I’m an assistant at a preschool. At the beginning of the school year we send a form home with all our families asking about the attending child’s favourite things — songs, foods, games, and so on — so we can make our classes more comfortable for the kids. These are phrased as, “My child’s favourite songs are…” “My child’s favourite games to play are…” and so on.

We received a form back that had every single, “My child,” crossed out, with the child’s name written over the top. The final question, “When my child is upset, they are comforted by…” was answered with, “By being RESPECTED as an INDIVIDUAL. She is not a ‘they,’ she is a ‘she,’ and she has a NAME. She is not ‘my child.’ She is not property. She is her own individual person.”

The child was withdrawn from the center after seven very long weeks of the parent showing up at random times to collect her, the parent coming in to drop off hot chocolate at lunch for her on several occasions, and a written complaint about how her daughter’s handprint “leaf” was positioned on the “class tree” display. (It was not on the top branch.)

(My husband is always buying me gifts that are more suited to him, such as computer games, programs, and videos that I’m not really interested in. Then, he complains that I don’t use such gifts that he spends good money on. If you notice, to use all these things, I have to use electricity to power up TVs, computers, and the like. This year, he bought me a gift that I loved: a fan that when turned on becomes a clock. It’s a hot day; we do have the AC going, but I’ve put the fan in a room with no AC just to get the air moving.)

Husband: *after noticing the fan and clock are going* “Why do you have that turned on? Electricity costs money, you know!”

Me: “How am I supposed to use it if I can’t turn it on?”

Husband: “It’s wasting electricity.”

(I turned off the $50 gift that I was not allowed to use, but went back to playing his video games on his big TV.)

(My family decides to visit me for the weekend at university. The suburbs in this area are populated primarily by students like me who are away from home, so many of the shops and cafes are targeted at young adults and have “hipster” traits; i.e. the menus are on blackboards, you are required to go up to the counter to order and get a table number, and reservations aren’t taken. One Saturday, my mum, dad, younger sister, and I are in the car together when my mum suggests we do brunch the next day.)

Mum: “[My Name], what’s a good place to eat?”

Me: “Ooh, there’s this really nice cafe called [Cafe]! The food and coffee is amazing. It’s a bit pricey, but it’s definitely worth it, and it’s only walking distance from [Hotel where parents are staying]!”

(My sister looks up the cafe on a popular social media app and shows my family. It is rather homey with indoor plants and wooden tables, while the food is presented artistically for the purpose of photo-taking so, immediately, they’re all sold.)

Sister: “Wow, this place looks amazing! Let’s go!”

Me: “Yes! But it’s really, really popular, especially on Sundays for brunch. We’d have to go a bit early if we want to get a seat, maybe around 9:30 am.”

Mum: “Oh, I was hoping to sleep in a bit tomorrow. Can’t you just make a reservation?”

Me: *laughs* “No, it’s not that kind of a place. They only allow walk-ins, but I promise it’s worth it.”

Mum: “Are you sure? You can’t just call them up and ask?”

Me: “No, Mum. It doesn’t work like that. None of the cafes in this area do reservations, just the restaurants.”

(There’s a few minutes of silence, then:)

Mum: “Can’t you give them a call?”

Me: *knowing fully well that I would get laughed at if I tried* “Mum, even if I wanted to, they closed at three pm. It’s well past four o’clock now.”

Mum: “What about on their website? Surely you can reserve a table on there!”

Me: “It’s a small local cafe; they don’t have a website, just the [Social Media] page.”

Mum: “That’s ridiculous! What kind of business doesn’t have a website?”

Dad: “Some places that are targeted at younger people just work like that, dear. Look at what [Sister] did before; she didn’t even consider searching for a website and went straight to the cafe’s [Social Media]! It’s just how the kids think.”

(About half an hour later:)

Mum: “[Sister]! Can you look up the cafe’s phone number and give them a call? Maybe we can book a table for around ten am.”

(My sister, my dad, and I all groan.)

Sister: “Mum! [My Name] told you, they don’t do reservations, and they’re closed right now!”

Mum: “She doesn’t know that for sure! [My Name], have you even tried?”

Me: “No, I haven’t, but I’ve been there multiple times, Mum! I’ve been to so many of these cafes; all of them only do walk-ins! I guarantee they don’t even have those metal ‘reserved’ placement cards you see at restaurants! It’s just how these places work!”

Mum: “Okay, okay, fine! We’ll see.”

