I get migraines an average of two weeks a month. My manager has never experienced a migraine and thinks of them as simple headaches; she frequently talks down to me as though they are nothing. Our store has glaring white light that is arguably brighter than the outside sun, which does not help at all.

My manager recently came down with a certain contagious illness and became very sick; she was gone for about two months. Upon her return, she was now getting chronic migraines much like mine.

Before long, my manager posted a public apology on social media and sent me a personal one for talking like migraines are nothing. I’m sorry she is getting them now as they are torture, but I’m glad she now understands and won’t make the “it’s nothing” argument again to anyone out there who gets them.

I am a Captain and have been assigned as chief of security for an Army hospital. I am in my office when a Lieutenant Colonel comes in.

Lieutenant Colonel: “Hey there, Captain. I need you to take care of an issue for me.”

Me: “Of course, sir. If it is within my area and power, I’ll see what I can do.”

Lieutenant Colonel: “Well, the general’s driver’s wife is in the maternity ward having just had her baby and she has a problematic roommate — always closing the curtain and blocking her line of sight to the window and messing with the tv. I need this woman moved to another room.”

Me: “Umm, that’s definitely outside my area of control, sir. I don’t oversee or control anything with patients unless it is an issue of security, safety or—”

Lieutenant Colonel: “Yes, yes, I know, but you know everyone, and the doctors and nurses will listen to you more than me. You are one of them now and they rely on you.”

Me: “Sir, really—”

Lieutenant Colonel: “I know, I know, no promises. This would really make the general happy, though. His driver is like a second son to him, so I would really owe you. It’s room number [number]. Just give it your best for a fellow infantryman, okay?”

I breathe deep and pause for a moment.

Me: “What room number again, sir?”

Lieutenant Colonel: *Smiling* “[Number].”

Me: “Roger, sir. I’ll look into it and do my best. I’ve got a couple of favors I might be able to use.”

Lieutenant Colonel: “Outstanding! Thanks.”

And he leaves. So, up I go to maternity to find the head nurse. She is not pleased as, apparently, the Lieutenant Colonel had been here earlier trying to sling his weight around and came to find me when it had no effect. I point out the room, though, and she smiles. We both chuckle a little bit.

Me: “So, can you help me out with making this all be good? Please.”

The head nurse gives me a big friendly smile.

Head Nurse: “Well, the corner room is open. We could move the bothersome lady in there, though she will likely have a new roommate later today. Then again, once the bed is clean and reset, we will likely be putting another lady in with the driver’s wife, too. Matter of fact…”

She pauses, looking over files.

Head Nurse: “It will probably be [Patient] having her fourth kid. She was likely to be going in the corner room, but with the move, she would have to go in with the driver’s wife.”

Me: “Well, if that’s how it has to be. As long as we can accommodate the Lieutenant Colonel’s request.”

Head Nurse: “Okay, but you are helping move the lady out of the room.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, of course.”

The lady who had been causing SUCH disturbances for the driver’s wife was quite calm and gave no issues with the move nor even asked any questions. I called the Lieutenant Colonel once it was done and made sure to tell him I had no concrete knowledge if or when a new roommate might be moved into the room but that the staff was really not happy with the move and extra work. He thanked me and I never heard anything of it again.

The entertaining part of the whole thing? The bothersome lady who got the room with the better view — the woman who kept closing the curtain for some privacy and turning down the loud crap the driver’s wife kept putting on the TV — was my wife, who had just had our first kid.

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My grandmother always liked to look nice; she liked to regularly get her hair and nails done and preferred to spend a little extra on stylish clothes. She also almost always wore makeup — just a little colour to liven up her face a bit. She still did this when she was past ninety and had to move to a nursing home.

The move was not caused by diminishing mental faculties — she remained sharp as a tack until the day she died — but she had become wheelchair-bound after a nasty fall and her physical health had already been deteriorating. The home she moved into was very nice, but apparently, some of the staff were not used to elderly ladies paying as much attention to their looks as my grandmother did.

I was visiting Grandma when a young nurse came in to help her with her eyedrops. Her face took on a look of pure astonishment.

Nurse: “Why, Mrs. [Grandma], are you really wearing lipstick?”

Grandma must have been rather irritated at the tone and the apparent implication that elderly women wearing lipstick is something to marvel at, because her reply was rather indignant.

Grandma: “Yes, I am. I might be old, but I’m not withered!”

After the flustered nurse left, I nearly rolled off the couch with laughter. “I might be old, but I’m not withered” has since become a family favourite; whenever an older relative gets a comment along the lines of “Looking good for your age,” they fire off Grandma’s response. Everyone in the know then immediately bursts into laughter and starts reminiscing about dear Grandma.

I arrive early for my CAT scan and sit in the waiting room. [Tech #1] comes out of the back.

Tech #1: “Is [Man] here? [Man]? [Man]?”

Receptionist: “Who’s [Man]?”

Tech #1: “His wife is back there and too dizzy to walk. I’m looking for her husband.” *Louder* “[MAN]! [MAN]?!”

[Tech #1] disappears for a few minutes and then he’s back.

Tech #1: “[Man]? [MAN]?! [Receptionist], would you page him?”

Receptionist: “What’s his last name?”

Tech #1: “Just page [Man].”

Receptionist: “I can’t do that! There are lots of [Man]s!”

Tech #1: “I don’t know his last name. Just page him!”

[Tech #1] disappears again. [Tech #2] comes out of the back pushing a woman in a wheelchair.

Tech #2: “Someone’s supposed to transport this woman to the lobby.”

Receptionist: “Park her over there until they come.”

[Tech #2] parks the woman and goes into the back.

Tech #1: “[Man]? [Man]?”

Transport Nurse: “Where’s the woman in the wheelchair?”

Receptionist: *Waving vaguely* “Over there.”

Transport Nurse: “I see the wheelchair, but it’s empty.”

Receptionist: “That’s odd.”

The transport nurse leaves.

Receptionist: “[My Name], we’ll get to you in just a few more minutes.”

Me: “That’s just fine. You’ve lost two people in the ten minutes I’ve been here, so I’m really overwhelmed with confidence at the moment.”

Someone else behind the reception desk calls out:

Employee: “Don’t ask me! I’m on lunch!”

Tech #1: “[Man]?”

They did eventually find [Man]. They never found the missing lady. And my CAT scan went on without further incident — whew!

I work in customer service for a testing lab, mostly testing people who need a negative test for international travel. While we’re able to answer 99% of customers’ questions, we legally can’t give medical advice since we’re not medical professionals.

Customer: “I’m supposed to travel next week, but I also just got an email that I can get my vaccine this weekend. Will the vaccine affect my results? Should I get the vaccine or not?”

Me: “While we haven’t had any issues with the vaccines affecting our tests, it would be best to ask your doctor about whether you should get the vaccine before traveling. I’m not allowed to give medical advice to customers.” 

Customer: *Now yelling* “I’M NOT ASKING FOR MEDICAL ADVICE! I’M ASKING IF I SHOULD GET THE VACCINE OR NOT!”