I used to take part in clinical trials for a little extra cash. The trials were easy; they usually involved visiting the clinic for about an hour a day over a week, testing different lotions on our legs to see how well they moisturized. Everyone who participated had to fill out a form at the very beginning. Apart from the usual disclaimers, it said that we were volunteers and we would be paid a certain amount of money for our time. As far as I was concerned, I was being paid grocery money to do next to nothing, and I was glad for the opportunity.

One day, about halfway through the trial, one of the other participants suddenly spoke up.

Participant: *Loudly* “You know what I just realized? We’re only being paid [total] for [time] hours. That’s not even minimum wage!”

She looked around the room with a self-satisfied expression, obviously expecting us to agree with her. No one said anything. In fact, we all pretty much pretended that we hadn’t heard her. Irritated by the lack of response, she said:

Participant: *Even more loudly* “They’re taking advantage of us! We should ask for more money!”

Along came a clinic employee, and I inwardly cringed. I’d done several of these trials, and I’d seen this lady before. She had NO tolerance for fools.

Employee: “I understand that you have a complaint?”

Participant: “Uh… Well, you’re not even paying us minimum wage.”

Employee: “That’s right. Remember that form you signed which said that you’re a volunteer? Volunteers, as a rule, don’t get paid, but we are paying you [total].”

Participant: “…”

Employee: “So. Do you still have a complaint?”

Participant: *Meekly* “No.”

Employee: “Good.”

She walked away, and I didn’t hear another peep from that participant.

About ten years ago, my mum got involved with one of the local parties, and when the local election rolled around she got involved in delivering their leaflets. Predictably, she got my step-sister and me to help. So, out we went, and as teenagers, we got bored and looked to cause some mischief.

We noticed another party had been round earlier and some of their leaflets were still stuck in the letterboxes along our route, so we came up with a competition to keep us entertained: who could grab the most of the other party’s leaflets out of the letterboxes? It kept us entertained until we finished our piles of leaflets and we headed home.

Of course, my mum saw us carrying the other leaflets and gave a lecture about democracy, blah, blah, blah.

A couple of days later at the victory party, my mum was talking to the local councillor and she told him this story. He laughed and said, “Your girls have a better idea of how democracy works than you do.”

I’m a volunteer marshall. I do anything required at a vaccination site to make things go smoothly, except preparing and giving the actual injections, though I have applied to be trained to do that, too!

The tested vaccine protocol for both vaccines currently on offer in the UK is two doses, three weeks apart. The government has decided to focus on getting as many people their first vaccination as soon as possible, so patients are being told to wait twelve weeks for their second vaccination. I was vaccinated three weeks ago, which means I am ready for a second shot, but I probably won’t be called before Easter; it’s the end of January now. However, I am working on the front line, so I will take it if they offer it to me. Before administering the vaccine, they ask a series of screening questions — allergies, are you well today, etc. — and one of them is, “Have you had a vaccination of any kind in the last seven days?”

I’ve arrived late for my shift at a site I haven’t visited before. I go to the check-in desk where patients go when they arrive to pick a fresh mask up before finding something to do.

I take a mask from a box on the table and indicate my hi-viz.

Me: “Thanks. I’m a volunteer; I have just arrived.”

Admin: “Great, just take a seat there.”

I sit in front of a nurse, thinking she is going to deploy me.

Nurse: “What’s your date of birth and NHS number?”

Me: “What’s happening here?!”

Nurse: “Don’t worry; I’m not going to give you an injection.”

Phew! She asks a few more questions and I see where this is going. 

Me: “You are not going to give me an injection, but after this, someone else will?”

Nurse: “That’s right.”

Me: “I had the [Company #1] vaccine on the eighth.”

Nurse: “That’s fine; it’s more than seven days ago.”

Me: “What vaccine are you using today?”

Nurse: “[Company #2].”

Me: “But I had the [Company #1]!”

It took a few more moments to work it out. It had been a long day, and she had asked these questions a lot. There was much laughter as the people nearby had wondered why I kept saying [Company #1]! If I had been at the end of my shift and as much on autopilot as she was, I might have been an n=1 study of the effects of mixing two vaccines.

I guess it’s a reminder to own your own healthcare.

The animal rescue/sanctuary charity I volunteer with also serves as the helpline for a national bird of prey charity. We only have the resources to go to local cases but have a directory of rehabilitators across the UK so we can put callers in contact with someone close to them. For those unfamiliar with the UK’s counties, many are named after the most important city in them — Derbyshire, Leicestershire, Staffordshire, etc.

In this instance, I’m helping a caller who came across a wounded peregrine falcon and I have reached the stage of finding someone who can help them.

Me: “All right, let’s see if we can find anyone close by. Whereabouts are you?”

Caller: “I’m in Cambridge.”

Since this is one such city as I mentioned before, this would be enough for most people to go on. But in this case, my brain completely fails me and I respond before I can stop myself.

Me: “Right. My geography’s not very good; what county is that?”

There’s a slight pause, just long enough for it to sink in.

Caller: “Cambridgeshire.”

Unsurprisingly, the feeling of idiocy strikes me hard as I realise how incompetent I sound and I try to think of something to say to get things back on track.

Me: “I rest my case.”

For what it’s worth, that did get a chuckle out of her and helped lighten the mood of an otherwise serious call. Mercifully, I was able to find a rescue center close by that the caller could take the bird to for treatment, without even forgetting the layout of my own country again!

Since almost the beginning of the global health crisis, I’ve been volunteer grocery-shopping for the elderly and vulnerable through a secular local charity. As the winter holidays approach, my volunteer leader reaches out to me asking my availability over the break.

Me: “Oh, I can shop anytime. I’m not going anywhere and I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Volunteer Leader: “You’re Jewish?”

Me: “What? No. I’m atheist.”

Volunteer Leader: “Wait… Why are you volunteering?”

Me: “Excuse me?! I’m shopping for these elderly people because it’s too dangerous for them to go out right now. I’m helping because there’s a need.”

Volunteer Leader: “All right. Okay. Sorry. I just don’t see the reason you’re volunteering.”

Me: “Seriously?! Okay. So, why are you volunteering?”

Volunteer Leader: “I help in the name of God.”

Me: “Oh. To get in his good graces.”

Volunteer Leader: “No. To get the word out of his goodness.”

Me: “To proselytize.”

Volunteer Leader: “Well… no.”

Me: “Look, your questioning my reason to help others means you don’t grasp doing something good for its own sake.”

Volunteer Leader: “What? No. Goodness starts and stops with God. That’s why I am here to help. Why would you volunteer if it wasn’t for Him?”

Me: “Because it’s the right thing to do. How do you explain my volunteering?”

Volunteer Leader: “God’s making you do it.”

Me: *Sighs* “Just give me the info of the people who need their shopping done over the holidays; I can help whoever needs it.”

I’m not going to ask for a different volunteer leader, but he might ask to not oversee me anymore; I’m not sure. I know that, as the months go on, volunteers are dropping out and those of us sticking with it as our lives get busy again are more and more valuable to the charity. Hopefully, next year, our services will no longer be needed and the elderly and vulnerable can get back to the lives they had before.

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