I work in a pensions and investments company call centre. I am on their e-service support desk for people struggling to log into their accounts on our website. I have a caller phone up, go through all the security questions with me, and then let me know they are having trouble logging in.

Our website has a lot of different login screens, so clicking “log in” just takes you to all the different sections for the different accounts. These are all labelled with the type of account the customer has to make it easy to navigate to the right place.

Me: “So, what you do is you click ‘log in,’ click ‘customer,’ and navigate to ‘[Correct Contract]’. Once there, click that button to take you to your login portal.”

Caller: “Okay.” *Pauses* “So, I’m logged in, but I don’t see my plan.”

Me: “Did you navigate to ‘[Correct Contract]’ and click it?”

Caller: “I clicked ‘log in’ but nothing happened. I don’t see my plan details.”

Me: “Okay, so you click ‘log in,’ click ‘customer,’ and navigate to ‘[Correct Contract]’.”

Caller: “I did click ‘log in’ but nothing happened. I can’t see my plan still.”

Me: “…”

Me: “So, after you click ‘log in,’ you need to click ‘customer’ to give you the different login options, and then you need to click on ‘[Correct Contract]’. This is where you actually need to log in. So, can you do that for me?”

Caller: “Nothing happened.” 

Me: *Patience running thin* “Did you click on ‘customer’?”

Caller: *Realisation dawns* “Oh… okay.” *Pauses* “So… now where do I log in?”

Me: *Rubbing my face* “You click… ‘[Correct Contract]’.”

Caller: *Long, long pause* “Oooh, okay.” *Pauses* “So do I put my login info here?”

Me: *Forcing a smile, gritted teeth* “Yeah, that’s your login page. Yup. Uh-huh.”

Caller: *Pauses again* “Okay! I see my plan now! You’ve been really helpful, thanks! Bye.” *Hangs up*

Me: *Just stares at the screen*

Since I’m having no luck with my job search, I agree to volunteer at the charity cafe my mum runs through our church. I wouldn’t normally because I have trouble standing for any period of time, but having been shut for six months due to a certain global disease, new restrictions mean that they need someone at the door to take details for contact tracing, which I can do sitting down.

Mum and [Second-In-Command] usually go in at 8:00 and Mum bakes fresh scones and pancakes while [Second-In-Command] completes the new and extensive cleaning routine. The other volunteers arrive between 9:30 and 9:45 to open at 10:00.

This morning, I arrive at 9:30 and ring the bell to be let in. It’s a miserable day and the cold and wet has gone to my joints, so it’s a two-crutch day. [Second-In-Command] lets me in and I can immediately hear someone grumbling in the corridor.

Second-In-Command: “Don’t say a word. She’s been here for fifteen minutes and I wish I hadn’t let her in.”

I recognise one of our regulars, who’s known to be difficult, standing in the corridor. As soon as she sees me, she starts shrieking.

Regular: “I’ve been here for twenty minutes and they won’t let me in the hall to sit down! It’s disgraceful! I demand a seat!”

Second-In-Command: “We’ve been through this. We can’t let anyone in until we finish the cleaning, and that won’t be until we open at ten.”

Unfortunately, my station is in the corridor facing her, and the second I sit down and start taking my coat off, she starts screaming again. 

Regular: “Preferential treatment! She’s getting preferential treatment because she’s her daughter.”

Second-In-Command: “She has a disability and can’t stand. And that’s where she does her job.”

Regular: “What if I had arthritis?”

Second-In-Command: “Do you have arthritis?”

Regular: “No, but what if I had a seizure?”

Second-In-Command: “Then we’d get you immediate medical attention from the trained nurse whose daughter you’re screaming at.”

Regular: “I’m going to complain to your minister! You can’t treat me like this! You will let me in now.”

Second-In-Command: “The answer is still no.”

She shrieked and sulked and demanded for the next thirty minutes until we officially opened and she got into the hall to sit down. Then, she started grabbing anyone who went past her table to try and get them to sympathise with her. Other regulars actually came out to apologise for her behaviour. My mum had to tell her she had to stop disturbing everyone else or she’d have to leave. 

She swore we’d lost a customer, but I think we can live without her £1.50. If she’d asked nicely for a seat, we’d have got her one, but screaming at everyone got her nowhere. And she’s guaranteed that if she arrives early again, she won’t be allowed in the building before opening time.

I am third in the queue at a local supermarket. At the counter, there is a lovely, polite, elderly lady with the telltale jerking movements of Parkinson’s. Her voice is a little slurred, soft, and monotonous.

Lady: “I’m sorry I’m so slow. Can I just get these?”

She puts through five items, mostly lunch stuff.

Cashier: “No worries, not a problem at all! Would you like a bag?”

The next customer cuts in.

Man: “Well, I’m f****** worried! You shouldn’t be allowed out in public like that.”

He gets up in the old lady’s face.

Cashier: “Stop that immediately!”

