(We are going on a trip in the new couple of weeks, so consent forms have been sent out to our parents for us to return to the school reception.)

Me: *handing form over* “Here you go. Year nine, [Group].”

Receptionist: *taking it* “This is a consent form.”

Me: “Yes. Year nine, [Group].”

Receptionist: “It needs to be completed by your parents and returned to us.”

Me: “I know. They’ve signed it.”

Receptionist: “They need to complete it in case something happens.”

Me: “I know.”

Receptionist: “Like you die.”

Me: “…”

(She hands the form back to me and wanders off. I turn to the other receptionist.)

Me: “Can you?”

Other Receptionist: “Sure… I don’t know about you, but that was really weird.”

Me: “Don’t worry, though. I’ll try not to die at the library.”

(A colleague contacts me on Instant Messenger to ask about project progress. I need some background so I ask him for the project spreadsheet.)

Colleague: “It’s on [sharelink].”

(I try it out and I don’t have access to that sharelink. So I ask him to email it to me.)

Colleague: “Can’t email it to you; it’s too big.”

(Our mailboxes are limited to handling files of 5 megabytes. That is a h*** of a large spreadsheet if it’s bigger than 5 megabytes, considering the project has barely started.)

Colleague: “Okay, I’ve got access to that sharelink for you.”

(I access it, and see indeed, the file is 9 megabytes big. I can’t open it in situ, so I download it and open it locally. I find that it has one active sheet that consists of 75 lines of actual data, and another 1.7 million blank lines (blank, that is, apart from fancy formatting.)

Me: “Why is this file 9 megabytes big? Why has it got 1.7 million blank lines in it? The f*** are we wasting so much computer space? This is ridiculous.”

Colleague: “Well, if you’re so stupid as to be confused by a simple thing as spreadsheet structure, maybe you need to go on a training course to teach you how to use computers. I have a meeting to go to now. Once you have sorted yourself out and learned how we do things round here, I will contact you again.”

Me: “No worries.”

(I let him get on with it. He never got back in touch with me to ask my advice, which was all well and good, as I was able to spend the rest of the day, uninterrupted, fulfilling my role as technical design authority and performing a code quality review of his (not particularly high quality) code.)

(I turn up for an interview, arriving early. I find the reception.)

Me: “I’m here to see [Manager] for an interview.”

Reception: “Oh! He’s in a meeting at the moment; can you wait a while?”

Me: “That’s fine. I’m a little early anyway.”

(I wait 5, 10, 15 minutes. I start to think something is wrong.)

Reception: “I’m sorry; his meeting has overrun. I will give him another call.”

Me: “No problem.”

(Eventually he wanders down, barely apologising.)

Manager: “So, the first thing I want to do is show you around. Oh, let me check if he’s available.”

(Makes a phone call.)

Manager: “Okay, so my engineer isn’t available; I will walk you around the factory.”

(If his organisational skills didn’t fail to impress, the company certainly did! We go from room to room and the place is a mess. We eventually go around to this engineer.)

Manager: “Part of the role is to program this CMM.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I thought it was explained. I made it clear to the recruiter and on my CV, that programming is something I haven’t tried in years and not something I market myself with. I am more than happy to pick it up, but I have to be totally honest; it’s not something I can hit the ground running with.”

Manager: “Okay, well, I will leave you with [Engineer] and see how you get on.”

(The engineer seems pretty decent and understanding. We drag through some questions and answers before the manager comes back.)

Manager: “Okay, I think we are done here. I will speak with [Engineer] and give you a call.”

(Needless to say, I didn’t get the job. The funny side of this story was that a year later I was asked to look at a CV. It was the same manager for a much more junior position. I explained to my boss the story and what do you know?  He didn’t get the job!)

(I turn up to a job interview and I’m waiting in the reception. I get disturbed by a familiar voice.)

Ex-Coworker: “Hey, [My Name]! How are you doing?”

Me: “Hey, it’s great to see you! I didn’t know you worked here.”

Ex-Coworker: “Not just working here; I’m giving you an interview!”

(The interview goes great! We are laughing and joking, and swapping stories more than answering questions. I meet some of the team and get on well. The job, the people, the company, all seem great. I’m told the job is mine if I want it. A week later I arrange a second interview with the director, knowing that my ex-coworker would have put a good word in for me. I’m quietly confident).

