(I have recurring nosebleeds. I’m at school when I get my first one this year, and I ask to go down to the nurse’s office. The nurse isn’t there, so I just wait around with a tissue under my nose to catch any leakage. After ten minutes, a nurse comes in. I have never seen her before.)

Nurse: “Look at all the mess you’re making! Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

Me: “I have a nosebleed. I can’t exactly stop it. All the blood is in the tissue, anyway.”

(She huffs and leaves the room. A few minutes later, she comes back with a plaster and attaches it to my nose — as in, over the nostrils — pushing so hard it makes the bleeding worse. I protest, but she leaves the room again. I yank the plaster off and some of the blood drips onto the floor. I’m in too bad a mood to clean it up. She comes back in.)

Nurse: “You messy boy! Look at all the blood on the floor!”

Me: “It’s one drop. I’ll clean it up before I go.”

Nurse: “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d kept the plaster on!”

(I swear at her — admittedly, this was wrong — and she storms out, returning with my tutor.)

Tutor: “[My Name], I hear you’ve been swearing at [Nurse]. You know our policy on this kind of behaviour.”

Me: “I’ll be more than happy to apologise, after she apologises for insulting me and acting like my nosebleed has been a personal grievance to her. She even stuck a plaster on my nose!”

Tutor: “[My Name]! You will apologise this instant, and I’m giving you a detention tomorrow. This is unacceptable behaviour. [Nurse] is the best nurse we’ve ever had!”

(I look between him and the nurse, who is looking triumphantly smug.)

Me: “That isn’t something you should be proud of.”

(I ended up with a week’s worth of detentions or that, but I refused to go — which my parents agreed with after I told them. The last straw was when they sent a letter home saying I had been suspended. My mum went down to the school to speak with the head teacher and the nurse. Apparently, she had only been in the building a couple of minutes when the nurse ran out in tears. The school retracted the suspension, but my parents moved me to a better school equipped with more competent staff.)

(After surgery on my leg, I need to pee, so I ask the nurse for help using the bedpan. After I’m finished, I can’t see the contents from my position but she obviously can, and she looks up with a horrified expression:)

Nurse: “This… This is your urine?”

Me: “Er, yes.”

Nurse: *speechless*

Me: “Oh! I forgot! I’m on my period!”

(She immediately sighs with relief. Sorry for scaring you, nurse!)

(I’m just having one of those “glitch in the Matrix” weeks, where weird things keep happening out of the blue. This is just one example. I work in a vet clinic. It’s Tuesday evening. I’m the only staff member still at work, and we’re less than an hour from closing. The vet has gone to her other office for the evening, and we’re only still open for pickup — meds, patients, etc. The door opens and a woman walks in.)

Me: “Hi. How can I help you?”

Woman: *smiles confidently at me* “Oh, hello. I am here with my chicken.”

Me: *sure I heard wrong since we don’t treat livestock* “I’m sorry, your chicken?”

Woman: “Yes. She is sick.”

Me: “I apologize, but we don’t see livestock here. And the vet is not here currently. But you may want to try [Larger Emergency Vet Hospital]; I believe they see livestock. I can give you their information if you need it—”

Woman: *suddenly enraged, her face turning violently red* “NO! I was told you see chickens!”

Me: “Ma’am, I apologize, but we, unfortunately, do not have a vet who treats livestock here. I recommend trying to see if [Larger Emergency Vet Hospital] is able to see her.”

(Getting redder by the moment, she shoves the basket with her chicken in it in my face; she’d had it under the raised counter where I couldn’t see it.)

Woman: “YOU NEED TO SEE MY CHICKEN NOW! SHE IS SICK!”

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing I can do. Even if my vet was here — unfortunately, she isn’t right now — she doesn’t treat chickens. Other than referring you elsewhere, I can’t help you.”

(She shoves her chicken in my face again. It is getting increasingly upset each time the owner violently swings her basket into my face.)

Woman: “YOU ARE WRONG! I WAS TOLD YOU CAN SEE CHICKENS!”

(I open my mouth to repeat everything again when the woman abruptly makes a frustrated screech to cut me off. Clearly aware she’s not going to get her way, she stomps out. Then, from the hallway, I hear:)

Woman: “THIS PLACE HATES CHICKENS!”

(I throw my back out at work. I am a female in my 20s. My line manager, who is male and around my age, gives me a ride to the ER and helps me in as I am in too much pain to walk. We are both in uniform. We speak to a doctor and explain exactly what happened, and he orders an x-ray. Afterward, my manager helps me into a cubicle and the doctor comes back in. I am still in a hospital gown from the x-ray.)

Doctor: “You’ve torn some ligaments. You’ll need to rest for two weeks to let them start to heal. I’ll get you some pain relief, and then you can go home.”

(He leaves and comes back a few minutes later.)

Doctor: “I know you’ve had an x-ray, but I have to ask. Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

Me: “No, none.”

Doctor: “Are you sure?”

(My manager looks away uncomfortably.)

Me: “I’m certain I’m not pregnant.”

Doctor: “Okay, this will help for a few hours, and I’ll also give you a prescription for some painkillers.” *whips out a syringe*

Me: “Okaaay…”

Doctor: *reaching for my gown* “This needs to go in your buttock, so if you’ll turn around…”

Manager: “I’ll just be outside!” *turns bright red and literally leaps through the curtains*

Doctor: “Isn’t that your husband?”

Me: “No, that’s my boss!”

Doctor: “Maybe I should have asked that first…”

(My older sister currently works at as an ER nurse. I am woken up one Saturday morning by my cell phone ringing.)

Me: “Hello?”

Sister: “I need you to come downstairs, right now.”

(I get up and walk down to the living room to find her and my parents all watching me descend.)

Me: “What’s going on?”

Sister: “I slipped on the stairs and broke my toe.”

Me: “You need someone to drive you to the hospital?”

Sister: “NO! My coworkers and I always joke about someone coming to the ER because they stubbed their toe. I am not going to the hospital because I hurt my toe.”

Me: “So, what do you need from me?”

Sister: “I need you to reset the bone. Mom is too squeamish and Dad is too gentle. You just need to pull on it quick, like taking off a bandage.”

Me: *shrugs* “Okay.” *walks over and yanks on the crooked toe*

Sister: *gasp of pain followed by a relieved sigh* “Thank you.”

(During her next shift at work, someone commented on her slight limp. She admitted to the accident and the doctor on hand insisted on x-raying her foot. The bone in the toe was indeed broken, but perfectly realigned.)