My mother is a long-serving special needs teacher with almost thirty years of experience in the field. After serving in a number of schools, she has spent the last decade and more as an advisory teacher who travels around schools helping them to give appropriate assistance to pupils with disabilities and other educational needs. A lot of what she does involves issuing laptop computers to children who need them, something not all schools seem to understand.

She has been called out to a school that has a headmaster with rather old-fashioned ideas to assess a pupil with motor control issues. Her assessment is that he needs a laptop to enable him to complete his work. She reports this to the headmaster.

Headmaster: “Oh, no. You see, handwriting is one of our key skills here, so we will not allow him to use a computer.”

Mother: *Bluntly* “Well, then, I’ll have to report you to the Equalities Commission.”

Headmaster: *Gasping* “W-WHAT?!”

Mother: “The law says that you must make reasonable provision for pupils with disabilities. You are telling me that you are going to refuse to do that, which means I have no option but to report you to the Equalities Commission.”

Oddly enough, he decided to change his school policy there and then.

Many years ago, my first job was in a factory. I was only eighteen on an apprenticeship and very nervous and meek. Unfortunately, my boss was working his way up the ladder and spent all his time on courses and brown-nosing, without supporting his team.

I was shoved into the night shift, alone for most of the night. I struggled from day one, my sleep was everywhere, I didn’t have anyone to train me, and I hated it. I made several requests to swap shifts and put many of them in emails. My boss basically told me to get on with it.

After several months, I was still struggling. I was losing weight and tired all the time. I would often fall asleep on my breaks.

One quiet shift, I slumped back and heard a dreadful noise; I had knocked into a door of an electrical cabinet that was propped open, one that apparently controlled a lot of the automation. It had an issue with the safety interlock and closing it would forcibly shut down everything.

We lost five hours of production that night.

Despite the safety aspect of the cabinet, it was my emails that saved me from disciplinary action. Better yet, I was transferred to the day shift the next week.

I rent a room in a large house. I’m the only guy in a house full of women, so it makes sense that I have the room with an en suite and the rest of the women share the much bigger bathroom. It works out okay, actually. I have more space but I sweeten the deal by buying extra toiletries for the house. They get extra privacy. Win-win.

Out of the blue, one of the newer women, [Housemate] starts to kick up a fuss. She has fallen out with another woman who borrowed something or other, and she demands to switch rooms with me.

It goes on for days. Initially, no one wants me to swap, but eventually, everyone is so fed up with the constant moaning that I feel like I have no choice.

A few weeks after the change:

Housemate: “There’s no hand soap left.”

Me: “Okay?”

Housemate: “Well, when are you getting more?”

Me: “I don’t know, never?”

Housemate: “But we’ve run out.”

Me: “I heard you. I only used to buy it as I had the bigger room with the bathroom. I don’t anymore, so I don’t see why I should.”

Housemate: “Don’t be like that.”

Me: “You want the private bathroom, you have to stock it.”

Housemate: “Fine, whatever. I will buy my own.”

As other things ran out, the rest of the house would come to me asking about the missing items. I would gently remind them that I only ever did this as a favour and to ask [Housemate] if she would do the same now she had the biggest room.

This caused a bigger scene than the original fight. The house was divided. Many were angry at [Housemate], [Housemate] thought I should just keep paying, and some wanted [Housemate] kicked out altogether!

[Housemate] left eventually. I was offered the bigger room again, but I was so done with the drama that I had already decided to find a place of my own.

I work in a coffee shop in a zoo where I am one of the head baristas. I’ve been there for a few years so I’m the go-to when other staff need help and am left in charge if the manager is out.

Me: “Hi, what can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Yeah, hi, can I get a mocha but no coffee?”

A mocha is a hot chocolate with a single shot of coffee, no extra milk or anything.

Me: “Oh, so a hot chocolate? That’s no prob—”

Customer: “No! I wanted a mocha but no coffee.”

Me: “Sorry, but that’s what a mocha is with no coffee.”

I then explain the process of how a mocha is made.

Customer: “Just give me a mocha, no coffee.”

Me: *Pauses* “Okay, that’s £2.80, please.”

Customer: “But it says £3.30 there.”

Me: “Yes, but since you’re not having the coffee shot, I’m charging you for a hot chocolate; it saves you fifty pence.”

Customer: “Where’s your manager? I want to make a complaint! You need better training at this.”

Me: “Miss, I’ve worked here for a while now and have all my training. I’m afraid I can’t get a manager at the moment as I am in charge today.” 

Customer: “I want to be served by someone else.”

The other, less-experienced barista takes her order and explains the exact same thing I did.

Customer: “Fine, if I can’t have the manager I want the next in charge.”

I have to force myself not to show my amusement as I step back to the counter and ask her how I can help her as the colour drains from her face.

Customer: “Fine, just give me a d*** hot chocolate.”

She paid and left. And she didn’t make a complaint.

Related:
Making A Mocha-ry Of Yourself, Part 2
Making A Mocha-ry Of Yourself

Years ago, I worked in a meat processing factory. Although I was employed as one of the admin staff, I still had to go through the same company induction as everyone else. So, I turned up at 7:30 am on the day of induction and sat through all the usual guff one might expect in a company induction: Health and Safety, Terms and Conditions, and so on. Just before lunch break, one of the training team gave us a very detailed talk about the company’s drugs and alcohol policy. The short version: don’t drink or take drugs on the job, and if you must drink or take drugs on an evening or weekend, at least make sure you’re sober/clean by the time you arrive on site for shift. We were also told that the company does conduct random, voluntary, and for-cause drug tests.

During the spiel about the drug tests, I raised my hand and asked, “Ever caught anyone during these tests?”

The trainer started to chuckle. He told us that several years previously, he’d been standing in the exact same room, giving the exact same talk about drug testing. He’d dismissed the inductees for lunch and gone off to get his own lunch. A little while later, he’d gone off to use the toilet, and when he walked in, he found one of the inductees sitting in the cubicle, puffing away on a joint!

The inductee was swiftly fired, just a few hours into his induction, and without even having made it as far as the factory floor to meet his colleagues!

We all got a good laugh out of that story.