(I am having an arthroscopy on my knee. Instead of being put to sleep during the operation, they simply give me epidural anesthesia so that I’ll stay awake during the operation. A curtain is placed between my upper and lower body, so I can’t actually see what’s happening down there. I am extremely afraid of needles and point this out to the doctor. They give me a painkiller and put some pain-reducing gel on my hand before inserting the cannula.)

Doctor: “All right, now it’s time for the anesthesia.”

Me: “Please, doctor. I’m deathly afraid of needles.”

Doctor: “Not to worry; you are not the only one. We’ll just give you a dose of what we call ‘Who-Cares Medicine.'”

(They put something through the cannula. Ten minutes later:)

Doctor: “It’s time for your anesthesia now:”

Me: “But doctor, I’m still not feeling too comfortable with this.”

Doctor: “Well, another dose of ‘Who-Cares Medicine’ for you, then.”

(Another ten minutes later:)

Doctor: “We’d really like to inject you now.”

Me: “Go ahead!”

(A minute or so passes:)

Nurse: “Do you feel any pain?”

Me: “I don’t feel a thing. Will you inject already?”

Nurse: “Most of the sedative is already in there.”

Me: “What?” *laughs* “This was easier than I thought.”

Nurse: *shows me the gigantic needle* “It was, indeed. See? It was this big.”

Me: *giggling* “That’s gigantic! How on earth did I not feel that?!”

(The operation commences. They are digging through my knee, and I’m engaged in a deep discussion with one of the nurses.)

Nurse: “You like urban exploration then? Did you visit the old abattoir in town before it was demolished?”

Me: “Not after it was abandoned, no. But I did as a kid, as a family member of mine was working there.”

Nurse: “I actually heard about a book that takes place there.”

Me: “Really, what was it called?”

Nurse: “I can’t remember, but I’ll Google it for you. One minute.”

Me: “What? There’s Internet in here?”

Nurse: “Sure thing. Now, let me see…”

Me: “After finding the book, could you check another thing for me? I heard rumours that the coach of [Local Football Team] has been sacked. Could you check their website?”

Nurse: “Just one minute… It says here that the coach has resigned and his assistant has taken over.”

Me: *trying to actually sit up* “WHAT?”

Doctor: “And more ‘Who-Cares Medicine’ for the young man, please.”

(They inject yet more medicine, and after that I’m very, very erratic. The staff are trying to hold their laughter.)

Me: “Hey, who’s sitting on my leg?”

Nurse: “He wants to know who’s sitting on his leg.”

Doctor: “Ask him what he thinks.”

Me: “It must be you or that other guy.”

(The doctors then change the position of my leg so that I actually can see my toes from behind the curtain.)

Me: “Hey, whose foot is that?”

(They couldn’t hold their laughter anymore. I was asking stupid question after stupid question, and they were just laughing and laughing, and trying their best to answer. I must have been a horrible patient. But the operation was as successful as it could be in the end.)

When I was very young, my great-grandma and great-grandpa lived on the beach. Whenever we visited them, my great-grandpa and I would always go for a walk along the beach. We would look at what the ocean washed up and even looked into a tide-pool once.

One day, while we were walking along, a wave rushed up onto the shore and swept me off my feet. My great-grandpa, who wasn’t very fast and walked with a cane, rushed and managed to catch me before I was swept out into the ocean.

He then smiled and told me I had to be so wonderful and important that the ocean, which had been around for millions of years, wanted to keep me.

It is something I carried with me for all of my life, even after my great-grandpa and great-grandma passed on.

This story is part of the Beach roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

23 Hilarious Stories About Customers Versus Mother Nature

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(I have been experiencing Internet outages all day, and once a snow storm hits, there is nothing. I call to double check if there are any other problems in the area.)

Tech: “Thank you for calling [Service Provider]. This is [Tech]. How may I help you?”

Me: “My Internet is out, and I was wondering if there were any outages in the area.”

Tech: “I can certainly check that for you. Give me a moment…” *brief pause* “It seems there are only a handful of people who are without connection, so I don’t think it is an area issue. What is the modem doing?”

Me: “Well, it’s odd. All the lights are on as if it were working, but I definitely can’t access any websites.”

Tech: “Okay. Just a few questions for you to determine this isn’t the router. Do you have any baby monitoring devices in the house?”

Me: “No.”

Tech: “Do you have any new remote devices at all?”

Me: “No.”

Tech: “Is your home built on top of an ancient Indian burial ground?”

Me: *giving my fiancé a twisted face and giggling* “No.”

Tech: “Okay, then. I’m going to ask you to unplug the router from the modem so I may check the connection on our end.” *gives me instructions* “And don’t forget to stand on one leg while holding a rubber chicken. Most people forget that.”

(We go through a few more steps, the results of which are baffling him, because his system says there’s no connection, but my equipment says otherwise.)

Tech: “I knew it… you didn’t hold the rubber chicken.” *sigh* “Nobody ever listens.”

Me: *trying not to lose it, I giggle more* “You sure there aren’t any other outages? The storm outside is pretty bad.”

