This happened in the early 1970s when the wonderful world of walkie-talkies had not quite reached the peak of popularity and common usage. Keep in mind that this was long ago, so the conversations are approximated.

I was an apprentice, assisting the electrical engineer who was servicing the elevators of a building. The place was high enough society that they had security guards. The electrical engineer sent me out of the building to get a couple of boxes of bolts for control covers for the lift controls.

My mistake: the work was pretty hot, so I had taken off my jacket while working; unfortunately, my jacket had my ID badge in it. The elevator electronics were huge and filthy with oils, so I fully admit I looked like a complete mess. We had been doing battle with the great metal beast that had decided to hemorrhage fluids everywhere and make horrendous metallic noises like a dying UFO. Also, unfortunately, the security guards changed shifts whilst I was out of the building, so they hadn’t seen me previously going in or going out. So now, with no ID badge, the security guards wouldn’t let me in.

Me: “Look, I get it. You have a job to do and I can’t come in without my badge. Could one of you please tell [Electrical Engineer] at the elevator to bring it? You can get confirmation from him and from my ID that I have business here.”

Guard #1: *Pompously* “Nah, I don’t think so.”

Me: “Sorry? Why not?”

Guard #1: “Because you’re some random, snot-nosed kid in filthy clothes. I’m not going to bother a professional.”

Me: “I’m his apprentice.”

Guard #2: “Sure you are, kid. Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal: if you walk out that door in the next ten seconds, I won’t box your ear and throw you out myself.”

I took a deep breath, let it out, walked out to the truck, and leaned against it. Now, we’d been working on this thing all day, and the box of bolts I had been sent out to get was supposed to be one of the last things we did.

Due to me being told to get out, [Electrical Engineer] went over his allowed working hours. I saw him come down to the lobby, looking inquisitive. This is his conversation with the guards, as told to me when he came out.

Electrical Engineer: “Have you seen my apprentice? I sent him out to get some supplies.”

Guard #1: “Eh, some filthy brat tried getting in here, but no ID, no entry.”

Electrical Engineer: “His ID was with me. You could have come to ask.”

Guard #2: *Grunting and lazily scratching his belly* “Yeah, we could have. So, anyway, is the elevator fixed yet?”

Electrical Engineer: “Thanks to you two idiots? No.”

Guard #1: “What?!”

Electrical Engineer: “I called you both idiots. Due to my work hours being up, due to you morons not letting my apprentice back into the building, and due to him not being able to bring me the supplies I needed, the elevator will remain unusable until sometime tomorrow.”

Beaming broadly, [Electrical Engineer] went in and came back down with my stuff as well as his own and we left. We laughed all the way back to our offices as the guards sputtered and protested, only to be ignored. 

There was a very interesting phone call later, where [Electrical Engineer] gave his side of the story to the building manager. Apparently, two guards meant that one was indeed expected to check in such instances, and the building manager was not happy to note that the guards had failed to follow protocol and had just caused a delay in getting the lift fixed. Many building residents were going to have a lot to say when they found out that they would have to walk up or down flights upon flights of stairs if they wanted to go anywhere.

The next day, we arrived early, at a pretty premium rate, and the morning shift guards were VERY pleasant and professional to us the whole time we were there.

Remember the good ol’ days of Internet security, kids? When we were all taught that you don’t leave bank information on places it can be swept up and sold?

This all starts with Mom who, to her credit, is trying to pay me back for groceries and fund my new obsession with bowling. [Credit Union], following the Great Trends of Machinery, recently decided in their infinite wisdom to bestow an entire system overhaul of their website, a new app, and a brand-new “experience” on us.

My mother is pre-home computers. This may be important later.

She logs in and tries to transfer money.

Mom: “Oh, honey, you’re not signed up for [Money Transfer System]. Can you sign up real quick?”

Me: “Uh, I’ve been signed up since I started using the bank. What email are you using?”

Cue a “Who’s On First?” moment about emails, names, and any potential variations I might have signed up with when I was all of twelve and got my first bank account.

Me: “You know, they did just update everything recently. Are you using the new app? There might be some system issues.”

