A woman in the corridor just asked me to let her through a security door, saying she'd forgotten her pass card.

Normally I'm happy to do this if I have some reason to believe that the person does in fact work here (if I see them around regularly, or if someone I do recognise were to vouch for them), but in this case I'd never seen her before in my life. It's extremely likely that she does in fact work here – I'm sure people forget their cards far more often than genuine intruders make a serious attempt to access secure areas in the middle of the working day, and certainly it's not implausible that there are a few legitimate employees round here who I don't recognise. But I couldn't quite bring myself to let her through the security door on this basis, because, well, what do we have these passes for if anyone who can smile sweetly and look plausible gets let in with no questions asked?

So I explained this (not quite that verbosely). ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘No you're not,’ she replied instantly.

Actually, until she said that, I was. I recognised that it was extremely likely that I was inflicting a minor inconvenience on an innocent person rather than heroically foiling a dangerous intruder. I made the choice I did because the consequences of the latter possibility would have been bad enough to balance out its relative improbability, but I did regret the need to (probably) inconvenience her.

But that's OK, because as soon as she said ‘No you're not’, I decided I wasn't sorry any more. It annoys the hell out of me when people expect that they have a right to be trusted. Trust has to be earned, and if the consequence of this is that leaving your pass at home inconveniences you, well, you were the one who forgot it so you can hardly put all the blame on me. Grump.