To make a long story short, due to the health crisis, I end up needing to get my six-month cleaning done at a dentist I’ve never been to before. As expected, a ton of precautions are in place: waiting outside, wearing a mask until they actually start working inside your mouth, the employees wearing extra protection, etc.

I get checked in, x-rayed, and seated in the chair just fine. Among the equipment in the room is a long metal arm with joints for maneuvering and a cone at the end. When the hygienist pulls the arm around and positions the cone a few inches away from my face; I assume it’s a light.

However, before the hygienist turns it on, she explains that it’s a “suction device” to prevent germs from escaping. Nice precaution, but as soon as she says “suction,” I can feel my eyes bug out because, knowing that’s its purpose, the shape suddenly looks VERY familiar.

Me: “What?! But… it looks exactly like the Scream Extractor from Monsters, Inc.!”

Hygienist: *Laughing* “Yeah, a lot of people have been saying that. I never saw that movie, so I didn’t get it, but I just watched it a few days ago and went, ‘Oh, my gosh, yeah. We have the Scream Machine.’”

So, I had my cleaning done with a loud vacuum running a few inches from my face, and I left very grateful that they had seen me and with a hilarious story to text to the siblings.

The official description of colic — or “crybaby” as is its literal translation from Dutch — is “a baby that cries at least three hours a day, at least three days a week, for at least three weeks,” and it usually passes by the fourth month.

When I was a baby, I cried for twenty hours a day, every day, for over seven months. The doctors weren’t able to find a cause. Food intolerances were tried and ruled out, my parents were accused of malingering and observed in the hospital to make sure they weren’t exaggerating and/or inducing the crying, and my parents were advised to have me sleep in the barn or have me sleep over at the home of a deaf elderly relative.

Around the seven-month mark, a telemarketer called our exhausted family to sell some kind of overpriced private health insurance.

My father picked up the phone and interrupted the sales spiel.

Father: “My baby has been crying twenty hours a day for the past seven months. She’s obviously in pain, and the doctors can’t find the cause or solve it and are still looking. You don’t want us as your customers.”

Telemarketer: “No, I totally understand. I hope I’m not overstepping, but have you tried a chiropractor? That could be KISS syndrome.”

My parents had not tried a chiropractor.

One week later, to the chiropractor I went.

That afternoon, my older brother — who didn’t know I had had any kind of appointment that day — looked at my parents in obvious concern.

Brother: “I think there’s something wrong with the baby. They’re never this quiet.”

My parents didn’t buy from the telemarketer, and they don’t remember her name. But we are all very glad a salesperson called us that day.

This story is part of our Feel Good roundup for October 2020!

Read the next Feel Good roundup story!

Read the Feel Good roundup for October 2020!

I was in a work-related accident years ago and have a recurring neck issue. During one flareup, I head to our first aid person to note the pain in case I have to leave early from work or go to the doctor.

First Aid: “Where does it hurt?”

I point at the back of my neck and she stands behind me, poking at the spot.

First Aid: “We could try a realignment.”

Me: “No. No, thank you. This is recurring and I just need it noted. I’ll see my doctor if it gets worse.”

First Aid: “But we could just—”

Me: “No. I don’t need treatment. Just please note it.”

She starts massaging the area and pulling me to her.

Me: “Look—”

She takes my head and turns it sharply, making my neck audibly snap.

Me: “What the f***?!”

I stumbled forward away from her, suddenly lightheaded. I walked away, not looking back, furious that she snapped my neck without permission. She’s not allowed behind me ever again.

I’m the attending doctor at the ER. Earlier this morning, we treated a man who crashed his bike and got a pretty nasty bruise as well as a concussion. A CT scan showed a fractured bone so he’ll need surgery. He told us he’d be using insurance, so he “wants a full record of everything you guys find.”

Later that day, a woman comes into the ER and starts banging on our table.

Woman: “EXCUSE ME! WHICH ONE OF YOU TREATED [PATIENT]?!”

Me: “Yes ma’am. I’m Doctor [My Name]. How can I he—”

Woman: “ARE YOU WEARING UNDERWEAR?!”

As you can guess, everyone in the room stops whatever they’re doing.

Me: “Pardon?”

Woman: “YES, YOU! ARE YOU WEARING UNDERWEAR?”

Me: “I don’t see how it’s— Why, yes, of course. What seems to be the matter?”

Woman: “Are you really? So why is it not stated in your uniform? Or your nametag?”

Me: “What does it have to do with [Patient], may I ask?”

Woman: “How dare you write in the report that my husband was not wearing a helmet?! I’ve just got a call from my insurance company that they’ll not pay the surgery because you wrote that he wasn’t wearing a helmet!“

Nurse: “Well, ma’am, your husband did say he wanted a full report exactly because he wants to use insurance.”

Woman: *Turns to nurse* “Well, b****, are you wearing a bra?! Now if he asks for a full report, why didn’t you also write in whether he’s wearing underwear or not? That’s not full report, is it, b****?“

Me: “Because we’re writing down things that are medically relevant. The fact he’s not wearing a helmet is, because he came in with a—”

Woman: “I don’t care! Now you’re gonna pay for his surgery because my insurance won’t pay! And it’s your fault!“

Then she stormed out of the ER, but not before yelling loudly, “THE DOCTOR IS NOT WEARING UNDERWEAR!”

This story is part of the Underwear roundup!

Read the next Underwear roundup story!

Read the Underwear roundup!

I work in a specialist nursing home for people with severe and enduring mental health problems. A female resident with South East Asian origins enjoys cooking and offers to make traditional chai tea for staff, under supervision.

Whilst being assisted by a support worker whose English is not great, she adds more than fifty teaspoons of sugar to the pan, as well as spices and other ingredients.

Me: “This tea tastes really good!”

Those of us who don’t mind the sweetness enjoy it.

Then, the support worker tells a colleague about part of the cooking process.

Support Worker: “She just crushed the walnuts by crunching them in her mouth and then spitting them into the pan.”

She hadn’t realised that people would find this revolting!

We agreed that when she made it again, she needed to use appropriate equipment to do that task. Thankfully, the support worker saw the sense of this.

I was not too concerned about this, given how many motorway service stations I ate in during my childhood in the 1970s, where I probably ingested far worse!

Related:
If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again, Part 7
If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again, Part 6
If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again, Part 5
If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again, Part 4
If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again, Part 3