This conversation happens with a resident who orders “the little round things”, her word for Cheerios, for breakfast — the same thing every single day of her long life.

I bring out pancakes to mix things up for her.

Me: “Good morning, [Resident]! I brought you something a little different today!”

She gives the most dramatic sigh I have ever heard, clearly disappointed.

Resident: “Oh… same ol’ thing…”

She was perfectly delighted when I then brought her a bowl of her favorite “little round things.”

My grandmother has some interesting goals about what she wants to get out of her life. All of these ideas and goals of hers relate to other people in the family. For example, one of her “goals” is to be a great-grandmother. While there are five grandchildren total, I’m the oldest of all of them and the oldest female.

A few years ago, my grandmother had a stroke which completely erased any semblance of a filter that she had previously. After she got home from the hospital, she realized that living alone was not a good move for her, and so she was downsizing as we moved her into an assisted living facility. Because of this, she gave me a bookcase of hers. I asked a friend with a truck to help me move it from her place to mine. She had never met this friend before he came up to help with the bookcase, but things were fine while we were there.

The day after we move the bookcase, I am back up at her place for some cleaning that I have been doing on a regular basis for her ever since she moved to the condo. This conversation takes place while I’m on the bathroom floor cleaning the toilet. I’m twenty-four.

Grandma: “So, did you and your friend get everything moved okay yesterday?”

Me: “Yep. It wasn’t that hard to do. Biggest issue was getting it up the stairs at my complex but we did it.”

Grandma: “Well, that’s good. I thought you weren’t coming up to get it for another few days.”

Me: “We weren’t, but he ended up on our side of the water for something else, and since he already had the truck, he thought it was easier than having to try and get back over here again.”

Grandma: “Oh, okay.”

She goes silent for a moment, but I can see her out of the corner of my eye. She’s practically vibrating as she stands in the doorway.

Grandma: “So… what’s going on with you and [Friend]?”

Me: *Side-eyes her* “Nothing. Why?”

Grandma: “Well, he’s nice and cute.”

Me: “Your point?”

Grandma: “I want great-grandchildren.”

Me: “Okay, and your point?”

Grandma: “Well, what’s going on between you two?”

Me: “We’re just friends.”

Grandma: “But I want great-grandchildren.”

Me: “You have four other grandchildren!”

Grandma: “They’re not old enough to have kids!”

Me: “[Brother #1] is twenty-one and [Brother #2] is eighteen.”

Grandma: “Your brothers are both in school. And [Cousin #1] and [Cousin #2] aren’t old enough.”

Me: “Technically, they are; I mean it would definitely involve some pretty big life choices but technically…”

[Cousin #1] is fifteen and [Cousin #2] is thirteen. Grandma gets big eyes and looks at me in horror.

Grandma: “But they’re not old enough.”

I roll my eyes and sigh.

Me: “[Friend] and I are just friends. Sorry.”

Grandma: “Well, I want great-grandchildren.”

She finally walked away and let me clean the bathroom in peace. While I was glad that she hadn’t said anything in front of my friend, I was still annoyed and complained to my mom, who backed me 100% and told my grandmother to knock it off.

I answer the phone for the umpteenth time today and a younger-sounding female voice is on the other end. There is no greeting or anything.

Caller: “Can I speak to [Boss]?”

Me: “May I ask who’s calling, please?”

Caller: “It’s [Caller].”

Me: “And may I ask what the call is regarding?”

Caller: “No.”

Oookay, then.

Me: “Hold for a moment, please, and let me see if she’s in.”

I call [Boss]’s office and she tells me she’s “in a meeting.” I go back to the call.

Me: “I’m sorry, but it looks like she’s in a meeting right now. May I transfer you to her voicemail and have her call you back after her meeting?”

Caller: “Can you just give her a message for me?”

Me: *Head-desk* “She’ll get your message if you leave a voicemail.”

Caller: *Giggles* “Oh, yeah! Okay. Give me that.”

Me: “Just a moment, please.”

I transferred her over and went right to Not Always Right.

Related:
Voicemail Fail, Part 2
Voicemail Fail

Our team consists of three roles: our team leader, the coordinators, and the support staff. We work in a residential rehab facility. 

I am one of two coordinators. I’m an occupational therapist and the other is a social worker. Then, there is our team leader, and we make up a more clinical role together. All three of us are female. For the record, both my team leader and social worker coordinator are lesbians in happily married relationships. I am single and straight, like that really matters, but it makes for hilarious conversations with clients and staff alike sometimes.

On this day, I and the social worker are explaining to a male client about our partners — or lack thereof. This client has an injury that causes major brain changes and therefore sometimes what he thinks will come out very non-PC.

Client: *To the social worker* “Married yet?” 

Social Worker: “Indeed. Happy relationship.”

Client: “Good fella?”

Social Worker: “Good woman. Keeps me in check!”

Client: “Oh, you’re one of those effing lesbians. It’s wrong. Wrong!” *Looks at me* “And what about you?”

Me: “I’m devoting my life to being a cat lady. It’s too hard to catch a decent man these days. I just am not digging my holes in the ground deep enough to keep them trapped there before we get to marriage.”

The client laughed at this and told me if I didn’t get a man by thirty then I would turn into a lesbian. I’m twenty-five and “not fulfilling my role to have kids.”

I turned to my coworker, who told me all I needed to do was high-five her and I would become pregnant by a lesbian, therefore a woman fulfilling her job for kids.

Not pregnant or a lesbian, but we can continue to await the outcomes.

I work in an assisted living facility. One of my duties is taking care of the front doors; this is a locked unit and no one gets in or out unless I push a button. This is one of my biggest pet peeves about people coming and going.

A visitor stands outside the door with their hand on the handle, talking to someone on their phone.

I push the unlock button again… and again… and again, so they can get in when they finally decide to come in. Then, I finally stop pushing it, so the door locks.

This is when the visitor immediately tries to come in and gives me a stupid and angry look.

I unlock the door and they come in and say in a superior tone:

Visitor: “Why wasn’t the door unlocked?!”