(The next day, my family ends up waking up later than expected and take far too long to get ready, so we don’t end up getting to the cafe until 10:30 am — prime brunch time. As we approach, we can see the place is packed and there is a massive line of people stretching around the corner of the building. I talk to a waitress, who informs me there’s a 45-minute wait to be seated. Too hungry to stand in line for that long, we accept defeat and decide to find another place.)

Sister: “It’s a shame; their food looked so good.”

Mum: *throwing her arms in the air* “Well, this wouldn’t have happened if we had just made a reservation!”

(We did eventually go to another great cafe that I knew of. As we were seated, my mum made a point of asking them — you guessed it — if they allowed for reservations. As expected, they said no.)

(I am a year-ten student in a basic sport class, which everyone at my school is required to take. Due to a medical condition I’ve had from birth, my hip is very weak, and my hip joint is not quite in place. Despite being put in corrective harnesses from birth, my hip will never be quite right. Normally this just means I have low stamina, and my hip aches when I’ve been walking a lot. Recently I had an injury where I got a tear in a tendon on my hip, and so I have a note from my mother explaining to my teacher that I cannot do sport.)

Me: *handing my teacher the note* “I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t do sport today, or for the rest of the term. I have a hip injury.”

Teacher: *reading the note quickly* “You don’t look injured. You can’t just get your mum to write you an excuse; I only let people who are actually injured get out of sport.”

(You cannot tell I have this injury by looking at me, only from x-rays.)

Me: “I understand that; I am injured. I have a pre-existing condition, from birth, which has flared up at the moment. I’m seeing a physiotherapist to help treat it, but it’s not better yet.”

Teacher: “I’ll let you off this once, but next week you have to do sport.”

(I have physio every Wednesday night, and sport on Thursday mornings. My current treatment is dry needling — acupuncture but with more pain and stabbing — which leaves me so sore and bruised I can hardly move. This happens the following week:)

Me: “Miss, I have another note. This one is from my mum and my doctor. My doctor doesn’t want me doing any sport until I’m better.”

Teacher: “This isn’t good enough; you can’t just get out of sport.”

Me: “I’m sorry, miss, but I literally cannot do sport. I can’t bend over, and even sitting down is painful. Swimming isn’t possible for me right now.”

Teacher: “If you don’t do any sport, I can’t pass you. You have to do sport to pass. Get changed before I give you a note home.”

(I end up getting in the pool that day, even though I can hardly move. My mum is furious and sends my teacher an email that includes a full 16 years of my medical history, with x-rays from my birth showing my defect, up until the most recent doctor’s letters. The reply says that I still have to do something, and I have to come in on the last day of term and complete three laps of the pool to pass. I show up on that day with two other girls in my class.)

Me: “Why are you guys here? Did the teacher threaten to fail you?”

Girl #1: “Yeah, but it’s fine. I can swim; I just didn’t want to.”

Me: “How did you get out of swimming in class, then?”

Girl #2: “It’s easy; I just lied and said I’m allergic to chlorine. [Teacher] didn’t even ask for a note!”

(I ended up just passing that class, and moved onto year 11 where I never had to do sport again. I went back a year ago and that teacher is still working there. I will never understand why she seemed to hate me so much. )

(I’ve been having trouble getting solid sleep lately, and my partner informs me that I’ve suddenly stopped breathing in my sleep a few times. My doctor refers me to a local hospital for a sleep study. My partner comes with me, since he’ll be helping me set up the equipment for my at-home study. The technician walks us through the process, and packs everything up for us to take home.)

Tech: “Now make sure you start hooking this all up a half hour before midnight, okay? You don’t have to be asleep when it switches on, but you should be in bed and settling down for the night. It’s all automated and will beep when it comes on, and switches off again at nine-thirty. Any questions?”

Me: “No, I think I’m—”

Partner: “Yes! I have one.”

Tech: “Yep?”

Partner: “We can still have sex once she’s all hooked up, right? I’ve always had a thing for Borgs.”

(One look at his face, and the tech can tell he’s not serious. I’ve been pretty anxious about the not-breathing thing, and he’s been trying to make jokes all day to cheer me up.)

Tech: “Now, I know you’re joking, but please don’t actually do that. You can damage the leads or accidentally switch the recording device off. We’ve had it happen.”

Partner: *surprised* “You’re kidding!”

Tech: “No. We even had one man book an in-hospital test, and his wife showed up with him. She apparently thought it was like a hotel, and that he was just after a night away from the kids.”

Me: “Wow.”

Tech: “She wasn’t thrilled when we told her she had to leave.”

Partner: “Well, would you be? I mean, there goes your romantic evening in these luxurious surroundings…” *he waves around the very basic hospital room we’re sitting in*