(As part of our training, we have to undergo a three-hour session hosted by an external speaker on conduct, communication, and confidence. The speaker occasionally asks if someone has ever done or seen something and uses it to make an example…)

Speaker: “I mean …okay, does anyone here play a musical instrument?”

(After a few seconds of awkward silence, I stick my hand up.)

Speaker: “Great, and what do you play?”

Me: “I’m learning to play the timbal.”

Speaker: “Ah, the timbal. Uh huh.”

(He pauses.)

Speaker: “What on earth is a timbal?”

Me: “It’s a Brazilian hand drum used in samba reggae.”

Speaker: “It’s a what?”

Me: “It’s a Brazilian hand drum used in samba reggae.”

(After a second or two of stunned silence, the speaker starts to laugh. After about a minute or so of laughter…)

Speaker: “I’m sorry, it’s just, I’ve never had an answer like that before. I was expecting the flute or the piano. What did you say it was called?”

Me: “A timbal.”

(He laughs again and carries on the session. About ten minutes later…)

Speaker: “Has anyone here ever… except you—” *points at me* “—I’m not sure I can handle finding out what else you do in your spare time… has anyone else here ever done tai chi?”

(After the session, my colleagues and I go for lunch and chat about the session.)

Colleague #1: “I thought it was useful.”

Colleague #2: “It had some good tips. How about you, [My Name]? What did you think?”

Me: “Well… I went in there feeling all right, and then he laughed hysterically at my one answer and told me he was scared about what I do in my free time… D’you know, I actually think I might have come out of that feeling less confident than when I went in!”

(The training was actually pretty useful and to be fair to the speaker, he told me to keep on playing drums at the end. Rather unfortunately however, several years on, I only remember that incident from the entire session.)

(I live in a ground floor flat. The flat above mine has the same landlord I do. I walk into my hall to see an absolute torrent of water cascading out of my bathroom ceiling. I panic, hit the main fuse switch and turn all the electrics off, then run upstairs and hammer on the door of the flat above mine to get them out of the shower. Some hours later, the fire brigade have been out and told my landlord that I need an electrician out to sort out the bathroom fixtures… and my landlord has sent out a plumber.)

Plumber: “It turns out your neighbour has a leakage problem in the shower stall. We’ll come out at some point to fix that, but we can’t do it today. We’re on overtime.”

Me: “Sure, whatever. Where’s the electrician?”

Plumber: “You don’t need an electrician.”

Me: “Uh, yeah, I do.”

Plumber: “Look, it wasn’t that much water. Everything’s fine. They won’t send an electrician out just because it’ll make you feel better.”

Me: “…”

(My bathroom had been left in water several inches deep by the time the torrent had stopped, and it had come through the ceiling in two specific places – the light fitting itself, and the pull switch. The whole argument went back and forward and back and forward for ages before I left my dad to argue with him, and switched the main fuse back on. I stand at the door next to the light pull.)

Me: “So, we don’t need an electrician, right?”

Plumber: “I told you already. Everything’s fine.”

Me: “Cool.”

(I pulled the switch to the light that he was standing underneath. It immediately started sparking before I turned it back off again. I didn’t have to say another word; he agreed to get an electrician then and there. When the electrician turned up, I told him what had happened. His words: “People can be really f****** stupid.”)

(I work as a data-entry temp with three other women, assisting the merchandisers of a national retail chain with various paperwork. Some time before the end of our five-month contract, we’re asked to help a new French intern to learn some of our tasks, as she’ll be performing them when we leave.)

Me: *spends 45 minutes explaining the New Item form in detail* “You should really take notes; it’s a lot of information. We’ll still be there for a few weeks, so you can ask us anytime, but you’ll have to learn to do it on your own.”

Intern: “Oh, yeah, okay. What’s a SKU?”

(We’ve been referring to items as “SKU”s for the whole two weeks she’s been there already.)

Me: “Er, well it’s the unique code for an item, but we refer to products as ‘SKU’s usually.”

