CONTENT WARNING: Physical Injury
 

I used to work in care for people with mental health issues. On my first day I am told to work one-on-one with a man to take him out in his wheelchair. It’s all going fine until he turns around in his chair and bites my arm with teeth that are barely ever brushed!

I have blood running down my arm. I take him home and talk to another staff member who tells me to go home and get it checked out since I’ll be finishing in an hour anyway. I do, and I go to the hospital to get the wound cleaned and given an injection to stop any diseases.

The next day I get in to work and get yelled at and written up by the team leader for leaving to take care of the injury. 

I still have a scar from it a decade later.

My boyfriend is the sweetest, most understanding, most nonconfrontational person ever. He’s twenty-seven and 6’4” tall — 100% gentle giant.

We were on a plane on our way to visit family. [Boyfriend] had the aisle seat, and there was a girl who was maybe twenty years old sitting in front of him. Before we took off, [Boyfriend] leaned down to get something out of his backpack under the seat. Without warning, the girl in front thrust her seat back with all of her might, slamming into my boyfriend’s knees and face.

Surprised, he leaned back. But the girl seemed confused about why her seat wasn’t going back very far — because, y’know, [Boyfriend] has long legs and she had literally hit his face. He let her continue to slam her seat into his knees multiple times until, finally:

Boyfriend: “Please stop.”

She had no headphones on, was not distracted, and could obviously hear him, but she didn’t answer him — though she did stop. Then, she did the thing where she flipped her long hair over the seat onto his lap, which I really only thought people faked for TikTok.

There was an old lady sitting next to [Boyfriend] (bless her heart), who poked the girl and said:

Old Lady: “You’re being very rude.”

The girl still didn’t answer.

This old woman had a petty battle with this girl the entire flight as the girl repeatedly flipped her long hair back over the seat and the old woman moved it out of [Boyfriend]’s lap. He ended up with bruises from the girl’s seat.

I genuinely can’t believe people like this are real. It was only a one-hour flight! I was in a different part of the plane, but if I had known this girl was literally hurting a stranger — much less someone I love — I would not have let her get away with it. She needed to move her seat up for takeoff anyway; he didn’t let her push her seat back again, though she really tried. There was never a single word from her through the entire ordeal. Absolutely insane.

CONTENT WARNING: Blood
 

After dialysis today, I go to our local grocery store to get something for my lunch and dinner.

Of course, it’s packed, and entitled behaviour is everywhere. An Audi R10 with no disabled badge parked across two disabled bays is just the start. There are kids running around screaming pushing into customers, etc.

Whatever. I limp round as fast as I can using the self-scan. I hate this thing, but I’m tired, hungry and hurting. I get my shopping, go to the self-service till, and scan to download my shopping. Of course, I get flagged for a basket check.

The poor girls on duty here are run off their feet, so I just wait while everyone queuing complains about how long it’s taking.

I suddenly get tapped on my shoulder, and I turn to see a pissed-off-looking woman around forty-five-ish.

Woman: “Move it! Your till has reset!”

Indeed, it has gone back to the start page due to the wait. She carries on grumbling at me to move. Then, she gets hold of my left arm and squeezes hard to try and force me to move. I yell in pain and a staff member runs over.

Staff Member: “Back up! He’s got to be basket-checked!”

The woman carries on whining, but then my screen is brought back up with my shopping on it.

I go to pay when she finishes, and blood trickles out my sleeve.

Me: “Oh, s***!”

Staff Member: “Go sit down on the bench there. I’ll call for a first aider.”

I’m already putting pressure on it as I know what’s happened. My left arm has a surgical fistula for dialysis. Basically, they join an artery and vein into one blood vessel. Bleeding from this can be potentially fatal if not dealt with.

I take my hoodie off with help while the woman continues to whine as security won’t let her leave.

The staff member sees my arm; it’s very swollen in sections from the treatment. When the woman squeezed, she ripped the scab open. Pressure stops it, but it takes time.

Then, I hear a familiar voice; my best friend has just come in to do some shopping.

Best Friend: “You okay, [My Name]?”

Me: “I need a dressing kit. There’s one in my car.”

