Why Do Men Balk At The Thought Of Blood?

, , , , | Related | November 17, 2019

(My family is religious and typically goes to church every Sunday morning. This morning, I’ve been hit with some period cramps that hurt enough to make me opt out in favor of curling up with a heating blanket. While they’re gone, I realize that I’m running low on supplies, so I text my mother, asking if she can stop at the store to pick me up some more pads on the way home. She doesn’t respond for a while and I’m not sure if the message has even been delivered, even though I’m pretty sure the service is over by now. I text my dad with the same question and tell him that I tried to contact Mom but she hasn’t responded. When my family comes home, my mother bears the coveted supplies.)

Me: “Thank you!”

Mom: “You’re welcome. Sorry I didn’t see your text.”

Me: “It’s okay. What did Dad say when I sent the text to him?”

Mom: “He saw it and then just kind of shoved his phone at me and said, ‘Nope, you deal with this.’”

(I sometimes wonder how he’s survived this long with a wife and a menstruating daughter.)

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Almost The Wedding Of Their Dreams

, , , | Friendly | November 17, 2019

(I start helping my mom in her office as an assistant. We don’t tell the clients about our relationship, but some of our closest clients notice our similarities and guess it on their own. There is this one client who is very keen on having me as his daughter-in-law; he introduces me to his son, asks me to show his son — recently back from studying abroad — around our city — to which request I say a firm no — and asks me to come to his house for documents signing — my mom forbids me to go. Fast forward a few years: we are still in a good relationship with the client and we get an invitation to his son’s wedding. My mom goes to the wedding — the kind of wedding where the parents of both bride and groom are standing right next to the bride and groom, and guests are expected to queue to greet them — and after queuing for some time, she finally gets to greet her clients.)

Mom: “Hi, Mr. [Client]. Congratulations on your son’s wedding!”

Client: “Thank you for coming!” *to his wife* “This is Mrs. [Mom], the one who helped us with [case].”

Client’s Wife: *in full hearing of everyone nearby, including her son and her new daughter-in-law* “Ooh, thank you for coming. Too bad we are not meant to be in-laws!”

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It’s Never Crunch Time

, , , , , | Right | November 17, 2019

(I work night-shift as a doughnut fryer. I don’t see people often, but when I do, I try to be extra helpful. It is about 11:00 pm.)

Customer: “Do you know where the crunchies are?”

Me: “Crunchies? Um, I don’t think so. Can you describe them?”

Customer: “They’re like apple pie, but with oatmeal on top.”

(I ponder for a moment, for that could apply to a great many things we make. Then it hits me. Cobbler. She means cobbler. Interesting fact: our store’s kitchen actually makes the cobbler. So, I show her where it is.) 

Me: “Here it is. The kitchen labeled it ‘cobbler’ but I think this may be what you are looking for.”

Customer: *sneers* “Yes, it is, but in my family, we call it crunchies.”

(Then, she walked away all snooty. All I could think was, “Yeah, but if you want people to understand you, you call it what everyone else f****** does.”)

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Not Being Very PC

, , , | Learning | November 17, 2019

(This is a few years ago when school computers are very unreliable and before IT teaches anything useful like programming. I am usually quite a good student but have no time or patience for irrational teachers. This occurs in a GCSE IT lesson where the majority of students are off for a religious festival. We have a seating plan, as the class is usually full, to ensure everyone sits in the same seat and on the same PC. I sit in my assigned seat to find the PC isn’t working, the entire row I am sat in is empty so I move to the computer right next to mine, log in, and start to get on with my work.)

Teacher: *to me* “Why are you not sat in your seat?”

Me: “The PC isn’t working so I moved to this one.”

Teacher: “I didn’t say you could move. Move back to your assigned seat, and once the lesson has started, put your hand up and I will come over and sort the issue out.”

Me: “Can’t I just keep working on this PC and when you have fixed that one–” *motioned to my usual PC* “–I will move back?” 

Teacher: “Get out!”

(I am sent outside for about ten minutes and get a telling off when the teacher comes out to speak to me. When she brings me back in, she tells me to go work on another computer on another empty row on the other side of the classroom. She hasn’t bothered to check if this PC works, either, and it was also broken. Not learning my lesson, or just wanting to get on with some work, I log into the PC next to it. You can guess what comes next.)

Teacher: “That is not the PC I told you to sit at.”

Me: “That isn’t working, either, and this one is. I have just moved one desk over to actually get on with some work. There is no one sat on this entire row, so why does it matter which one I work at? I’m not trying to move to sit next to anyone and mess about.”

Teacher: “Get back outside!”

Me: “Okay, but don’t bother coming out to speak to me because I won’t be there; I’m going to find somewhere to actually do some work.” 

(The IT room was near the Special Educational Needs room, so I went in there and explained the situation, and they were happy for me to get on with some work. The teacher never did bother to come looking for me, or at least didn’t find me if she did.)

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Diagnosed With Not Quite Surgical Precision

, , , , | Healthy | November 17, 2019

(In college, I start getting severe fatigue; I am sleeping ten hours a night, getting an hour or two nap each day, and still feeling exhausted all the time. I go to the student health center where they do some blood tests and diagnose me with hypothyroidism, where my thyroid doesn’t produce enough hormone. I am given a prescription for the generic of a synthetic thyroid hormone, and things improve drastically for several months. But after I have my prescription filled at a different pharmacy, I start having different symptoms: anxiety, feeling jittery all the time, being unreasonably cold, etc. I go back to the health center where they run more blood tests. This is what happens at the followup appointment when those blood test results come back.)

Doctor: “So, your thyroid hormone levels are much too high. You have hyperthyroidism.” *goes into treatment options, which basically boil down to either radiation to kill off part of my thyroid or surgery to remove part of it*

Me: “Okay. Well, before we start talking about surgery, don’t you think we should try reducing my [medication] dosage?”

Doctor: *stares at me for a second, then reads my chart more carefully* “Ah. Yes, yes, we should probably try that first.”

(A DIFFERENT doctor in the health center was able to explain that I’m in a small group of people that are sufficiently sensitive to thyroid hormone that the different levels in different generic brands can act like a completely different dosage, meaning that I need to be on the name brand to ensure my dosage stays constant. We put me on the name brand and I didn’t have any more problems, and I never saw the other doctor again.)

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