I work the customer service line for an ISP.

Caller: “Hello, there! How are you?”

Me: “Oh, I am fine, thank you for asking. How can I help you today?”

Caller: “Oh, well, I’m having trouble with my Internet. I can’t seem to get my iPad to connect to it, and yesterday it was working just fine.”

Me: “Okay, let me see if that’s a connection issue. Can you confirm the name on the account?”

Caller: “It was my husband’s, but I think my daughter sent in a letter to change it to my name. It’s [Caller].”

Me: “That’s the same name I have.”

The rest of the security questions go through fine, and I confirm there are no issues with the signal in her area.

Me: “Can I ask you to check the lights on your modem?”

Caller: “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.”

Me: “No worries, ma’am. It’s the white box that’s connected to your phone line and has a bunch of lights at the top of it. It’s how the Internet comes into your home.”

Caller: “Oh, well, I don’t know where that is. It must be around here somewhere as it was working yesterday, but I don’t know where my husband put it.”

Me: “Could you ask him, or someone else?”

Caller: “My husband passed, I’m afraid. He was usually the one to sort all these technical issues. I’m afraid I don’t know much about computers.”

Me: “I… am sorry to hear that, ma’am. Do you have a landline phone? Sometimes they’re close to each other.”

Caller: “Oh, I do! Let me check.”

A moment passes while I furiously update her account with the note about her husband and WHY the account name was changed to her name so the next person to help her doesn’t put their foot in their mouth like I just did.

Caller: “I’m really sorry, but I can’t find the box like you described. I really just don’t know much about this stuff.”

Me: “It’s perfectly all right, ma’am. We will help you. I can arrange for a technician to come to your house to set that up for you.”

Caller: “Oh, really?! That would be appreciated! No rush, though, don’t stress over it. My daughter set up an album of videos of my husband that I like to watch every day, so it’s not the end of the world if I need to wait a few days.”

Me: *With my heart breaking* “I’ll see what I can do.”

I used my seniority as a long-term employee to open an emergency slot and get this woman a technician for the very next morning. I also assigned a technician that I happened to personally know through work events and shared interests, and I called him myself.

I explained everything about this appointment, and he said, “I got it.”

He called me back after the appointment to say that all he had to do was reset the modem. He made sure the woman knew where it was, and he wrote out very clear (and large print) instructions for how to reset it if it was required again.

She also was having trouble accessing the online drive containing her husband’s photos and videos, and so with the help of the woman’s daughter over the phone, he also went above and beyond to reconnect this woman with the digital records of her late husband.

He then sat there for an hour drinking tea with her while she showed him a few videos of her husband and told a few stories. Turns out her husband was a pilot and both the technician and I are flight enthusiasts (we became friends because we both play “Microsoft Flight Simulator”). This was the best repair job we ever collaborated on.

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There was a coworker at the firm I once worked at who I always got along with okay. We’d share pictures of our pets and talk about the weather (British). But one day she went completely off the rails.

It was a few months before my wedding, and my now-husband and I had just bought our first house. I was talking about all the fun we’d had moving our stuff in.

Coworker: “Oh, how big is the house?”

Me: “Pretty small terrace, two bedrooms.”

Coworker: “I hope you get pregnant soon!”

Me: “Eh, what? I don’t want kids; I’ve said that several times. I’m even saving up for an operation to make d*** sure I never have any.”

Coworker: “You should have bought a smaller place, then. There’s no need for two bedrooms if you’re not having babies.”

Me: “That’s daft. We need a second bedroom for all our hobbies. Gaming stuff takes up room.”

Coworker: “You do realise I could report you for this?”

Me: “Do what? To whom?!”

Coworker: “The government. You’re depriving a real family of a home. And also to social services because you are insane. Getting yourself mutilated just because you don’t like children and then buying a house that’s made for children means you’re insane.”

There wasn’t anything professional I could say back at that point, although there were plenty of unprofessional words I wanted to say. The next day, it was like she’d forgotten all about it. 

Then, four months later, she found out we’d not invited any children or babies to our wedding. She went off again about why I was clearly insane only to forget the conversation the day after.

I am taking a train and have just had my ticket checked by a ticket inspector. The inspector then asks the next passenger for his ticket. The passenger starts speaking in a foreign language.

Inspector: *Showing a ticket* “I… need to see… this!”

Passenger: *Speaks some foreign words*

The ticket inspector gets out his phone.

Inspector: “Where are you from?”

I see him loading up a translation app.

Passenger: *Speaks some more foreign words*

Me: “Excuse me, sir, I believe I know what language he’s speaking.”

