Our store is across the street from a nursing home. Almost every day, we see an older couple come into the store to just look around. They go through the same routine every day, and they don’t really buy anything, but we don’t mind. 

The husband comes over to me one day after we make eye contact and I smile at him a little.

Husband: “I wanted to say thanks for letting us come in every day. It really means the world to us.”

Me: “Oh, it’s no bother at all. I’m sure there are nicer places to visit than this little old store, though!” 

Husband: “Well, it’s for my wife. She has trouble remembering these days, but we always used to come to this store together every Tuesday, and she’d work through her list, thinking up all the dinners she’d feed us all week until the next Tuesday. She doesn’t remember who I am most days, but every time we come in here, it’s suddenly Tuesday, and she gets all excited about the dinners she wants to make.”

Me: “Oh… I… I don’t know what to say.” 

Husband: “Nothing to say. I just wanted to say thank you.”

His wife walked past with a list in her hand, smiling and calling her husband over to help her choose a cereal.

Every day for the next year, we’d see them reliving her Tuesdays, happy with her list, until one day we didn’t see them for a while. He came back a few weeks later to tell us that his wife was grocery shopping in Heaven now, and he couldn’t wait to try some of the meals she was cooking up for him one day.

We all loved him for how much he loved her.

My manager and I are working the overnight shift at a twenty-four-seven fast food joint in a neighborhood that doesn’t have the best reputation.

A guy walks in and asks for the cheapest combo we have. I ask for the total, and he’s thirty-seven cents short. I explain this.

Customer: “C’mon, man! It’s the middle of the night. Just let it slide.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, I can’t offer any discounts.” 

Customer: “It’s only a few cents! No one will notice.”

Me: “I’ll be short at the end of my shift, and I’ll get written up.” 

Customer: “So, your write-up is more important than me going hungry?”

Me: “Look, I can get you some fries for [small amount], and I’ll throw in some extra for you, but I can’t sell you [combo] unless you have the full amount.”

My manager walks over as he’s noticed the customer getting agitated. He explains the same things that I have, and the customer gives us a big “F*** you!” and storms out.

Less than half an hour later, the next shift has arrived, and during the overlap, my manager and I get a break. We usually grab some food and go sit in his old car together, which has been parked to the side of the store for as long as I can remember. (He drives a newer and nicer car, but due to reasons too long and boring to list here, he’s been allowed to keep his old car in that parking spot for a few months.)

As we’re eating our dinner and talking, the customer from before spots us, storms over, and dramatically throws himself over the hood of the car.

Customer: “What the f***, man! You trying to kill me?!”

Manager: “What the h*** are you doing?! Go away!”

Customer: “I’m callin’ the police! You tried to kill me!”

Me: “Oh, my God! Is this all because you didn’t get a burger?!” 

The customer — who, at this point, we suspect is high on something — actually calls 911 and claims we tried to run him over. I’m getting a little worried, but my manager tells me to be patient and it’ll all be fine.

Two officers drive in about fifteen minutes later. (We’ve sat in the car finishing our food during this time.) The customer is quick to explain to them what happened. He’s even developed a little limp in the last fifteen minutes.

Then, the officers finally give my manager and me a chance to explain

Manager: “Officer, please, check the engine. I think you’ll find that it will prove that we didn’t hit the customer.”

Officer #1: “I’m not qualified to check an engine to confirm your testimony.” 

Manager: “Please, indulge me.”

My manager pops the hood, opens it, and lets the officer take a look. 

Officer #1: *To the customer* “Okay, sir, I think we’re done here.”

Customer: “What are you talking about?! Just because the engine isn’t running, it doesn’t mean—” 

Officer #1: “Take a look, sir.”

The customer steps forward… and sighs. 

There is no engine.

Manager: “It was taken out months ago to go to a more deserving car. This hunk of junk exists only as a place for me to take my breaks and listen to my music at full volume. We good here?” 

Officer #2: “We’re good. Feel free to go back inside, sir.”

Manager: “But first, I’d like to call the police about a customer who is causing a disturbance and has been known to lie to the police.”

Officer #2: “No need to make that call, sir. We can take it from here.” 

They escorted the customer off the premises. We never saw him again.

One of my kids is allergic to peanuts, tree nuts, sesame seeds, and their oils — oh, and garden peas — but not other legumes.

One school wanted to keep their EpiPens locked in a secure cabinet. Which was locked in a secure walk-in cupboard. Which was accessed via a secure strongroom that was always kept locked. Which opened off the Head’s Study. Which was locked whenever they weren’t in the room.

When I — and other parents of children with EpiPens — went and asked the Head and the Bursar how much the school was worth, they wanted to know why.

Me: “So we know how much to sue you for when one of our kids dies because people can’t find the keys in time.”