Mom responds with all the confidence of a pre-tech Boomer.

Mom: “Oh, obviously not. You must have forgotten you capitalized a letter in your email address.”

Me: “…what?”

It goes downhill from there.

My mother’s arguments vary from, “But the computer says you’re not enrolled!” to, “They can’t have system issues; it worked just fine for your brother!”

At some point, I try to log in.

This is obviously a mistake. I am using [Browser #1] with a password generator — as one does — and it isn’t working. I get kicked out and have to reset my password. Twice.

Me: “Well, this isn’t working. Can you call the [Credit Union] people and ask for help?”

Mom: “I’m trying to transfer money to you! This is your job!”

Me: “You do know that the nice people who will get a lot of federal jail time if they mishandle your money might not want to talk about your account with me, right?”

Mom: “But if the computer says that you’re not enrolled, it must be your problem!”

I break first and drive down to the [Credit Union]. I walk in, show my ID, and try to word things in a way that does not violate federal law…

Me: “Hi. My mom and I are having two problems: first, I can’t get my password manager to work on [Browser #1] with your site. Second, the money transfer system says I’m enrolled on my end, but my mom’s device says I’m not. What’s going on?”

Teller: “Uh…”

Passing Teller: “Oh, I know! The money transfer system has been doing that; she just has to re-add her contacts. And [Browser #1] is inherently outdated, so it’s incompatible with our site!”

I pause and translate this from Non-Computer Speak into “Wait A Minute, Didn’t [Browser #2] Just Update Its ‘Security’ Policy?”.

Then, I say my thanks and leave.

I return home and tell my mom that she needs to re-add me as a contact. She does so, and all is well.

Then, I opened my instant messenger to speak to my much more savvy sister at college.

Me: “Remember when [Browser #2] decided they were going to collect data, sell it to the highest bidder, forbid [Ad Blocker], and leave you open to every bug on the planet? Someone in [Credit Union]’s web developer team apparently decided that means they’ll get more money from their end-user if their site is only compatible with [Browser #2]. And then told their wife that [Browser #1] is ‘outdated’. I’m pretty sure a middle manager somewhere is making a web designer cry into a beer for the Days of Yore when browser compatibility meant more than, ‘We think this is Cool With The Kids and Hip and also makes money.'”

Now I’m off figuring out how to keep [Browser #2] from stealing my friggin’ bank password. And losing my faith in humanity.

This incident occurred on the day of one of the biggest sports games of the season. Since tickets to the final were so expensive, and the team I supported had the rare opportunity to win three trophies in one season, I went into the city to support my team.

I found a bar in the centre of the fan zone that had security and such checking IDs and making sure everything was orderly. Great! Should be a safe environment.

I nabbed a drink from the bar, headed up to the balcony, and started watching the pre-game coverage.

After about an hour of being up there undisturbed, people started filtering in at a rapid pace. I grabbed another few drinks and made my way back to the balcony. Ten minutes later, this rude guy approached me.

Rude Guy: “You shouldn’t be here! It’s private! You need to go somewhere else!”

I laughed. There was no signage that said this area was private, no other groups had said anything, and the security team nor the bar staff had mentioned it being private. As far as I was concerned, this guy had no grounds to demand I leave and no authority to make me leave.

Me: “Despite what you may think, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. If you genuinely believe I shouldn’t be here, it’s down to security to deal with, not you.”

Rude Guy: *Angry* “I’m going to get security to kick you out! I paid £500 for the balcony!”

Yeah, sure. I didn’t believe this blowhard any more than I believed that he “owned” the balcony.

Five minutes after this, I finished my first drink and went downstairs of my own accord, not feeling safe with that belligerent idiot being next to me. Ten minutes later, security approached me and asked me to step outside.

Security: “A gentleman on the balcony told us that you have been causing trouble and hanging around in places you’re not allowed to be in.”

Me: “Is there signage prohibiting access to the balcony?”

Security: “No.”

Me: “Have the staff told people it’s private?”

Security: “No.”

Me: “Is there any rule against me drinking on the balcony on my own, not disturbing anybody?”

Security: “No. But this gentleman did, in fact, pay for the seating and use of the balcony for the evening for himself and his work friends.”

