(I’m joking around in my bedroom with a friend and my five-year-old niece is sitting nearby, wanting to be one of the “big kids.” She’s usually very quiet and reserved, so it’s easy to forget she’s there.)

Me: “That guy is totally her pimp.”

Niece: “What’s a pimp?”

Me: “Uh… Pimp My Ride is a show that was on TV a long time ago. Basically, you take your car to these guys, and they make it look crazy.”

(I showed her some pictures to make my cover-up more credible. She was really interested and asked if she can watch some of the show. I agreed and showed her some clips. Now, she asks to watch “Pimp My Ride” every day, and she tells everyone with a car that they should get it pimped.)

(My parents and I are watching TV, and my dad is absently rubbing my mom’s neck. She’s enjoying it.)

Mom: “Mmm, does it feel naughty? It feels naughty.”

Dad: “Oh, yeah.”

Me: *cringing*

Mom: “No, not naughty, KNOTTY!”

(It’s my first day as a sales assistant, and I’m being shown around by another employee. As my manager exits the stockroom, this happens. I am one of only two female employees. My manager is male.)

Me: “All right, I’m ready to work. Where do you want me?”

Manager: *completely deadpan* “Behind the counter, but we’ll do that during lunch.” *wink*

Other Employee: *snickers*

Me: “Do I get hazard payment for that?”

Manager: *laughs loudly* “I think you’ll do just fine here.”

(A call comes in ten minutes before closing:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Restaurant], this is [My Name] speaking, how can I help you?”

Irate Caller: “I cannot believe that you would expose my children to such inappropriate television advertisements! This whole [new company slogan] is exposing my daughters to [oral sex], and they are only four and six years old. I should report you to the FCC!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you are calling a local franchise location. The national corporate office creates the all advertisements, and we don’t have any say in it. I can help you get in contact with them, if you would like.”

Irate Caller: “Well, if you cared about your customers at all, you would take down those disgusting ads right now!”

Me: “Sir, I’m a local supervisor; I have no control over television ads. However, the number for [Restaurant]’s corporate office is [number]. We don’t have any interaction with them, other than buying our supplies, so you need to call them in the morning. I’m sure they can tell you who can help you.”

Irate Caller: “I’ve never seen such horrible things in my life, and you won’t help me. You’re harming my four- and six-year-olds, and all you will do is tell me to talk to someone else in the morning. I want these ads taken down now! I don’t want them to show up on my TV again.”

Me: “Sir, in all honestly, you’re just calling the wrong number. You need to call the corporate office. I’m sure they can help you.”

Irate Caller: “If you cared about your job, you would care about me! What lousy customer service! Don’t you even care about my daughters? Fix this now!!!!”

Me: “Sir, I’m a 19-year-old college student, working at a fast food joint making [just over minimum wage] an hour. I would love to help you, but I have absolutely no say over what is on television. I wouldn’t even know who to call to ask them to stop broadcasting them. Personally, I agree with you. I don’t like the new slogan. I think it’s dumb and I also think it’s inappropriate. However, I can’t help you; only the corporate office can.”

Irate Caller: “If you agree with me, why won’t you help me? I’m going to get you fired and, then sue for exposing my kids to [oral sex]! It’s not right what you’re doing.”

Me: “Okay, sir, if you call the corporate office, they can put you in contact with their legal department.”

Irate Caller: “Why are you doing this to my kids, you [swear word]?”

Me: “Sir, it is time for me to close the restaurant. I cannot help you and I really need to go. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, but if you call the corporate office, I’m sure you can find someone with the authority to help. Do you need me to repeat the number?”

Irate Caller: “You know you’re going to Hell, right?” *slams down the phone*

(Every few days, a printing press needs to be shut down and cleaned because the ink spatters all over where it isn’t meant to be. The workers climb inside and wipe everything with solvent-soaked rags. Since it is a messy task, we put on disposable impermeable hooded jumpsuits [Tyveks AKA whitesuits], and since these factories are very hot, it’s common to take off your uniform to keep it free of sweat and solvent, and just go into the whitesuit in your underwear. The change rooms are a pain to get to; you have to cross the entire huge building, go upstairs, and come halfway back. Since it is 99% men working there, sometimes the guys just quickly go down to their boxers in some quiet corner and hope no woman walks by. As one of the rare women, I have to be a bit more private. I slip into this tiny closet that has a urinal in it; no running water, no sink. It is just a urinal that someone has connected to a drain [the bathrooms are too far away, too, so I guess people got desperate]. I have to move very carefully so I don’t get my clothes dirty, but I do it and swiftly get at my cleaning task. Later that day my supervisor calls me into the office and, WITHOUT EVEN CLARIFYING THAT THE GOSSIP HE’s HEARD IS TRUE, starts in on me about my inappropriate behavior.)

Supervisor: “Maybe you like the attention, but it’s not professional to give the guys a ‘show!’”

Me: “Huh?”

Supervisor: “[Guy I thought was my friend] told me! You changed clothes right in the middle of the factory floor instead of in the bathroom or change-room!”

Me: “Yes, I suppose technically I did… INSIDE the urinal closet. Why would I want pervs staring at me?!”

(I never even got an apology from either my boss for assuming the worst about me, or my “friend” for spreading rumors that made me seem indecent. That’s the reward I get for enduring the stench in that little closet, to save the company the ten minutes’ wasted time for me to walk to the proper change-room.)