The passenger looks at me wide-eyed while the inspector breathes a sigh of relief.

Inspector: “Thanks, mate. What language is it?”

Me: “It’s the Black Speech of Mordor.”

The passenger is looking really miffed, while the inspector just looks confused.

Inspector: “Eh? Is that like… an Eastern European thing?”

Me: *Now looking at the passenger directly* “You were saying, ‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul,’ weren’t you?”

I look back to the inspector.

Me: “It’s a language from The Lord Of The Rings. It’s the ‘One ring to rule them all’ line. He’s having you on, mate.”

We both now stare pointedly at this fare-dodging passenger.

Passenger: “F*** you.”

The passenger got fined, and I spent the rest of the trip laughing at the audacity.

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I overheard a female coworker berating a male coworker about being a total a**hole. (He wasn’t.) She decided to insert the fact that he drove a beater.

Male Coworker: “You really think that your car is a measure of your personality?”

Female Coworker: “Absolutely!”

Male Coworker: “I didn’t realize you drove your c**t to work.”

I lost it. No composure kept.

CONTENT WARNING: Anti-Trans Parent, Harassment, Threats

At the time of this story, I was in the process of transitioning from female to male. It was a decision I had struggled with for years, but once I started, I finally began to feel like I was myself. However, it created a rift in my family, which in turn caused me a great deal of stress and anxiety.

The hardest part, for me, was my mum turning against me. When I was growing up, she was always supportive and encouraging in everything I wanted or needed. But apparently, she drew the line at me being trans.

“You’re my little girl, not my little boy!” she’d say.

She would aggressively deadname me and share anti-trans posts any chance she got, to the point where I had to block her on social media. At that point, she became downright toxic — even going as far as to tell people that I had DIED rather than acknowledging my transition, which, as you can imagine, was deeply upsetting.

One day, I came into work after having had a particularly nasty interaction with my mum the night before. Despite us being no-contact, she had somehow found out where I lived and turned up at my house to hurl abuse and threats at me. Police had to be called. I was drained and heartbroken. I wanted nothing more than to hide under a blanket and cry.

But we had a big project due, and I couldn’t leave my colleagues in the lurch. Plus, I figured that sitting around at home would only make me feel worse. I needed a distraction. And quite honestly, I was terrified of my mum coming back and having another altercation with me.

So, I gritted my teeth and headed to work. At least it was a secure building. Even if she found out where I worked, she wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near me.

Being around my more accepting colleagues did settle my nerves somewhat, but then I ran into [Colleague]. I’ve never had any issues with [Colleague]. He’s a friendly guy with a great work ethic, but he has always been terrible with names. He’ll recognise your face and know your role or department and things you’ve told him, but he is just hopeless with names.

He has tried things like brain training and memory tricks, but despite his best efforts, he still mixes up names most of the time.

Normally, this isn’t an issue; it is just something you laugh off and move on from. It’s just that on that day, after the nightmare of an encounter I’d had with my mum, I was feeling fragile and I didn’t know if I could handle him mixing up my name, even though I knew he wouldn’t mean anything by it. I tried to avoid him all day, but he eventually caught up to me.

Colleague: “Oh, [My Name]! I’m going to get some coffee for the team. Do you want anything?”

I started to answer and then realised that, for the first time, he had gotten my name right.

Me: “Oh… I… uh…”

[Colleague] suddenly looked panicked.

Colleague: “I’m so sorry. Did I get your name wrong?”

Me: “No. You… you got it right. Sorry, it just really surprised me. You usually get it wrong.”

Colleague: *Looking relieved* “Oh. Good. I practiced all weekend.”

Me: “You… you practiced my name all weekend?”

Colleague: “Yeah, well… I overheard you talking to [Colleague #2] in the breakout room about what a hard time you’ve been having lately, so I wanted to make a special effort to get your name right. I even bought an app to help me memorise your name.”

I was so touched that [Colleague] had gone to the trouble of spending his weekend making sure he got my name right that I started crying. I know getting a name right is a small thing, but to me, in that moment, it felt huge.

[Colleague] quickly whisked me away to one of the empty meeting rooms, checked that I was okay, and then ran to get my manager. My manager, who had also been really supportive throughout the whole ordeal, offered to let me go home for the day, paid. As grateful as I was for her offer, I declined. [Colleague] had given me the positivity I needed to make it through the day.

I will always be grateful to [Colleague] for his incredible show of support and understanding. It really helped get me through a tough time.

I have since fully transitioned and am doing much better. Even though I had to completely cut my family out of my life (including getting restraining orders for both of my parents), I have been lucky enough to build a great support network — which, of course, includes [Colleague].

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