There’s a public playground structure at a mall in the city where we live. The structure is designed specifically for climbing and is essentially a series of lily pads that spiral vertically about two stories high. The entire thing is encased in nets so the kids can’t fall. There are four different pathways up the lily pads to the top. Basically, the kids climb all over each other up, down, and sideways like a bunch of wild chimpanzees.

My four-year-old has been climbing for about an hour, and it’s almost dinner time, so I call him over to put his shoes on and leave. As I’m helping him, a woman walks up with her six- or seven-year-old child and speaks directly to my son, ignoring me.

Woman: “You stepped on his leg!”

Me: “What’s that?”

Woman: “Is this your child? He was climbing over my child!”

The other child is not visibly upset in any way and honestly looks more embarrassed than anything.

Me: “Okay?”

Woman: “He needs to apologize!”

Me: “Is your son hurt?”

Woman: “No, but your son needs to say he’s sorry. He was climbing and he stepped on my child!”

Me: *Blank stare* “I mean, all the kids are climbing and stepping all over each other. That’s why they don’t allow shoes, and if he’s not hurt, I’m not sure what the problem is.”

Woman: “Ugh!” *To her child* “Come on, these people are obviously not going to say they are sorry. Nice thing to teach your kid.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not going to make my child apologize for playing on a playground in the manner that it was designed to be played on. If you don’t want anyone to come into physical contact with your kid, maybe this isn’t the best place to bring him. Also, your kid is twice the size of mine.”

She storms off in a huff.

Son: “Mom, what was wrong with that lady?”

Me: “She doesn’t seem to understand how the playground works.”

He thinks about that for a minute.

Son: *Very seriously* “I think it’s because she can’t fit because she’s a grown-up. That’s why she doesn’t know how to climb there.”

I was amused at his attempt to figure out why on earth someone wouldn’t understand that a climbing playground does allow climbing.

Back when I used to work at an indoor soft play and cafe, we had to fill out paperwork if someone got hurt. One day, an eleven-year-old girl and her father approached me for first aid. She had changed her mind about the direction she was going and fell over her own feet and twisted her ankle. I gave first aid and filled out a report with her father. The girl was fine and her ego bruised more than the ankle as her dad was laughing at her fail. Ten minutes later, she was off running around again.

The next day, I got a phone call. I was increasingly suspicious throughout, but I was sincere and apologetic until the end.

Woman: “Hello. I need to make a complaint.”

Me: “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. What can I help with?”

Woman: “Your venue is dangerous. My daughter got her leg caught in the netting yesterday and broke her ankle.” 

Me: “Gosh! I hope she is okay. But, um, can you give me any more information about where and when it happened and who gave first aid?”

Woman: “It was at the top of the ramp up into the playframe. The woman at the front refused to give first aid because she was too busy.”

Me: “Wow! I am sorry to hear that. Did anyone fill out a report or call an ambulance?”

Woman: “No report. We rushed her out straight away and took her to the hospital. Now, what are you going to do for me?”

Me: “Wow, well, gosh, I really am sorry. I hope she makes a full recovery soon. Now if you don’t mind, I’m afraid I am going to have to fill out some paperwork. Can I start with her name?”

Woman: “[Girl].”

Me: “Oh. And her father’s name was [Girl’s Father].”

Woman: “How do you know that?”

Me: “Because I was walking past and saw her trip over, and so did [Girl’s Father]. She tripped over her own feet and all three of us knew that. Also, I was the woman who went up the front to administer first aid, who filled out the report with her father about what happened, and who bid them farewell two hours later after she had continued to run around and play. Now, I am sorry that she is hurt, and if she has indeed broken her ankle, then that will be awful for her, but I don’t know that it was because she got caught in our equipment.”

Woman: “Oh. Nevermind.”

She hung up.

I got another call later in the day. 

Girl’s Father: “I am really sorry, but my dips*** wife has just told me she made a fool of herself calling you this morning, and I wanted to let you know that my daughter is totally fine and is walking around as if nothing happened. It wasn’t your fault what happened and [Girl] had a really good day there. You have a really nice venue with nice staff. My daughter and I are moving out this weekend, and my soon-to-be ex-wife can sit and stew about whatever bulls*** she can come up with next.”

Many years ago, I worked for an outdoor activity centre/playland in the retail department. Throughout the park, there were many different shops that we manned, and I absolutely loved working there despite it being hard work for little pay.

One day, I had a run-in with a manager who seriously berated me in front of the entire team along with others from different departments. I was advised by a manager from a different team to make a formal complaint, which I did. Others came out with similar complaints and the manager in question was advised to find employment elsewhere but not sacked. Now, unbeknownst to me, I triggered the chain of events that would lead to me leaving the company.

There were a few rules in place that were designed to prevent theft, including that no more than £10 in personal money was to be allowed on the shop floor, which was to be checked before your shift. Anything over this must be declared to management and left in your locker, and all staff had to agree to random locker/pocket searches.

