(A woman comes up to our night cashier.)

Customer: “I need assistance at the pharmacy case.”

(The cashier pages me to the pharmacy case, as I’m the only one with the key after the pharmacist leaves. I arrive at the case.)

Me: “What items do you need?”

Customer: *hesitates for a moment* “I need condoms.”

Me: *opens the case* “You’re welcome to pick out any of the boxes that you’d like.”

(She picks up a few different boxes, shakes each one, then sets it back down. Then, she turns to me and asks:)

Customer: “Do you know which one of these feels the best for guys?”

Me: *more confused than surprised by the question* “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

Customer: “Do you know which one fits best, then?”

Me: “I can’t help you with that. I’ve never used any of those.”

Customer: *exasperated sigh* “Oh, well. Better safe than sorry.”

(She put the condoms down, grabbed a pregnancy test, and walked away without another word.)

(Our office occupies the bottom two floors of the building. There is a medical office on the fourth floor which is accessed by an elevator in the main lobby. Recently, there has been construction in front of the building’s main door, but pedestrians can still access the door. I am in a meeting when I am called to one of our side entrances to deal with an irate couple, a man and a woman.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

(I see that the woman is walking with a cane.)

Woman: “I want you to let me in so I can get to the elevator. I have an appointment!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is not [Medical Facility]. We can’t let you in because this area is restricted. If you want, I can walk you over to the main entrance and you can use the elevators there.”

Woman: “I can’t walk that far!”

(A coworker arrives at this time.)

Coworker: “It’s the same distance, either way. We can’t let you in.”

Man: “Well, we can’t go that way because of the construction! Unless you want to carry her, or you have a wheelchair, we need to get in this way!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we can’t do that. You can get around the construction; I promise.”

(This goes on for several minutes. After a while, the woman goes to use a phone that’s near the door.)

Woman: “Give me the number for [Doctor]!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, that phone connects to the office I just came from. We aren’t [Medical Facility]. We don’t have the number.”

Man: “Do you have any wheelchairs?”

Me: “No, we don’t.”

(The two finally leave, but not before…)

Woman: “You need to figure out how to handle cases like this better!”

Me: “You have my deepest apologies, ma’am.”

Woman: “What good’s that going to do me?!”

(They walk outside, leaving my coworker and me behind.)

Me: “They seriously want us to stock wheelchairs for people who can’t be bothered to use the main entrance?”

(After a change in my insurance, I have to switch doctors. On my first exam, he stares long and hard at a small patch of pink skin on my stomach that my previous doctor dismissed as nothing.)

Doctor: “How long have you had that bright pink spot on your stomach?”

Me: “Three or four years.”

Doctor: “Have you ever had a dermatologist examine it?”

Me: “No, I didn’t think it was anything serious. My GP said it was probably nothing.”

Doctor: “Well, I think it’s probably a basal cell carcinoma. That’s a slow-growing cancer, but if it’s been left alone for years, we need to remove it ASAP. Let me call our dermatologist.”

(The dermatologist confirmed his suspicions, and a growth the size of an apple was cut out of my stomach later that week. It hadn’t spread anywhere, thankfully. Good thing for me I had to change doctors!)

(My mother has a really bad needle phobia. She’s tried therapy for it, but still has panic attacks and worse reactions when she needs shots or blood draws. The people at our old clinic knew about it, but when we move, she has to see a new doctor, and needs her tetanus booster shot.)

Mom: “I have a pretty bad needle phobia.”

Doctor: “That’s fine; lots of people do.”

Mom: “No, I mean really bad. When I see the needle, I’m going to pass out. I’m going to jerk around; one doctor said it looked like I had a seizure. I need you to listen to me. Give me the shot while I’m unconscious. If you need me to sign something giving permission, I’ll do that, but you need to give me that the first time I pass out, because I really don’t want to have to do it twice.”

Doctor: “I’m sure it will be fine. Just don’t look at the needle.”

Mom: “No, that doesn’t work. Just knowing that I’m going to get a shot is enough to trigger a reaction. My doctor said she left a note in my file. Can you look? I’m serious; this is going to be a severe reaction.”

Doctor: “Okay, okay, I hear you.”

Mom: “All right.”

(He pulls out the needle, my mom passes out, and she comes to a few minutes later, with the doctor and a nurse standing over her, trying to bring her around. She tries to sit up.)

Doctor: “Don’t move; you had a seizure!”

Mom: “No, no, I told you: that’s just part of my reaction. I didn’t actually have a seizure.”

Doctor: “You passed out! You were having a seizure!”

Mom: “No, I wasn’t! I told you: this is what happens when I get shots. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

(She starts to move, then notices that there’s no bandage on her arm.)

Mom: “Did you give me the shot?”

Doctor: “No! You were having a seizure! I can’t give you a shot while you’re unconscious!”

Mom: “But I told you to!”

Doctor: “Look, I think we should run some tests to make sure you’re okay. If you are, I’ll give you the shot then.”

Mom: “You know, I think I’ll take my chances with the tetanus.”

(She went to another doctor, who not only listened to her, but gave her a mild sedative, and has since provided her with one whenever she needs blood-work or shots.)

(Several years ago, I had an accident that required a skin graft on a knuckle. Present day: I hit my hand while working, causing the skin graft to split open, meaning I need stitches. I get to the hospital at about 4:30 pm, and it is PACKED. It is almost 2:00 in the morning before the doctor can even have a look at me.)

Doctor: “Yeah, you will need stitches, so I’m going to give you some novocaine to numb your finger up. We’ll give it 15 minutes to take effect, and get started.”

Me: “Don’t worry about that. It is a skin graft. You would need to poke me where I can feel it, to numb me up where I already can’t feel anything. Just sew it up, please.”

(The doctor agrees, gets a nurse to bring in the kit and hand him stuff, and starts stitching. I can’t feel a thing. After a few minutes, the nurse leans over and asks:)

Nurse: “So, is the novocaine still working?”

(In my defence, I am tired and incredibly bored, so I just look up with a horrified expression and say:)

Me: “I NEVER GOT ANY!”

(The nurse’s eyes almost pop out, and she is ready to flip out. The doctor just looks up at me and says:)

Doctor: “Oh, shut up, you baby.”

(Sorry, nurse, but the doc and I got a good laugh, at least.)