I use to work in fraud protection for a credit card company. We often had to make calls out to customers who had unusual purchases on their cards that we wanted to verify, which usually resulted in leaving a message on an answering machine. This was back in the days before voicemail.

I’d been experimenting with ways to increase the rate at which I handled calls. The biggest timekiller was waiting for the phone to ring and leaving messages, so I started writing all my notes while the phone was ringing. As soon as the answering machine picked up, while I was giving a message so routine that I didn’t need to think about it, I’d finish closing the current account and start the pre-call steps on my next account.

This, and a few other tricks I came up with, gave me a noticeably higher rate of handling accounts, enough that I was eventually asked to train others in the things I did to boost my call rate.

Unfortunately, eventually, I had someone pick up while I was leaving a message on their answering machine. This was a problem because I’d already exited out of their account and our system didn’t have a way to look up previously worked accounts.

Me: “Hello, I am calling from [Credit Card] fraud department. We’ve seen some unusual activity on your card and just wanted to verify that it was done by you. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I exited out of your account when you didn’t pick up. Please give me a minute to see if I can look it up again.”

I tried looking it up with the phone number I had just called, only to remember that I had ended up looking up and calling an alternative number to the one on the account, per our usual policy when we suspect someone took over a card and put a fake number on it. I quickly ran through a few other options in my head, but I couldn’t come up with a good way to find the account.

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, but it looks like, now that I’ve exited your account, I have no way to look it back up without an account number or social, but—”

I intended to tell him that he could call the number on the back of his card and he would be immediately directed to someone he could trust to give that information to, but he cut me off.

Man: “Oh, that’s fine. My social’s [number].”

I was shocked that he had just given that information to a random guy calling him, but I still used it to bring up his account. Since this was an alternate number that wasn’t trusted, I was still forced to ask further security questions, which he happily answered, before we could get to the suspected fraud.

In the end, it turned out that someone had taken over his account, put an address and phone number they controlled on the card, and had a new card sent to the new address. It’s nearly impossible to do that if the person in question doesn’t already have a significant amount of information about the person they’re trying to take over — most importantly, their Social Security number.

Gee, I wonder how an untrustworthy individual got hold of the Social Security number of a guy who will freely read it off to any stranger that calls him?

You will be happy to know that, after this foolish mistake, I changed my process to make sure I kept the account number of the person I had just called on one of my applications while moving forward with screening the next account in another window, so I could still find the old account if I got a late pick-up again.

I work security for a company that has a contract for twenty-four-hour coverage at a corporate national headquarters. It’s a good gig for a college student; I can work around my schedule (total night owl), I get time during most shifts to work on homework, and it’s pretty good pay. I’m there for several years, and I get promoted. I’m a weekend shift lead and a training officer, so I have some authority and experience.

At the time of this story, there’s trouble brewing between the corporation and the union that represents a chunk of their workers. These are office personnel, not factory workers, but still, there’s the chance of a strike. We’re all curious if that will happen and what that would entail.

Once a month the company has a “mandatory” paid meeting that everyone is supposed to attend, but there’s no penalty for missing it. It’s just a time where everyone can get on the same page about training possibilities, promotions, etc. The semester where there’s worry about the strike, I have to miss the meeting because I have evening classes.

I get pulled aside by one of the shift leads a few days before.

Shift Lead: “You should make sure to be at the upcoming meeting. We’re going to discuss what will happen if there’s a strike, and we want everyone to be there.”

I understand the importance, so I agree; I can miss one class.

Then, my boss hears this and calls me.

Boss: “If you can make time for the meeting, can you take a shift that evening, too?”

I’ll have to miss a second class, but I’m a team player. Why not?

I miss two classes to show up for the very important meeting about the very important strike to cover the shift for someone who does not think it is that important… and spend the meeting in the parking shack outside, checking the IDs of the incoming nighttime cleaners, while everyone else learns what the plan is.

This was twenty years ago, and I’m still sore about it.

My company has to move into an unfinished building because our old contract expires before the construction is done. I have to manage the reception with security personnel from an external security company due to the door being nonexistent at the time. There are three guards on alternating days. The two older gents are great. The youngest one looks okay at first glance, but the longer I talk with him, the sketchier he gets.

Young Guard: “I did an ICT (Information and Communications Technology) training and have been helping my brother build a website.”

Me: “Oh, that’s nice. So, this program doesn’t auto-refresh, so please refresh it often, or at least when there’s a visitor. F5 should do it easy.”

Young Guard: “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

He grabs the mouse and wiggles it for three seconds trying to find where it is because we use two screens. Then, he clicks Refresh on the address bar.

