(I am a female mechanical engineering student working part-time in a local Scottish pub. There are always a lot of questions when the old boys find out what I study.)

Customer: “Do you study here, then?”

Me: “Yes, I study mechanical engineering. It’s great!”

Customer: “I bet there’s loads of boys on the course; is that why you chose it?”

Me: *sharply* “Not at all. It’s an extremely interesting subject that covers the mechanics of everything — not just cars, if that was going to be your next question.”

(I am regularly asked if I know how an engine works. The customer goes quiet, and I continue cutting lemons for the drinks. Then, about ten minutes later…)

Customer: “I can tell you’re going to be a great engineer, by the way you’re cutting those lemons so methodically!”

(All I could do was say thanks, and leave ASAP so I didn’t burst out laughing at his genuine compliment.)

(I’m on the train home. We are stopped at a station when the following announcement is made on the speakers:)

Announcement: “Just a note: trains are not busses. If you hold your arm out as the train approaches the platform, you will end up with a broken arm. Just a note…”

(One day I’m sitting in a parked car outside a supermarket, writing up the mileage/petrol expenses. Out of nowhere a car drives straight into the back of me! BANG! Glad I was wearing my brown trousers that day, I step out the car only to be confronted by an old lady.)

Lady: “You crashed into me!”

Me: “I was parked.”

Lady: “You reversed into me.”

Me: “No… I was parked. You have driven into me!”

Lady: “You reversed your car into me!”

Me: *sternly* “I. Was. Parked. I need your details, please.”

Lady: “You reversed into me! I want your details!”

Me: “Madam–”

Lady: “DETAILS, NOW! YOU REVERSED INTO ME!”

Me: “I… was… pa–”

(The lady waves dismissively and turns to get back in her car. I write down her license plate number before she drives off, and go into the store to report the incident.)

Me: *to security* “A woman just backed into me while I was parked. She tried to say I reversed into her. Then she drove off, but I’ve got license plate number. Can you check if you have it on camera?”

Security: “Sure. Where were you parked?” *gives location* “Yeah, that should be covered. Have you called the police?”

Me: “Not yet.”

Security: “Okay, give me two ticks and I’ll drop them a call. Would you mind waiting here?”

Me: “Not at all!”

(Security closes off their console and goes into the locked control room. About two minutes later, the old lady who ran into me wanders up to the security console.)

Lady: “Is the security here? I need to report a mad man! It was terrible! I was sitting in my car and he just smashed right into me! He got out and he was so rude! He tried to blame me for smashing into him! He was such a horrible person! He threatened me and then he just ran off!”

Me: *after a pregnant pause* “That was… How terrible!” *walks away to avoid actually decking her square in the face*

(Thankfully one of the cameras caught it and the police dealt with it pretty swiftly. In the footage you could see her driving along and turning as if to enter a parking spot, only to discover there was a car parked there already. She later changed her story to, “she didn’t see me parked there.” Some people shouldn’t be allowed near a car, let alone given a license.)

(My brother works for a call centre in our home town in Scotland. He has a lot of stories about things like a mobile phone sales campaign where the workers were never, despite repeated requests, given the phone specs, so they had to “improvise.” One of my favourites is when they are dealing with applications for student loans. This is all done on paper forms, with lots of to-and-fro via post. He gets a call…)

Caller: “Hello. I haven’t heard back about my student loan application, and it’s close to term start.”

Brother: “Thank you for calling. May I take your details, please?”

(My brother checks and finds no record of him in the system, even after his usual check for hideously misspelled names and street names, etc.)

Brother: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can find no record of you in the system. It looks like we haven’t received your application”

Caller: *shouting and angry* “What?! You haven’t received it? HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT WHEN I’M HOLDING THE APPLICATION FORM IN MY HAND?!”

Brother: “Well, I take it you’re not studying physics, sir, or you’d know an object cannot exist in two places at the same time.”

(Eventually, he got the guy to calm down and helped him, but he still wondered how the guy managed to qualify for university or even deal with daily life when he didn’t grasp that just filling in a paper form didn’t magically make things happen.)

(A supervisor comes into the office with a smile on his face. [Colleague], who works on the desk opposite me, is in her late 70s and is retiring in six months. She is known for her conservative views.)

Supervisor: *to me* “I’ve finally converted—”

Me: “What?”

Supervisor: “I’ve converted. You know, the—”

Colleague: “Oh, that’s wonderful news.” *quick side glare at me* “It’s a good day when one of the lost finds the flock again.”

Supervisor: “Ugh, sure… Anyway, I converted my measures sheet to metric. It took me all weekend, but I finally did it.” *beaming*

Me: “Oh, that is wonderful. That should save us some time!”

Colleague: “So, you aren’t converting to Catholicism. You should, unless you’re like [My Name] and her perversions.”

Me: “[Colleague]! You stop that right now!”

Supervisor: *to colleague* “Shut your puss, you old hag. My dad was abused by a Catholic priest when he was ten years old. He’s been very critical of religion ever since, especially Catholicism, which has more than enough secrets to damn the world thrice over. If you don’t like that, you can stick your crucifix where the sun doesn’t shine.”

(My colleague blushes and leaves the office, muttering about being so mistreated.)

Me: “Wow… [Supervisor], you might’ve just lost your job.”

Supervisor: “Who cares. It’s old witches like her that make life worse for the rest of us. What did she even mean, bringing you into that?”

Me: “My sister is gay, and I made the mistake of outing her to the office when she found out she was pregnant. [Colleague]’s been giving me nasty looks ever since. She’ll be gone in six months, and I don’t want the added baggage of a complaint so close to her retirement. It might give her the passion to stay, just to spite me.”

(He grumbled and left. When I went in the next morning, there was a nice new partition blocking my view of [Colleague], and a teddy bear with note attached saying to give it to my sister. To my knowledge, [Colleague] hasn’t complained about [Supervisor], and I’m counting the days until she’s gone for good.)