Intern: *seeming unsure* “Oh, okay.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I really don’t know how else to explain it.”

Intern: “Oh, no it’s okay. I understand.”

(We have to re-explain everything every single time she is trying to perform any of the tasks we’ve shown her. Our respective supervisors think we are exaggerating, until they have to repeatedly teach her things themselves. She does not comprehend the functioning of spreadsheet software, despite being apparently far enough in her marketing studies to obtain an internship overseas. She is also a bit naive.)

Intern: “So where can I find raccoons?”

(My coworkers and I look at each other.)

Coworker #1: “Why do you want to see raccoons?”

Intern: “Oh, well, I want to feed them!”

Coworker #2: “They’re wild animals, and they can be aggressive and carry disease. You shouldn’t try to feed them.”

Intern: “But I saw people do it on YouTube!”

Me: “That doesn’t mean it’s good idea!”

(I never knew whether she did find raccoons. When we left, she was still there, and our supervisors were pulling their hair out, wondering what to do with a worker than took more time out of their schedule than she was saving them.)

(My husband and I stop at a fast food restaurant for dinner one night. The restaurant is running a special promotion entree and the cashier is asking each customer if they’d like to try the special. We are in line behind another customer.)

Cashier: “Good evening; welcome to [Restaurant]. Would you like to try our [Special Promotion]?”

Customer: “Yes, that actually sounds pretty good!”

Cashier: *without missing a beat* “Unfortunately, we’re all out of [Special Promotion]. Is there something else you’d like to order?”

Customer: “…”

(To this day I’m not sure if she was told she had to offer the special no matter what or if it was just autopilot!)

(I ring up the florist to order a small posy of flowers for my grandmother’s grave for the first anniversary of her death. I asked for the posy to be exclusively pink. This is deliberate as my gran was known as ‘The Lady in Pink.’ I’m only eighteen and really emotional about the anniversary since I had been really close to my gran. I call into the florist after work that evening.)

Me: *walking up to the counter* “Hi! I ordered a posy earlier under the name [My Name] and I’m here to collect and pay for it.”

Florist #1: “Great, it’s just over here.” *fetches posy* “That will be €50, please.”

Me: *sees that posy is mainly purple and white with only two pink flowers present* “Oh! I’m sorry, this one can’t be mine. I ordered a pink posy?”

Florist #1: “Oh… Let me check with [Florist #2]. She dealt with the orders earlier…”

Me: “Yes, please!”

Florist #2: *approaching me with a scowl* “What’s the problem?”

Me: *recognizing her voice from the phone* “Hi, I called earlier and ordered a pink posy. I think I was talking to you about it and—”

Florist #2: “Yeah? There it is. What’s wrong with that one?” *pointing to purple posy*

Me: “I don’t think so… I asked for pink and white flowers only. I hate to be a bother, but it’s important that the posy is pink. Is there any way of taking the purple flowers out and replacing them with pink?”

Florist #2: “For f**** sake! There’s nothing wrong with that one! I can’t bloody well take anything out! I’d have to make a whole new one for you!”

Me: “Well, I can come back later to collect it if that’s the case? I need it to be pink.”

Florist #2: “That’s not happening! Who are you to be complaining to me? I never get complaints! I’ve had a terrible day and here you are giving me a hard time!”

Me: *apologetically* “I’m sorry, but it’s really important to me… It’s for my gran’s—”

Florist #2: “Your granny will live if she gets some f****** purple flowers!! Get her pink the next time!”

Me: *finally raising my voice* “It’s for my grandmother’s GRAVE!”

Florist #2: *rolls eyes* “Then she won’t know they’re purple, will she?”

(At that point I was in tears from being shouted at and from the florist’s insensitivity so I fled from the shop. I was so upset afterwards that I had to call my mother to collect me and drive my car home for me. I couldn’t bring myself to buy flowers for her grave this year after that drama so I opted to buy a teddy bear for her instead.)