He nodded, took my keys, and asked where I was parked. He returned a few minutes later with the pack, and with his and the staff member’s help, I stopped the bleeding fully and then cleaned and redressed the needle wounds.

By this time, cops had turned up, and yes, I agreed to press charges.

I felt like crap all afternoon because of her, and I used up some Kaltostat (a special dressing that causes blood clotting to stop bleeding rapidly). This stuff is expensive, like £60 for a box of ten dressings. Thank God I get that on prescription, but now I’ve used an extra day’s supply.

She will be charged by CPS, but it could be a month or so before trial at best, possibly longer.

The fistula kept oozing blood. Then, it bled heavily the following day — to the point where we called 999 and I was taken to hospital by ambulance.

The wound got infected, so I was put on IV antibiotics and an emergency neck line for dialysis. I had surgery to repair the fistula, but I ended up losing it; it was just too old, battered, and damaged to keep using regardless of the woman hurting it. The surgeon said she accelerated it by about six months.

All because someone was impatient.

My friend who was there for part of it phoned me to say he gave a statement today about what he saw (which was mostly me trying to stop the bleeding).

I’m in pain, scared, and just want to punch someone.

I am working at this insanely popular breakfast joint. My first table of the morning is a seemingly adorable old couple. After going through our specials, at their request, the woman orders the duck hash special, and the man orders two poached eggs on toast. All good.

I bring them their food, and the guy starts freaking out.

Old Guy: “No! This is all wrong! How could you?!” 

Me: “What’s wrong, sir?” 

Old Guy: “You didn’t bring me a tablespoon for my eggs!”

Me: “You didn’t ask for one.” 

Old Guy: “Everyone knows that poached eggs are supposed to be served with a tablespoon!”

I’ve been a waitress for nearly a decade, I’ve served a LOT of poached eggs, and I’ve never heard this rule. Nonetheless, I apologize profusely and tell him I’ll go grab him a spoon.

Old Guy: “No! My breakfast is ruined now!”

And then, this grown a** adult threw his plate of food at me and stormed out. His wife gave me a sympathetic smile as she slunk out behind him, and I worked the next eight hours with egg yolk stains all over me.

This is a story from my first year of high school. A young boy with mobility issues attended a number of my classes; some days he would get around using a pair of crutches, and on bad days, he would use a wheelchair. He was also well below average height and suffered from what is known locally as “Wee Man Syndrome”. In other words, he would regularly try to pick fights with people much, much bigger than him for little or no reason. Although, he was fairly safe in the knowledge that nobody wanted to be known as the person who fought the small kid in a wheelchair.

That is, until the events of this story.

One day, in the middle of a class, our teacher had to step out. I don’t know why, but we were left unsupervised for what felt like a really long time, and most of us kids started to have a laugh and carry on.

Now, I forget what started it but the kid, who was using his crutches on this occasion, took exception to something a much taller boy said and made a critical error of judgment.

Wee Guy: “I want to fight you.”

Tall Kid: “What did you say?”

Wee Guy: “You heard me: I want to fight you. Square go, right now!”

His error of judgment here was that the kid he was speaking to had a reputation for being a bit wild and for not taking crap from anyone, not even from teachers (hence having spent a fair bit of time in detention).

Tall Kid: “Aye,. Okay, then. Let’s go.”

At that point, he got out of his seat and walked over to the Wee Guy’s desk. The Wee Guy promptly panicked and tried to hit him over the head with one of his crutches. The Tall Kid snatched the crutch out of the air, threw it away, and then picked the Wee Guy up by his collar.

Tall Kid: “Listen very carefully because this is the only warning you are getting. I don’t care that you can’t walk. I think you’re a coward because you pick fights knowing people don’t want to fight you. Well, the next time you talk crap to me or any of my pals, I am going to make you eat your crutches.”

Then, he shoved the Wee Guy back into his seat, picked the crutch up, slammed it onto the desk in front of him, and walked back to his own seat.

The teacher came back to class not long afterward, so that was pretty much the end of it, but funnily enough, I don’t recall the Wee Guy picking any more fights after this incident. I don’t remember what the class was, but I do remember the lesson.