In the two years that I’d worked there, I had never been picked for a random search. There were several hundred employees, so the odds were incredibly slim. As soon as our disgraced manager left, I suddenly found myself picked at random for a search. This involved turning out my pockets, removing my shoes/socks, and then being escorted to the locker room to empty the contents. Nothing was found, so I was sent back to the shop floor. The following week, I was again picked at “random” for a search, which again turned up nothing.

Rumours soon started making the rounds that I had upset my department’s remaining management team after instigating the action against my former manager, and they were going to force me out using any means necessary. I realised that I needed to act, so I started job hunting and then began my malicious compliance. I started taking a backpack to work filled with £20 in pennies. Every morning, I declared the amount in my locker as required and, sure enough, after a couple of days, I was once again selected for my weekly “random” search. I got paid to watch a security guard and supervisor count 2,000 pennies. As expected, I passed said search, and off I went. This happened a second time with now £30 in pennies, and I decided to up my game.

At the start of the following week, I patiently awaited my “random” search with glee, knowing what awaited them. The day soon arrived, and off I was marched to the lockers, ready for their treat. I lifted out my backpack and passed it to the security guard and supervisor, who dove straight in without any gloves.

Oh, how they retched as they discovered what was in there. I had several pairs of my period-soaked pants waiting in there, especially for them. They were gingerly laid on the floor beside my bag as they counted my bag of pennies. The smell from the pants was unreal; they’d been festering in there for days in anticipation. Once again, the search revealed nothing, and off to work I went.

After that, I was not picked for another search again. I left after a couple more weeks for a new job. Keeping in touch with some people, I discovered that a new rule was introduced that tried dictating what you could and couldn’t take to work with you. This soon led to a mass walkout of staff, and after a year, the place shut down due to unrelated matters.

I work at a kids’ entertainment center with lots of different roleplay activities. We’re not like a wide-open area theme park, and everyone has to queue and wait for their time slot for the activities. And because we have lots of different activities and we’re indoors, we do not encourage running as it’s very easy to just crash into someone.

I’ve been having a pretty normal day with kids from local schools who are here for an excursion and behaving relatively well.

Then, an overseas school clearly here on a school trip comes in, and the students start running around screaming like monkeys, scaring all the other kids, and literally pushing their way through.

One of the teachers from the overseas school saunters up to my activity booth.

Teacher: “My students are from a well-known international school from [Country], and the students are excited to be here for their school trip. Is there a separate line for them so that they won’t have to queue and mix around with the local children?”

I literally gave her a blank stare for a moment and then put on my sweetest smile.

Me: “I am afraid not, ma’am. Over here, we encourage all children to be given a fair chance with one another, regardless of where they are from.”

I give a side-eye to their students running and screaming at the top of their voices like they own the place.

Teacher: “Oh.”

I kid you not, she literally walked away lifting her nose in the air.

My colleagues and I lost count of how many incident reports we had to fill out that day because the students from the overseas school were literally running around so much that they either fell down and bruised themselves or banged into other people.

My little sister and I are maybe six and thirteen, and we’re at an activity centre, thanks to a course that helps kids from disadvantaged families have a slightly more “normal” childhood. Usually, our dad drops us off, we spend the day doing fun stuff we don’t normally get the chance to do, and then he comes to pick us up.

Today, we have been dropped off a little early, and we’re playing tig while waiting for the other kids to arrive. My sister trips over a step and bangs her wrist. There appears to be a small cut, and she has tears in the corners of her eyes. The adults responsible for us ask if they need to call our dad, but I overrule them. I tell them it’s just a small cut; she’s being a crybaby and needs to get over it. She’s not even actually crying, just about to. The adults listen to me, but they really should not.

My dad has always been the kind of person who shouts at me whenever I cry, telling me off for crocodile tears and telling me I’m being ridiculous and such, so I’m projecting this onto my sister. My dad is autistic and the sound of us crying always causes him genuine pain, which means he can’t deal with us properly, but we won’t find this out for many years yet.

At the moment, all I know is that crying equals bad, and she needs to deal with the pain without crying like I have been expected to. Also, my sister has an incredibly high pain tolerance due to years of medical issues, so I should have known that if she’s feeling the pain, then the pain is serious. She can barely join in the activities that day because her wrist hurts so much, and one of the other kids makes her a sling from some of the material we have access to today. I just roll my eyes at this and continue playing as normal because, clearly, she’s being silly, and I’m not going to stop my fun to baby her.

Some hours later, our dad returns to collect us. The adults mention to him that she banged her wrist earlier but that it’s nothing to worry about. He removes her makeshift sling and her wrist is swollen. I don’t really get what he’s all upset about, but he takes us to the hospital to get it looked at, which I’m kind of numb to since we’ve been in them a lot, and I still don’t realise that this is serious. They find that her wrist is broken. 

Looking back at the situation now, I’m horrified that these adults just accepted the word of an autistic preteen girl instead of appropriately dealing with the medical emergency, and I’m disgusted at my own attitude towards my sister’s pain. On the bright side, my sister’s wrist is no longer broken, and she hasn’t needed to be in hospital since before the health crisis, though she will need another appointment soon.