When I worked in an ambulance, we had a patient call in for a stubbed toe. Now, as painful as that is, I think most of us agree that it’s not worth tying up emergency resources.

When we arrived on the scene, the fire department was already speaking to the patient. 

Patient: “I stubbed my toe moving furniture. It really hurts! I want to go to the ER in the ambulance.”

Fireman: “Sir, the ambulance crew is happy to take you, but that’s gonna be a pretty big charge, and all they can really do for a stubbed toe is a bandaid and an ice pack.”

Patient: “It’s okay. I have Medicaid; they’ll pay.”

Fireman: “Not unless it’s a true emergency like a heart attack or stroke.” 

Patient: “Oh, I guess I’ll call a cab.”

I will add that we were genuinely happy to take him but would have hated to see him get the ambulance bill and end up in debt over a stubbed toe, and we wanted him to be informed so he wasn’t blindsided by it later.

I did ask the ER if the guy ended up coming in, and they did say they had a patient with a stubbed toe. I’m pretty sure they sent him home with an ice pack and instructions to wear shoes while moving furniture in the future.

Dear readers,

As many of you know, Not Always Right started as a site about documenting the exploits of bad customers, from the hilarious to the horrendous! But as the site grew, so did the variety of stories we received, many of which were fantastic but didn’t fit into the dynamic of bad customer stories. Over the years, we’ve added more categories to the site, to slowly encapsulate all the possible combinations of human interactions. From witty comebacks in the home, to awkward first dates. From entitled behavior from bad neighbors, to those happy to break the law. Every type of witty and memorable story can now be safely covered in the ever-growing story feeds of Not Always Right.

In the last fifteen years, we’ve published thirty-thousand of your stories! Picking favorites was nigh-on impossible, but we’ve had a go at rounding up some of our more memorable stories, as well as some of your top-voted from all the categories! Here’s to thirty-thousand more!

Editors’ Picks – Our Top Fifteen Stories From NARe, NARo, NAL, NAF, NAHe, and NALe!

Your Urgency Is Not My Emergency – Sounds like you’ve got a conundrum there, buddy.

Geeks (And Doctors) Come In All Shapes And Sizes – But was she ginger?

Not Going To Get Walkathon’d All Over This Year – Thank goodness for sympathetic secretaries.

(more…)

My cat has Cholangiohepatitis, a chronic liver disease. She is currently on three medications: two in pill form and one in liquid. The liquid is purchased at a specialty pharmacy.

I called for a refill so I could pick it up on my Friday off. I ran some errands and then went to the pharmacy. When I arrived, they looked for it and eventually found that the form for the refill was stuck to the back of a different person’s order. They apologized profusely and suggested that I run some errands if I had any. I said I’d just wait.

After a twenty-minute or so wait, where I entertained myself by looking at all the vitamins, supplements, and knickknacks around the waiting area, the lady behind the counter brought out the medication. As I pulled out my credit card to pay, she said:

Receptionist: “Because we messed up, but also because you didn’t yell at us for our error, I’m giving you a 10% discount.” 

And that’s how being patient and nice earned me a discount for my cat’s normally $45 liquid meds. Thank you, kind pharmacy lady!

I have extremely low-grade ADHD; it’s to the point that normally just some caffeine and willpower get me straightened out. That’s probably why my soda-addicted teenage years never noticed. But the more tired I get, the more pronounced it gets, to where I literally have to set alarms to snap me out of whatever static-filled zone my meandering brain gets to and actually make sure I get household chores (or worse, actual professional work) done.

My old doctor knew this, it was on file, and we agreed that I didn’t require constant prescription medication as it was neither severe nor frequent enough to have me on a daily dose of medical-grade [illegal drug].

Unfortunately, her practice merges with another and no longer takes my insurance, so I have to find a new primary. Overall, the first meet-and-greet checkup goes fine. I need to lose weight, which I am already actively doing, joint issues are a known problem, etc.

Then comes the big question.

Doctor: “So, what are you taking for your ADHD?”

Me: “A good night’s sleep once a day and coffee with an extra espresso shot as required.”

Doctor: “No, what medicine are you taking?”

Me: “Uh, none. It’s not intense or interfering enough to require it.”

Doctor: “I’m going to prescribe you [Obvious Name Brand Medication].”

Me: “No, you’re not!”