Director: “Good to meet you. Take a seat. [Ex-Coworker] has told me a great deal about you and your experience. I’m impressed.”

Me: “Thank you. I’m feeling very positive about this role as well.”

Director: “Great, great. Let me ask you something. How would you feel about working with copyright law?”

Me: “Er, I’m confused. Would that be a part of the role?”

Director: “Well, we have a legal team, but we want to bring it in house.”

Me: “I will be honest with you; I’ve never studied or practised law. This would be a totally new field for me.”

(The interview goes on in this fashion for another half an hour. We never refer back to the job description, just more and more roles that are totally alien to the job. Each one is not on my CV or hinted at previously. I leave the interview feeling very let down, with an ideal opportunity on my doorstep turned into a total waste. The director shows me out, but not before telling me:)

Director: “I hope we haven’t put you off. I don’t want you to think that we don’t know what we want in a candidate.”

(That was exactly the case; I never bothered to ask for feedback!)

(I work for the Manager-from-Hell, in a service department for a firm that sells and maintained industrial fridges/freezers, cooker ranges, massive toasters, etc. The service department is arranged so that the three administrators (I and two others) divide up the customers between us. Some of our customers only have the one walk-in freezer or industrial toaster, so their livelihood is affected if we don’t get out there and fix the problems. Our manager loves himself so much, always sees himself as ‘in’ with the directors, and is always a bit too fast to jump at you for mistakes.)

Manager: “[My Name]! You know what you’ve done? We’re going to lose this customer because of you! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH CRAP THE MANAGING DIRECTOR JUST GAVE ME BECAUSE OF YOU? WELL, DO YOU?!”

Me: *getting flustered, because I haven’t been there long and it is hot in that office* “What’s the customer’s name? I’ll get the paperwork out and see what’s—”

Manager: “Never MIND what the customer’s called! You know D*** WELL know what they’re called! You spoke to them twice today, so don’t give me that!”

(This ‘conversation’ is taking place in full view and hearing of my colleagues, and the other offices go strangely quiet; they can hear him, too.)

Me: “[Manager], unless you tell me who it is, I can’t do anything about it, so—”

Manager: “GOD ALMIGHTY, [My Name], you’re just so d***ed useless! I don’t know why we took you on! Bloody useless!” *storms off to the MD’s office*

Me: *to the office in general* “Does anyone know who he’s talking about?”

(My colleagues just shrug, so we get back to work. But now I’m getting angry, and wondering if I’ve taken a problem job. Ten minutes later, the manager asks me to come into the kitchen; he even asks in a nice, polite way. When we get there, he closes the door after us, smiles and says:)

Manager: “[My Name], I’m really sorry for shouting at you like that. The mistake wasn’t yours; it was actually [Other Department]’s fault. It was them who’d talked to the client. I’m sorry for blaming you.”

Me: “Wow, thanks for the apology! But I won’t accept it until you come with me.” *takes him back to our office* “[Manager], would you mind repeating what you said in the kitchen, please?”

Manager: “Really, [My Name]? You’re going to make me embarrass myself?” *gives a jolly hahaho – an obviously fake laugh*

Me: “Yes, [Manager]. I think it’s only right, seeing as you ripped a piece off me without any idea what was going on. ‘New girl gets the blame.’ Is that your style? Anyway, who was the customer?”

Manager: “It was one of [Coworker]’s accounts. Sorry.”

(So, he did apologise — mechanically and monotonously, but he did. That was the first run-in I had with him, and I had many more in the three years I was there. The only reason I was there so long is that I promised myself I’d see him gone before I did. We absolutely hated each other’s guts. When he left, I handed in my notice. I got a better revenge, though. He insisted on giving me a lift home one night in his new car, to show off. I accepted, seeing as it was pouring down. When we got there, he asked if my husband was in (for more bragging), so I took him into the flat. Our little cat was having a bit of a bad tummy reaction to a cat food I’d given her, and she also liked to sit on strangers’ laps. She bounced up onto my manager’s lap, curled up, fell asleep and then farted the smelliest fart I’d ever smelled her do. It was gross, and I loved it a lot. The manager’s face was a picture. Perfect timing, Fuzzball!)