Customer: “I want to buy this toolbox.”

The customer is looking to buy a toolbox that comes bundled with a smaller tool tray.

Cashier: *Checks* “I’m sorry, but we don’t currently have any in stock.”

Customer: “Well, it’s in the catalogue. You should have everything in the catalogue.”

The cashier at the till doesn’t know what to say as she’s new and a bit shy, so I chime in.

Me: “Sir, if we stocked everything from the catalogue all the time, we’d be swimming in it.”

The customer goes back into the store and finds another toolbox of the same dimensions, except this one doesn’t come with a tray and isn’t on special.

Customer: “Fine. I want to get this one, and another tool tray, for the special price.”

Me: “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

Customer: “For what reason?”

Me: “I can give you three. We don’t have any tool trays. Even if we did, the total of these two together is about twice as much as the two other items without them being on special. Also, they’re completely different brands.”

Customer: “Those are just excuses!”

Me: “No, those are reasons.”

He could NOT wrap his head around what we were telling him, and he eventually left frustrated and threatening not to come back. Sadly, he was back the next day…

When our company first started to issue laptops fitted with cameras, some of my older, more technophobic coworkers got angry, some worried, and some even rebellious. Several messages came from the company IT department instructing workers to stop taping, painting, drawing, or in any way interfering with the cameras’ lenses. There was no risk or no security concern if things were used properly and the software was kept up to date. The company was not using the cameras to spy on you; this was just the standard available equipment.

This didn’t stop everyone; some of the worst offenders had to be threatened with losing their jobs after damaging laptops intentionally 

After a while, it quietened down and everyone got used to it. A few people kept sticky notes over their cameras, which was allowed as long as there wasn’t any damage. I had a small cardboard cover that sat on mine. A coworker immediately picked up on this.

Coworker: *Sarcastically* “Oh, don’t let the scary camera see you.”

Me: “What?”

Coworker: “Your camera — someone could hack in and see you.”

Me: “Oh, no, it’s not because of that. It’s because—”

Coworker: *Interrupting and now louder* “All of those scary Internet people would love to catch you picking your nose.”

Me: “Listen, I am fully aware that we have Internet security. I do keep mine covered because [Meeting Software] opens your video and—”

He didn’t let me finish again!

Coworker: “Oh, yeah, sure, don’t want to catch you cranking it. Seriously, what is it with people who don’t understand basic IT? Your secrets are safe. Don’t worry, little one.”

Man, he pissed me off, patronising and sarcastic. I know how it looked, but I had good reason.

It was a reason he learned a few weeks later. He logged into a large meeting late with a big customer. Everyone by that point had turned off their camera — apart from him. About half an hour into the meeting, a senior director called him as clearly he was just on his phone the whole time, criticising [Coworker] and his boss for not “instilling the right respect and work ethic”.

[Coworker] scrambled to shut off his camera, but it was too late. His boss followed suit, and off camera, he marched [Coworker] off to an office to remind him of how technology works and of expectations on him.

The UK has recently made some unwritten rules of the road into written rules of the road. I say “unwritten” as my mum’s, dad’s, and their siblings’ reactions to these changes were, “But you were supposed to do that anyway,” but I digress. There are people in my office who are complaining about these changes, but [Coworker #1] — a nineteen-year-old self-declared petrolhead — is being the most vocal.

Coworker #1: “The route I take from work means I’ve got to turn down a road by the doctors’ offices. And the doctors would just cross the road looking down at their phones, not even realising I was there. So, one day, I decided to just swing in and give the doctor the scare of his life, and he now looks before crossing. If I did that now and hit him, I’d be liable!”

Me: “I mean, you would have been liable had you hit him before, as you knew he was there and he was using the road before you were.”

There’s silence.

Coworker #1: “No, not true.”

Coworker #2: “No. It is. If the police saw you do that, you would have most likely gotten a conviction.”