(A short conversation reveals he is in Louisiana and had no idea there was a storm.)

Tech: “Even though the storm may have something to do with it, I’m not ruling out the possibility of an ancient burial ground. However, I am going to recommend we replace your modem.”

(We set up an appointment for the next day.)

Tech: “I would like to thank you for calling [Service Provider], and for being patient with both the troubleshooting and my sense of humor. Have a good night.”

(I stay on the line to wait for the automated survey to give him an excellent review. I hang up and finally let my laughter go. Both my fiancé and roommate look confused. I tell them about the conversation.)

Fiancé: “I would have liked to hear his reaction if you told him you held a rubber duck instead.”

(My silver ring is very dear to me, because it was the last birthday gift I got from my dad before he died. It now has a crack in the band, so I take it to the local jeweler for repairs. A week after I drop it off, I get a phone call saying their silversmith has been sick, so it is taking a bit longer. I don’t think much of it when it does take a while, but after two weeks I decide to call. I get the store manager on the phone. He says he can’t find my order, so he’ll have to call me back. A few minutes later, he calls.)

Jeweler: “Hi. I am calling about the silver ring you inquired about. And, um… I really don’t know how to tell you this, but the ring was sent to our workshop, and it was already done and on its way back to the store… but it got lost in the mail.”

Me: “What? What do you mean, ‘lost in the mail?’”

(At this point, he has to explain it to me again, as I can’t believe my ears. It turns out that the one package that was missing from the postal service truck was the one containing my ring. The jeweler on the phone is stuttering with nerves, and it slowly dawns on me what the case is. I’m in tears at this point.)

Jeweler: “I will get a call from the postal services tomorrow, and see if they have found it yet. But it has been several days already, so I wouldn’t count on it…”

(This gives me a slight spark of hope. But the day after comes and goes, and no call. I go by the store the next day, and I meet with the manager. He explains to me that there has even been a full investigation looking into where the package went. The jeweler himself has searched the postal truck, and basically moved heaven and earth to find it. But no luck… the package is gone. I’m crushed by this news, and the jeweler keeps apologizing. I keep telling him he isn’t to blame. The poor guy is shaking with nerves.)

Jeweler: “I understand that the value of this ring to you can not be expressed in numbers. But I do want to ask you want you think it was worth in the first place, so I can at least compensate you.”

Me: *crying* “I don’t think any price you name can fill the gap for this loss… It wasn’t even a fancy ring. Honestly, it wouldn’t feel right to demand money from you for this.”

Jeweler: “I see where you want to go with this… but I can’t just let you walk away with nothing. Let me at least give you a gift card.”

Me: “Really, sir, you have done all you could to find it back. With all due respect, I’m in no mood to go shop for another ring, or anything else for that matter, right now.”

Jeweler: *with the most defeated face I have ever seen* “It would be so much easier for me if you just shouted at me…”

Me: “Why would I shout at you? Again, this isn’t your fault. It’s the postal service’s fault. I feel so sorry for you…”

Jeweler: “Don’t feel sorry for me! This isn’t about me, it’s about you! But I can’t let you walk away just like that. No.. no this won’t do. Let me just… hold on.”

(He gets up, gets a gift card from the counter, and writes a figure on it.)

Jeweler: “I won’t write an expiration date on it, so you can use this, unlimited. Again, I feel terrible for what happened.”

(He wrote quite a sum on that gift card… I still feel so sorry for the poor jeweler. I’m still heartbroken for never getting my ring back, but the service and compassion from this jeweler was unbelievable! I hope he quit beating himself up about it.)

(On my way out of the psychology department building, I pick up one of the books from their free book pile. It had a nice leather cover, so I think I could do some interesting craft things with it, but when I look closer I realize it is a 1972 book on current perspectives in abnormal psychology, which is too interesting to cut up. My partner is driving us to get food, while I look at the book, and in the very back of the book I find some flexi discs [something I didn’t know existed] that are recordings of therapy sessions. My partner also thinks the book is pretty cool, and brings it into the fast food place to take a look at it and the flexi discs.)

Me: “Can I get a [sandwich] and an order of [specialty fries]?”

Cashier #1: “Sure, would you like that to be a combo?”

(While I’m ordering, I notice another cashier looking at us and bending and twisting in weird ways. A few seconds later, I realize she’s trying to get a look at the book my partner is holding.)

Cashier #2: “Sorry, I’m being nosy. That book looks really cool.”

Partner: “Oh!” *putting it down on the counter* “Yeah, it is! It’s a forty-year-old psychology textbook.”

Cashier #2: “Whoa, really?!”

Me: “Yeah, and look at this!” *I flip to the back and pull out the flexi discs.*

(Three cashiers are gathered around looking at the book now.)

Cashier #3: “Is that vinyl?”

Me: “It’s called a flexi disc, apparently. These are recordings of therapy sessions from 1972.”

Cashier #2: “Whoa, no way! That’s so cool!”

(We managed to finish our order after that, but it felt like a great little connection. I hope we gave them a story to tell their friends!)