Finally, he admitted:

Security: “You’re not allowed up there because it is private, but how were you meant to know?”

One of the rude guy’s friends, who was kind of on the fence about it, was nearby, now looking very sheepish about how badly his “friend” had treated me. He tried to make amends.

Rude Guy’s Friend: “If you’d like to join us up there for an evening, you can.”

Me: “Thanks, but I don’t feel safe up there with your friend acting how he did.”

The security officer made it clear that keeping patrons safe was his priority and that he would have a word with the guy about his conduct. The friend apologised for the whole situation and for how the guy had treated me. I was free to return and watch the match — from the packed ground floor — and later on, I noticed that the same security officer was now serving as a bouncer to the “VIP section” and looked very uncomfortable about it.

We didn’t win the match, but I had a good night with several other supporters who were decidedly more friendly.

A few years ago, I was flying home for Christmas. I was at the airport, getting ready to go through security. I had extra stuff because I needed to work while I was gone, so I had my work laptop and needed equipment on top of my personal electronics. Getting unpacked took me a bit. Finally, I got everything onto the belts including my shoes and jacket.

I moved into line to go through the X-ray, and suddenly, lights started flashing and a fire alarm went off. It didn’t seem to be going through the whole airport, and no one was running or screaming, including the TSA agents. They did, however, stop letting people through the X-ray. The agent running it kept apologizing and saying they’d get us through ASAP. All of a sudden, this manager or supervisor or something came running up to this X-ray. (This was the only one that had this incident/issue; there were at least four other lines that got moving within about a minute.)

Manager: “Okay, people, we’re going to give this a minute, but you likely are going to need to go outside and wait while we clear things.”

The other passengers standing around and I kind of looked at each other in surprise. I glanced at the manager.

Me: “But what about our stuff?”

Manager: “You’ll have to leave it here and come back through security when we let you back in.”

I pointedly glanced down at my bare feet and held up my arms in my short-sleeve T-shirt.

Me: “Um, but what about this? It’s currently snowing, and I don’t know about them, but I don’t want to stand out in the cold with no shoes and no jacket. Plus, no offense, but if any of my stuff ends up missing or stolen because you made me leave it unattended, I’m going to come looking for it.”

The agent running the X-ray kind of started side-eyeing the manager, and he met our eyes and kind of shook his head no. I’m not sure if he was trying to stop me from getting into it with her or if he was trying to tell us they’d do what they could to not send us outside unprotected.

Manager: *Slightly huffy* “If you have to go outside, you’ll need to come back for it.”

Before I could point out the likely health hazards of forcing us outside like this, the alarm shut off. The manager just glanced up and then walked away, and we were allowed to go through the X-ray. I start putting everything away and getting everything back on.

As I was finishing up, I noticed the manager kind of half-hovering nearby and glaring in my general direction. She didn’t actually do anything, but I wonder if she was staring because we were holding things up (which was her fault in the first place, but let’s not talk about that) or if she was hoping for me to give her a reason to detain me. 

Luckily, I’d gotten there early enough that, even with the delay, I was able to take my time getting to the gate. The rest of my Christmas was just lovely, but I do wonder about that manager every so often.

I work in a call center for a home security company. I get a call from an old lady.

Caller: “Did you know you’re committing treason?”

Me: “Uh, do what now?”

Caller: “You’ve got advertisements on a terrorist TV show!”

Me: “I don’t follow you, ma’am.”

Caller: “What are you, stupid? You’ve got advertisements on Al Jazeera, those terrorists that blew up 9/11!”

Me: “Ma’am, Al Jazeera is a news network; they’re like the NBC of the United Arab Emirates, or whichever country they’re in.”

Caller: “You kids these days are so f****** stupid! I want to talk to your manager!”

Me: “Okay, one sec.”

I hit the immediate transfer button.

Basically, my manager says: 

Manager: “Yeah, this call is pointless. Send them to Customer Relations.”

I start explaining the situation to Customer Relations.

Customer Relations: “They said what?! Aww, dis gon’ be gud. Send dat lady over hurr; I gotta hurr dis.”