Man: “Listen, b****, I shouldn’t have to wait in line because some old f***** can’t handle her highs!”

Meanwhile, the old lady is calmly putting her stuff in her bag… except for a can of soda which she holds in her hand.

Cashier: “Excuse me. That is my mother, and she has Parkinson’s Disease; it is a neurological degenerative condition that causes those movements.”

The manager can be seen approaching but is still a few moments away.

Man: “Like f*** she is! She’s just high!”

The lady opens the now very well-shaken can of soda and proceeds to drop it at the man’s feet, causing it to spurt upward in a jet of foam and thoroughly soak him.

Lady: “Oh, I’m terribly sorry! I have Parkinson’s disease. There was a spasm in my hand and I let go of it. I’m soooooo sorry!”

The other customer shouts for a bit and then gets thrown out by the manager.

The elderly lady then waits at the end of the checkout to speak to her daughter after she finishes serving me, and that’s when I notice her mischievous grin.

Me: “You totally meant to do that, didn’t you?” *Smirks*

Lady: “H*** yeah, I did!” *Smiles sweetly* “I may have Parkinson’s, but I can still deal with an a**hole or two!”

This story is part of our Best Of July 2021 roundup!

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I worked away from home for a few years as a self-employed business consultant because there wasn’t much work in my field near my hometown. Unfortunately, my wife suddenly became quite ill one year, and whilst her parents were really helpful, I was desperate to find work that would mean I was able to go home to her each night. 

I eventually found work for a consultancy who told me that they were developing a satellite office in my region, which initially sounded really promising, but ended up being one of the worst professional experiences of my life.

In the nine months that I worked there, my boss changed three times. When [Boss #1] left, we lost our main contract. It turned out that nobody had been doing any business development when they were on a full-time secondment, so when they left, there was suddenly no work for me or my team. This led to a lot of nonsense which, in retrospect, was almost certainly them trying to get me to quit, but like I said, I was desperate so I put up with it. This particular story is about a meeting with [Boss #2] a day before [Boss #3] started, in response to my asking if I passed my six-month probation — and hence would be a bit more difficult to fire or let go.

Boss #2: “[My Name], I have reviewed the probation objectives [Boss #1] set you with the Head of the Department (HOD) and we don’t agree that they were appropriate.”

Me: “What do you mean? These were all agreed on at the time and formally submitted. I’m pretty sure the HOD even signed off on them.”

Boss #2: “HOD says he’s never seen them. So, we have set you four new objectives. Here they are: [list]. As I’m sure you’d agree, you haven’t achieved any of these objectives, so we can’t pass your probation. HOD is particularly disappointed that you haven’t done more business development.”

Me: “Wait, what? Out of six objectives, you have changed four, and since my probation is up tomorrow, you’ve pre-emptively failed me by giving me less than a day to complete them? How is that fair?”

Boss #2: “I didn’t say you had failed them.”

Me: “What do you mean? You just told me that I failed them.”

Boss #2: “Oh, no, you haven’t failed. You just need longer to achieve them, so we’re extending your probation by another two months. Don’t worry. Most of the people in the team had their probation extended.”

Me: “And you honestly don’t think that’s a problem? Surely if almost everyone needs their probation extended, that suggests that there is an issue with the whole system?”

Boss #2: *After some silence* “Anyway, Human Resources will be in touch with the papers to confirm your probation extension. Please make sure you agree on the new objectives with [Boss #3] when they start tomorrow.”

Almost as soon as [Boss #3] started, we had a meeting to go over how angry I was about all of this, but they basically talked me into taking it on the chin and promised that they would pass me after the two months. In fairness, they did, but at that point, I pretty much went straight into garden leave because the business initiated processes to make my role redundant.

I switched high schools midway through my first year and found that, unlike my old school, my new one taught Latin. As another student also joined the school at the same time as me, she and I were given separate lesson plans to the rest of the class to try and “catch us up.”

I was generally very polite and quiet at this point in my life, particularly toward authority figures, but my outward behaviour didn’t always reflect my internal monologue. 

One day, the teacher reprimanded the other later starter because her textbook was closed and she wasn’t even pretending to be working. I, however, was nearly finished with the assignment. For some reason, though, the teacher then brought me into it.

Teacher: “What about you, [My Name]? Are you Superman and able to read your book through its cover?”

Me: “Yes, of course, I am.”

A few moments later as the class erupted, I realised with growing horror that I had actually said the thing I was thinking.

Teacher: “Oh, that’s hilarious, [My Name], very funny. Do you know what else is funny? Saturday morning detention.”

I didn’t have a great home life and my parents had very strict ideas about respecting adults, so frankly, I was terrified about how I would explain this to them. I spoke to the teacher after the class, apologised profusely, and explained that my inner voice had gotten away from me and that I had actually finished the lesson so he caught me by surprise. He thanked me for apologising but explained that he had actually been joking, too. Looking back on it now, I’m not sure if he just saw how panicked I was and took pity on me.