Suddenly, every classroom was issued with a secure medications cabinet, which was accessed either by entering a code on the pin-pad or hitting the big, red medical emergency alarm button above the cabinet. (It was beyond the reach of little kids, very loud and scary, and designed to summon help QUICKLY. It couldn’t be switched off without the special key, which was only issued to the Head, the Bursar, and the Secretary.)

I’m a middle-aged woman, and I volunteer at my kids’ school library once a week. One time, the regular librarian was gone and there was a substitute librarian. I’m not sure where she was from, but her accent suggested a region of the world known for being homogenously Christian (as in, a different one other than Alabama). We were alone in the library and started chatting.

Substitute Librarian: “And you do this every week? You’re such an angel! I can surely tell that God sent you to this school to witness through your good works…”

She went on in that vein for a while, and I mostly just nodded and smiled; I was raised Christian, but I’m no longer exactly practicing. I don’t remember what her exact question was that led to this, but then we had the following exchange.

Me: “Then, my wife and I moved here—”

Substitute Librarian: “Your wife?”

Me: “Yep.”

Substitute Librarian: “You’re married to a woman?”

Me: “Yes.”

Substitute Librarian: “But you said you have kids! Were they…” *makes a weird hand gesture* “You know, needle babies?”

Me: “Oh! No, actually, my wife was my husband for fifteen years first, before she transitioned, so they’re our biological kids. She’s just a woman now.”

Substitute Librarian: “But… how?”

She seemed genuinely curious and more baffled than judgmental (and the library was still empty other than the two of us), so I ended up basically explaining Queer 101: how transitioning works, how you can be bisexual even when monogamous, how transitioning doesn’t actually change your genitalia unless you opt for additional surgery (which many trans people don’t, my wife included).

Normally, I don’t answer intrusive questions like that, but I think she legitimately had no idea that this whole world existed! In the end, her conclusion came down to:

Substitute Librarian: “Well, I still think you are a wonderful person doing God’s work. It’s good that you’re staying with your husband even though he’s… going through some things… because divorce is a sin and too many people just give up.”

Sigh… So close!

I’ve been at my current employer for more than ten years. For the first five years, I was the supervisor of our production area. After that, I switched to IT. Since then, I have new bosses (who are located in a different branch), but as my old boss is the manager for the branch where I am located, I still have to deal with her regularly.

Our company is a scanning service, so we have a lot of high-value documents on location: banking documents, deeds, employment documents, and all manner of correspondence. You name it, we got it. Obviously, security is a major concern as we would be liable for any damage or losses incurred. But both my former boss and the guy who now holds my former position care more about things being convenient, even if they go against regulations.

One repeat discussion I’ve had with them is about how they like to prop open doors to our production area for hours on end, often without anyone supervising the open doors. Obviously, this is a breach of data security, as anyone could just walk in, grab some documents, and walk out again. In addition, as these are fire doors, it is against German law to keep them propped open, as this endangers people in case of a fire.

The last time I noticed that door blocked, I decided to send a reminder email to people in our branch, pointing out the danger as well as the relevant part of criminal law. I honestly expected to be ignored as usual, but then [Former Boss] replied. The following is a chain of emails going back and forth.

Former Boss: “Do your own work! It’s not your job to play security. If the door is open, it is open for a reason. Also, these are not fire doors; inform yourself.”

Me: “If I note a violation of criminal law, let alone one endangering everyone in the building, it is absolutely my job to point that out. Also, it’s interesting that you would accuse me of not informing myself, as you don’t seem to have done that, either. Our doors are [full serial number of door brand]. You can find the technical specification under DIN 4102 (German standard for fire doors) under this link.”

Former Boss: *Sarcastically* “Props for having the time to busy yourself with that. We carried boxes into the production area; it wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. Let this be my problem and keep out of it. Nothing was blocked.”

Me: “The door to the production area was held with a wedge. The door to the office area was held open using a fire extinguisher (which is somewhat ironic). So, saying nothing was blocked is provably false. However, it’s moot to keep discussing this; I did my duty and pointed out the problem. At least no one can claim they didn’t know if anything happens now.”

I had started to CC my bosses starting with the second email, as I wanted to raise awareness of the tone of these replies. Unbeknownst to me, one of them forwarded the whole exchange to the safety officer in our main branch. (My branch doesn’t have one.) I only knew when we got the following answer to my last email.

Safety Officer: “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?! EVERY EMPLOYEE HAS A DUTY TO POINT OUT DEFICIENCIES IN THE WORKPLACE!”

He then proceeded to point out the sections of employment law that obligate any employee to look out for their own health and security, as well as those that empower employees to make suggestions to their employer where health and security are concerned. He also pointed out all the problems with propping up a fire door; words like “gross negligence” and “life insurance” were used.

I later heard through the grapevine that [Former Boss] called [Safety Officer] and whined about how inconvenient it was not to be able to keep these doors open, but she didn’t get far.

Related:
Safety Schmafety