Doctor: “You really can’t leave this untreated. It will affect your livelihood and—”

Me: “I’m gonna stop you right there, Doc. I’ve lived with this for forty years now. I know how it affects me and what I need to deal with. I worked a lot with [Former Doctor] and did a bunch of tests, and I know how severe my symptoms are. Putting me on [Medication] is like prescribing morphine to manage the pain of a stubbed toe; it’s extreme overkill.”

Doctor: “That information is outdated. If we do not treat this condition, you can experience lack of focus, hyper-focus on inappropriate subjects, energetic—”

Me: “Stop. Are you actually just reading symptoms off the screen?! I know what symptoms I have, and I know what treatments do and don’t work. You said I should lose another fifteen to twenty pounds. Are you going to prescribe me liposuction next instead of keeping up with diet and exercise?!”

Doctor: “Well, that would be too extreme a treatment for the amount you need to lose, and—”

Me: “Exactly, and it’s the same with my brain. Are you going to drop this now?”

He is grumpy, but he adds some notes to my file. We finish the appointment, and I schedule a six-month follow-up for the weight issues and general checkup.

End of story? I WISH.

A week later, I get a call from the pharmacy I have on file.

Pharmacy: “We have a prescription to pick up for [My Name].”

Me: “I’m… not expecting anything. What prescription was it?”

Pharmacy: “It’s [ADHD Medication].”

Me: *Pauses* “Was it entered by [Doctor]?”

Pharmacy: “Yes, it was!”

Me: “Right. I apologize for this, but please cancel and undo the prescription. I will not be picking that up.”

After confirming some stuff, the next call I made was back to the doctor’s office and canceling my follow-up, leaving some EXTREMELY specific complaints as to why. The next stop is the insurance website to find a new and less pill-happy PCP.

I’m at the dentist’s office getting a loose filling fixed, and helping me is a lady I’ve only seen once before. She’s an elderly lady who talks in a very soft and gentle voice, kind of like how you would talk to a child. I’ve been frequenting this dental office all thirty-one years of my life, and it’s in their files I have autism (ergo, high sensitivity) and anxiety issues, so I can’t help but wonder if she just talks that way or does it on purpose for me.

Today is a hot summer day, and I’m wearing shorts and a tank top. I have several tattoos on my arms. 

The moment I walk in, she says:

Dentist: “Well, aren’t you dressed like you’re on vacation?! It can’t be that hot out, can it?”

Me: “The air conditioning in here is certainly deceiving. Outside in the sun is a different ball game.”

I lay down in the chair and get anxious about the procedure. She asks if I want to be numbed.

Me: “Yes, please. My gums are really sensitive. I have to admit, the needle for the numbing makes me very anxious, but it’s shorter suffering, so I’ll take it.”

Dentist: “Well, it’s a simple procedure, and I doubt if you need one after all. You’re a big girl. You can do without, can’t you?”

Me: “No. Please don’t underestimate how sensitive I am in my mouth. I’d like to be sedated.”

The way she talks to me makes me uncomfortable, but she agrees to numb me. She then changes her tone like she is trying to console a child.

Dentist: “Okay, we’re going to use the teeny-tiny needle for this, then. You won’t even feel it, I promise! You won’t even feel that nasty numb sensation.”

My discomfort rises to the point that I’m having a minor anxiety attack. My legs start shaking, I start to cry, and I’m fighting to keep my breathing under control. I apologize and ask her to give me a second to catch my breath.

Dentist: “Come on, open up! I don’t have all day!”

I oblige, but my hands are clenching the chair, and I’m still at the mercy of my anxiety. She numbs in different spots. She mentions putting the needle near my roots, and I yelp as I can really feel the needle there. The assistant who is also there is really nice and tells me to direct my breathing to my lower abdomen, while the dentist makes a quite misplaced comment.

Dentist: “You can be who you want to be here. It’s okay.” 

What?

When she’s done, I ask her politely:

Me: “Could you maybe please not explicitly mention what you’re doing? The less I know, the better, actually.”

Dentist: *Suddenly very blunt* “You’re so weird.”

Me: *Pauses* “Excuse me?”

Dentist: *To her assistant* “Don’t you think she’s weird? I don’t get it at all!”

Me: “Care to explain?”

Dentist: “Oh, excuse me. I wasn’t aware I was saying something strange! You have tattoos all over! How can you be afraid of needles?” 

Me: *Pauses again* “That’s not comparable at all.”

I was still upset and anxious and just wanted her to get it over with. Luckily, the numbing was starting to work, the assistant continued to be lovely, and the rest of the procedure was pretty painless, despite the fact that she needed to redo the new filling twice.