Me: “You can also just tap the laptop screen and press F5. It is a touchscreen and it’s just faster like that.”

Young Guard: “Yeah, I know. Like this.”

He clicks Refresh again with the mouse.

Me: “…”

Another day, after the young guard switches shifts with one of the older ones:

Me: “Ewww. Why is this keyboard sticky?”

Older Guard: “Oh. Is it still sticky?”

Me: “Still? When did this happen?”

Older Guard: “[Young Guard] spilled his [Energy Drink] before he left. I was talking with the workers so I saw it late.”

Me: “Did he not clean it properly?”

Older Guard: “Oh, sorry. I was the one who cleaned it. That kid just left after picking up the can. Didn’t even say anything to me.”

Me: “I’ll ask for a new keyboard.”

On another day, around lunchtime:

Young Guard: “They should Saint me.”

Me: “Huh? Why’s that?”

Young Guard: “I have been helping my brother with the website for no pay.”

Me: “Hmm.”

Young Guard: “And I always give the construction workers my lunch.”

Me: “Okay.”

Young Guard: “I don’t feel hungry, and we need to give to others as often as possible, you know.”

Me: “As long as it’s yours to give.”

Young Guard: “I’m going to [Fast Food Joint] real quick. I feel like having some cheeseburgers.”

The last kicker happens one day before lunchtime. [Young Guard] comes out of the lift fifteen minutes before lunchtime with two plates of heaping food.

Young Guard: “I am too nice to those construction workers! I’m going to the workers now!”

Me: *Calmly* “Um… those should go to our employees first. They are paying for the food and we have a fixed number with the caterer. [Manager] already told you about it last week, right? We’re okay with giving the construction workers food, but after the lunch service is done.”

Young Guard: “It’s fine.”

He heads for the construction workers with the plates. I let him because the food has been handled by him anyway. He then comes back five minutes later, fuming.

Young Guard: “I don’t like your tone with me!”

Me: “What tone?”

I’m confused as h*** about the sudden aggression.

Young Guard: “That tone!”

Me: “I’m just reminding you that that food is for our employees first. It’s not your right to decide what to do with them before the paying employees get their food. You can do whatever with what’s left.”

Young Guard: “You are undermining me!”

Me: “Me? When?”

Young Guard: “Since day one! You’re stuck up! I don’t want to work with you anymore!”

Me: “I’m okay with that.”

Young Guard: “[Manager] will hear about this! I will only work nights because I can’t work with you!”

Me: “Good!”

My manager knows how much I avoid confrontation and already knew about that guy’s attitude (to put it lightly), so he didn’t believe it when [Young Guard] told him that I yelled at him for no reason. [Young Guard] never returned after that day.

Security on this airline is known to be really tough. I am waiting to go through security behind the quintessential sweet little old lady.

She is setting off all sorts of bells and whistles but apparently having trouble hearing or understanding the security guard. He looks at her, rolls his eyes, and waves her on through.

I am through quickly and as I am passing her, she catches my eye.

Little Old Lady: “Humph! He didn’t think I could be a terrorist, did he?!”

I was in Canada from the USA. I wanted some things I couldn’t find nearby, so I set up a delivery at a drop box for a large online retailer. The nearest one was listed as outside a building. I walked the mile or so to the location, circled the building, and didn’t see anything.

I walked into the building at the same time as someone was walking out. I saw a front desk and a sign that said, “Back in fifteen minutes,” so I waited.

A few minutes passed, and a man came to the door. He paced outside but didn’t open the door or knock to be let in. It occurred to me then that there was probably a key card or something to allow people in the building and I had slipped in when I shouldn’t have.

Finally, someone came to the front desk wearing a “Security” badge. She hit a button and the man outside the door stormed in.

Security Guard: “Hello, [Man]—”

Man: *Pointing at me* “What is wrong with you?!”

Me: “I’m just—”

Man: “You should have let me in!”

Me: “I—”

Security Guard: “[Man], why would she let you in?”

The man pointed to a patch on his shirt. It said, “HEAD OF SECURITY.”

Me: “I’m not from here. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to find the [Company] drop box.”

Man: “You should have let me in!”

Me: “Why would the head of security not have an entry badge?”

The man turned red and stomped off. I turned to the security guard who was trying not to smile.

Me: “I’m sorry. I followed someone in. I’m just looking for the delivery box. I—”

Security Guard: “It’s okay, honey. He knows better; he probably forgot his key card. The drop box is around the back down in the loading dock.”

I didn’t use that location again for fear I’d run into that man again.