had apparently completely tuned me out when I told her she wasn’t a good fit for the role, and she started telling everyone about how she was a shoo-in for the job. Thus, when our actual new procurement manager was hired, she threw a massive fit, storming into my boss’s office to scream about how I had “promised” her the job, how this hire was nepotism (the new procurement manager’s name rhymed with the name of our Chief Finance Officer, which was apparently enough for [Receptionist] to determine that they were related), and how she was going to stage a walk-out if we didn’t give her the role.

She had two back-to-back no-shows when we didn’t give in to her demands, and she ended up being let go after she came in and proceeded to scream at the first customer who called in about how she was being mistreated.

For my first couple of years of college, it wasn’t unusual for me to go a whole month without ever getting behind the wheel of an actual car. I lived on campus, worked a campus job, and rode a bus wherever I couldn’t just walk.

My roommate had a PlayStation 2 and Grand Theft Auto 3. One day, I was at home (my parents’ house) and was getting in the car to run an errand. After putting on the seatbelt and starting the engine, I actually reached for the controller to drive the car.

Not my proudest moment, but it forced me to stop long enough to establish a mental divide between driving in-game and driving a real car.

CONTENT WARNING: Thoughts Of Suicide (Happy ending!)
 

This story reminded me of some experiences during the first year of the global health crisis. 

I did a lot of volunteering via the NHS (National Health Service), mostly shopping and other errands for people whose doctors had told them to shelter at home. 

But sometimes I would do check-in-and-chat. It’s a simple concept. Those people who had been told to stay at home were offered the chance of getting a call from a stranger to see how they were doing. I only did a few of these because I would find myself crying quietly after the call. 

But the most harrowing and then heartwarming story was one I heard of through an online support group for volunteers. Early in the first lockdown, a volunteer rang an elderly woman to see how she was doing, and she was distraught. There was a cold snap with temperatures below freezing overnight, and her boiler had failed, so she and her home were literally freezing. She’d become so desperate that she was looking through her medicines trying to work out which combination would most quickly end her life!

The thing is, she had boiler cover; she was paying [Energy Company] hundreds of pounds a year so this would not happen, but they were refusing to come out for “health and safety” reasons, even though her life was in danger. The volunteer called them. There was no doubt they understood, but they would do nothing.

The volunteer came online to find out what to do. He lived too far away and had no car. We were all desperate to help. Luckily, another volunteer lived near her and knew a plumber. The woman’s boiler was fixed a few hours later, and the only payment the plumber took was a cup of tea (plenty of sugar!) and two biscuits.

The lady did not want to fuss, so unfortunately, no formal complaint was made. I’ve just checked, and they would charge me £600 a year for this “service”. I didn’t hear any reports that they stopped taking monthly payments during lockdowns.

Related:
Their Cold Heart Is In Need Of Some Heating

It’s 2009, and I am an engineer in a factory that is part of a UK-wide group. My boss asked me to spend a year or so at one of our sites, which was an hour’s drive away. My brief was to try and improve the dreadful performance and oversee improvements where possible. Otherwise, it was slated for closure.

It was clear from day one that the place had been badly mismanaged, and a lot of people had been let go, including most managers. However, the factory manager was still there and willing to fight for the plant to stay open.

The nature of the business (involving dangerous chemicals and processes) meant that our fire and safety procedures were vitally important and needed to be tested regularly. The target evacuation time was two minutes and thirty seconds, which should have been easily attainable.

However, due to the bad condition of the systems, many spurious alarms, and employee apathy, in my first test there, it took twelve minutes before we reached full evacuation and all personnel were accounted for. The procedure was to evacuate to the main gate security control room, where a headcount would take place. Whilst stationed in the control room, I answered countless phone calls asking, “Is this real or a drill?” I simply told the callers, “Follow the evacuation procedure.”

This happened each time we did a drill, so the factory manager and I decided to keep doing the drills at utterly random times, sometimes twice or three times a day. Once just before clocking-off time did not go down well. Each time, the calls came asking, “Is this real or a drill?”, and then my response, “Follow the evacuation procedure.”

It took about six weeks, but we eventually reached the target evacuation time, and we did so each subsequent time after. The employees slowly realised how important all this was, and we felt we were getting them to fight for their jobs rather than the previously mentioned apathy.

We managed to keep that site open for a further two years before the inevitable happened and I returned to my original position.

The site is now an upmarket housing estate.