Thou Shalt Not Not Print

, , , , , , | Working | June 18, 2018

(I work at the front desk and I am currently printing off some documents for another department. Our technology, including this printer, is known to be cranky sometimes. I have to clear yet another paper jam, and I smack the back door to close it, otherwise it doesn’t close right. This results in a fairly loud crashing sound.)

Boss: *pops her head out of her nearby office* “What happened?!”

Me: “It’s okay; it’s just me putting the fear of God into the printer.”

Boss: “Oh, good. Carry on.” *leaves*

(I’m a fairly capable technical person, but sometimes a good smack upside the door is all it takes to fix it. And yes, it’s working now; it learned its lesson.)

Having An Off Day Instead Of A Day Off

, , , , , | Working | June 13, 2018

(I work at a care home. It is my day off when I get a phone call from my manager:)

Manager: “You’re an hour and a half late for work.”

Me: “It’s my day off.”

Manager: “No, it’s not. We switched it with tomorrow. We changed it on the rota in the staff room; didn’t you look?”

Me: “I checked the rota before I left yesterday; it hadn’t changed.”

Manager: “No, we changed it. We changed the rota at nine pm yesterday. You should have known, and now we’ve not been able to cover some of your clients, so people are still in bed; you need to be here to get them up.”

Me: “I left at eight; why did no one ring me earlier if that’s the case?”

Manager: “Erm…” *long pause* “Say, do you think you could do us a huge favour and come into work right now? We’ll give you tomorrow off, instead.”

Shame You Can’t Accidentally Diet

, , , , | Right | June 12, 2018

(I work in a nursing home. This particular resident is diabetic and thinks her blood sugar is too low, even if it is normal. This exchange happens after checking her sugar.)

Me: “Your sugar is really high! What have you eaten?”

Resident: “I accidentally drank two shakes!”

(Later I check her sugar again.)

Me: “Your sugar is [normal value] right now!”

Resident: “I think it’s low!”

Me: “No, it’s really good! Keep up the good work.”

(The resident proceeds to eat a chip.)

Me: “Your sugar is good; don’t make it too high by eating those chips!”

Resident: “Oh, my hand accidentally fell into the chips.”

Me: “…”

That’s Not Going To Cruci-fix This

, , , , , | Healthy | June 5, 2018

(I work in the dementia section of a senior living community. We have one resident who is known for her paranoid delusions and her visions of a religious nature. When dementia patients express beliefs that diverge from reality — e.g. that their long-dead spouse is waiting for them in the car, that they are the owner of the facility, etc. — it’s rarely helpful to correct their delusion, because it just makes them more agitated. We just try to keep them safe and calm, and redirect their attention if possible. Sometimes it’s not possible, though.)

Resident: “Did you see them?”

Me: “Did I see what, [Resident]?”

Resident: “The babies. They’re all dead. Satan killed them all, and they’re outside my window.”

Me: “No, I didn’t see them. But I wasn’t looking out the window. Say, [Resident], would you like to join the others in the rec room? We’re having a snack and a singalong.”

Resident: “Attack? Why would I attack you?”

Me: “No, a snack.”

Resident: “No snakes!”

Me: “Okay, how about the chapel? Should we go to the chapel? You could pray for the babies.”

Resident: “Yes, the chapel, that’s good. Let’s go to the chapel.”

(We go to the chapel, which has been known to have a calming effect on this resident in the past.)

Me: “Okay, let’s just have a seat and pray.”

Resident: “TOOL OF SATAN!”

(I turn, just in time to duck the three-foot-long, brass crucifix that is being swung towards my head. The resident, a small, frail lady, apparently snatched it from the altar, and is wielding it like a pick-axe, and her face is contorted in a red ball of rage.)

Resident: “Out! Out, you tool of Satan! You have no power here!”

Me: *knowing that saying, “I’m not a tool of Satan,” isn’t going to convince her of anything* “Oh, s***.”

(I turned and ran. My coworkers heard the commotion, and laughed heartily at the sight of a 6’2″, 250-pound man fleeing from a crucifix-wielding woman half my size. For the rest of my time there, one coworker refused to address me as anything but “Tool of Satan.”)

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

, , , , , | Healthy | June 4, 2018

(I’m a CNA at a local nursing home. I take care of one elderly gentleman in particular that I’ve developed a very good relationship with. He calls me “Sunshine” because of my sunny demeanor, very blonde hair, and love for yellow scrubs. I am chatting with him one evening when this exchange happens:)

Me: *telling a story* “And my friend said, [My Name], what did you do now?”

Resident: *looks confused* “Sunshine, who is [My Name]?”

Me: *laughing* “[Resident], I’m [My Name].”

Resident: *pondering this for a moment…* “No, you’re not. You’re Sunshine! End of story!”

(It made my day!)

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