First job I had was working in a bank at 16. My hate for the job was only surpassed by the office manager's hatred of me. He was an utter shithouse and he really did have it in for me. After about 18 months there, the despised 'inspectors' arrived for a visit. These were auditors who'd go through everything staff did - their work records, HR stuff, their bank accounts, etc.
My bank account was a fucking shambles. Since starting, I'd begun going out to the pub most nights, got properly into weed, and a mild addiction to fruit machines had become serious. They absolutely hammered me - but couldn't prove I'd stolen any money (I hadn't. Well, not much. Just when I needed a quick £10 or £20. But I'd masked it just about well enough).
But they did get me on something.
I'd been off sick for two days and, on the evening of the first day off, I'd used my cash card. I still remember it three decades on - I'd been ill day one with a really heavy cold, felt better after day in bed glugging Beechams and was all on for going back in the next day so went out to meet my mates down the pub, stopping at the cash machine on the way. Stayed an hour, felt like crap, so went home, Classic relapse case
. Morning came and I still was like shit so stayed off again.
The bastards accused me of faking it and used the cash card transaction as proof I was well enough to work. Ending up docking me a day's pay and issuing a formal warning about my bank account use. I fucked it off a few months later and got a new job.
Made me fucking paranoid about being off sick ever since.