Coworker #1: “Oh…”

I had a lot of trouble in school, mostly because I was identified as gifted but my school didn’t have any gifted programs. For context, this was back in the 1990s in the UK, where “gifted” for a lot of people, including many teachers, got translated as “You’ll get straight As and be a perfect student, and we can use you as an unpaid teaching assistant!” If you think I’m exaggerating, my only answer is, “I wish.”

I spend every day being bored out of my skull and have no interest in much of what’s being taught unless it’s relevant to me. I skip most of my homework unless I happen to like the teacher since homework doesn’t affect the grade. (In the UK in the ’90s, your GCSE grade was judged purely on your exam results and submitted coursework; everyday homework assignments and attendance had nothing to do with it.)

I also don’t do well on science tests, since I’ve never bothered revising. I usually average about sixteen out of thirty. This year, I decide that with GCSEs (a series of exams that UK students take at sixteen) around the corner, I’m actually going to make an effort.

Enter my biology teacher. Unlike my previous biology teachers, I actually like this one; she loves her subject and has the same inquiring mind as I do, so I have a bit of extra motivation to make an effort in her class. The subject we’re covering this time is DNA and genetics, which I find fascinating, so that’s an extra plus. 

I study the unit during lunch and then take it home the night before the test and ask my mother to quiz me on it. We have a really good revision session, and I’m feeling confident about the test tomorrow. A little part of me is also looking forward to the teacher’s reaction to getting a good result from me for the first time in my school career.

We have the test, and although I know it’s not likely I got full marks, I come out of it with the warm, happy glow of having done a lot better than usual. The teacher always takes the tests away to mark them and gives them back during the next lesson, so I have another week to wait.

At the next lesson, I’m eagerly awaiting the results. I get my paper back and look at the mark.

Sixteen out of thirty.

My heart drops. I’m not going to lie; my first thought is that revision was obviously a waste of time since doing so made no difference to my final grade. I also can’t understand it, since I was pretty sure I KNEW the answers in many cases. 

I open the test to find out where I went wrong. Our tests are never a single page but around ten to twelve pages stapled together. I go through it, pausing at a couple of pages. Then, I go through it again just to make sure I’m not mistaken. 

Nope. No mistake. I begin to grin. 

After getting our tests back, we can go up to the teacher’s desk one by one to ask about any points we’re not sure of. I get to my feet and join the back of the queue, trying very hard not to smile.

The student in front of me gets her question answered and goes back to her seat, and I step up.

Teacher: “Yes, [My Name]?”

I hold out my test, open in the middle.

Me: “I think you forgot to mark these two pages.”

[Teacher] blinks at me. A teacher forgetting to mark a single question isn’t unheard of, but an entire two pages?

Teacher: “Let me see.”

She takes the test and a shocked, embarrassed look appears on her face.

Teacher: “Oh, my… Yes, you’re absolutely right, [My Name]. I’m so sorry. Give me a few minutes and I’ll mark it now.”

She does so and then proceeds to double-check the entirety of my test just in case she’s missed any other questions.

Teacher: “I can’t think how I missed two pages without noticing. This is terrible.”

Me: *Sporting a cheesy grin* “I don’t think so!”

Teacher: *Laughs* “Well, no, from your point of view, it’s fantastic. I have to admit, I was surprised when I saw your score on this test since you seemed so interested in the subject. There you go.”

She handed it back with my new score: twenty-four out of thirty. Since most of the class averaged around twenty or twenty-two, I was happier with this than I’d ever been. Coming on the heels of my earlier disappointment, I was also on a natural high that lasted for the rest of the day.

I got similar scores in all subsequent science tests and didn’t do too badly on my actual GCSEs.

Air Hostess: “Can I get you any snacks or drinks?”

Passenger: “I’ll have the crack monster, please?”

Air Hostess: “Pardon, sir?”

Passenger: “The crack monster. Am I saying it right?”

Air Hostess: “What item is that, sir?”

Passenger: “The toasted sandwich with the cheese on top? And the ham and mustard?” 

Air Hostess: *Relieved* “Ah, the croque monsieur. That’ll be £5.95, sir!”