About fourteen years ago, when [Security Company] provided security for [British Grocery Chain], I also worked for [Security Company] but was based at the airport. One morning after a twelve-hour night shift, I decided to go into a [British Grocery Chain] store I pass on the way home and get a sandwich.

I had my work uniform on, but I was wearing a grey jacket on top so people would know I wasn’t on duty. I went into the store, picked up a basket, and headed to the sandwich counter. I was browsing the selection and I heard someone say, “Excuse me,” but, not expecting anyone to be talking to me, I carried on looking for my desired sandwich.

Then, suddenly, the basket was slapped out of my hand and there was this snarling man’s face less than an inch from mine.

Man: “I’M NOT PAYING YOU TO SHOP! GET TO THE FRONT OF THE STORE RIGHT NOW!”

I was tired and very confused and could only muster the reply:

Me: “What?”

Man: “I TOLD YOU, GET TO FRONT DOORS! We’ve been open for customers for the last thirty minutes and you’ve not been at your position once, and now I find you buying snacks!”

That’s when the penny dropped.

Me: “I know the store’s open to customers; I am one. I work for the same company that provides your security, but I am not your guard.”

With those words ringing in the man’s ears, all the colour in his face drained away as he realised what he had just done to a customer. Suddenly, he became completely apologetic.

Man: “If there’s anything I can do for you, I’ll gladly help!”

Me: “I would like help carrying my basket around the store; I am tired from a long night shift.”

Man: “I’ll get someone to help you immediately.”

Me: “I don’t want someone else to carry my basket; I want you to carry it.”

I originally only intended to buy a sandwich, but to teach this guy a lesson, I spent thirty minutes in the store and went down every aisle.

A customer got rather irate at me because I wouldn’t serve him alcohol as he looked under twenty-five (a rule used by some UK supermarkets). His array of arguments consisted of:

Customer: “But I’m twenty-one, so you have to serve me!”

Me: “But you look under twenty-five, so I don’t.”

Customer: “But [Other Employee] knows I’m twenty-one!”

Me: “But she’s not in right now, and the final decision is made by me, not her.”

Customer: “What if I came in with ID? Would you serve me then?”

Me: “Well, yes, because then you could prove you are twenty-one.”

Customer: “But you were okay to sell me paracetamol?”

Me: “That only carries an age restriction of sixteen, so I didn’t need ID from you for that.”

Customer: “Well, you look like you’re f****** twelve, so I wouldn’t serve you!”

Me: “Well, I would have brought ID with me to prove that I am nineteen.”

He came back later, and the employee who “knew” his age served him.

Customer: *Smug* “See! I told you!”

Me: “I almost have the energy to try and look for a f*** to give you.”

My phone isn’t working (no dial tone), and my Internet isn’t working, either. I call the phone company from my grandma’s house down the street.

Me: “Hi, my phone is down and there’s no dial tone.”

Tech Support Rep: “Are you calling from your phone right now?”

I didn’t even know what to say to that.

When I was seventeen, I had a part-time job at a large supermarket, usually working on the tills.

One day, when I arrived at work, my manager asked me to come into his office, where I found the head of security waiting. I was then told that the tills that I worked at were regularly short of money at the end of each day, and whilst they did not outright accuse me, they made it clear that they thought I was stealing.

I was terrified. I was young, green around the ears, and had never been in trouble before, and whilst I knew I was innocent, the grilling I received left me traumatised. However, I answered their questions as best I could, and as the tills were manned by several different people during the day they could not prove for certain it was me — not least because I was actually not guilty!

I was eventually told not to speak to anyone about this and to start work, but I was warned that they would be keeping an eye on me. I then heard nothing more but remained anxious for quite some time. I would have quit, but the pay was great at that age.

A couple of months later, I arrived at work to find there had been some sort of commotion and was told that my manager had been escorted from the premises. News soon got out that it had been him stealing from the tills — and that I had not been the only one accused of stealing. He had eventually gotten careless and caught. It seems he had secretly been dating another checkout operator — who was also seventeen, less than half his age — and had been stealing to fund a relatively lavish lifestyle.

I was immensely relieved but also incredibly angry that a grown man would not only steal from his employers but would take an active part in terrifying a number of his staff, many of them teens, by accusing them of the crime he was himself committing.

It’s thirty years later, and even now, I get anxious whenever a manager asks to speak to me unexpectedly.

This all started about a month ago at my workplace where I’ve been for the past twelve years.

On that fateful day, I had forgotten my key fob to buzz through the security gate, so I asked the guard — [Guard #1], who I’ve known and chatted to for several years — to let me through. As he was getting up, the moody older guard next to him — [Guard #2] — stopped him and rudely told me to sign in.

Me: “I’ve been working here for over a decade, and I’m known to [Guard #1], so he can vouch for me.”

Guard #2: “It doesn’t matter; it’s a health and safety thing in case there is a fire.”

That’s not true; this is a shared building and each company is responsible for accounting for their staff. I know because I helped set up this plan with the building’s owner.

I explained this to him, but he wasn’t having it and directed me to the sign-in book. Funnily enough, the book had a printed sheet stating that it was for guests only and had a line saying permanent staff should get a sticker to ID themselves. I asked about the sticker.

Guard #2: “This is the new process. You have to sign in and out each time you enter or exit the building without your fob.”

Me: “Are you sure?”

Guard #2: “One hundred percent.”

Fair enough! The UK health and safety body says that, ideally, you should take a five- to ten-minute break each hour away from your computer screen. Not wanting to get a repetitive strain injury or anything, I took it upon myself to take even more regular breaks, especially when [Guard #2] was on shift.

For my breaks, I would go on short walks outside, and wouldn’t you know it? I am getting very forgetful in my old age and kept forgetting to bring in my fob.

Each time I came to sign in, [Guard #2] would need to get up, open his door, and undo his keys to buzz me in. Quite often, I would forget something in my car just as he was about to let me in, and he’d need to make his round trip back to the little office. My record was thirteen little breaks over the day.

After about two weeks of this, I managed to have a catch-up with [Guard #1]. He explained that he had checked and there was definitely not a need for me to sign in each time, and even better, [Guard #2] was constantly moaning to the other security guys about the “idiot” who keeps forgetting his fob.