A (Gentle) Giant Difference Between Them

, , , , , , | Healthy | February 8, 2018

(My younger sister and brother are due to get their polio vaccinations. Despite being two years younger than her, my brother is several inches taller and 40 pounds heavier than our sister. But, as she’s older, she gets to go first.)

Mom: “She has a fear of shots, just to warn you.”

Nurse: “Oh, that’s no problem. I know nobody likes shots.” *turns to my sister* “Now, I’m just going to clean the skin on your leg for the shot.”

Sister: “It’s cold!”

Nurse: “Yes, it is. But it will warm up again in a minute. Now, you’re just going to feel a pinch…”

(My sister sees the needle and flips out, screaming, crying, and flailing. She even manages to kick the nurse in the face before my mom is able to hold her down.)

Nurse: *finally gets the shot in* “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know that hurt. I promise, if you relax, shots don’t hurt so much. Would you like a sucker?”

(My sister won’t stop crying; she’s in full panic mode.)

Me: “Mom, if you want, I can take [Brother] to another room and help him get his shot.”

Mom: *still trying to control my sister* “Please, do.”

(I gather up my hefty little brother and follow the nurse to the exam room next door.)

Nurse: “Go ahead and put him on the table, please.”

Me: “Sure thing. Here you go, buddy! You doing okay?”

Brother: “Yeah.” *with the implication of “why shouldn’t I be?”*

(The nurse looks him over, and then leaves without a word. A few minutes later, she comes back in with not one, but three orderlies, all strong-looking men, to hold my brother down. One orderly stands behind him and holds his arms around my brother’s arms and torso, while the other two each secure a leg.)

Me: “He’s not going to go crazy like [Sister] did. He’s our gentle giant, I swear.”

(The nurse ignores me, cleans his leg, and then counts to three for his shot.)

Brother: *frowns* “Ow.”

Nurse: *stunned* “Ow?”

Brother: “That hurt. Can I have a sucker, now?”

(He didn’t so much as twitch, and he accepted his treat with a smile. [Sister] was still crying a river, and didn’t stop until we were halfway home.)

My Cup Runneth Over With Bad Customers

, , , , , , | Right | February 8, 2018

(I work at a popular clothing store in London. We don’t have customer bathrooms, but occasionally if we have a pregnant customer or someone with a child we will take them to the staff bathroom. This is a busy afternoon during the Christmas period, and a bunch of things have already gone wrong today. We are stressed. I notice a lady wandering around with a few items, and her little boy holding her hand.)

Boy: “Mummmmm, I have to gooooo!”

Customer: “In a minute. You just have to hold it.”

Boy: “Mummmmmmm!”

Me: “Hi there. Just so you know, I can take you back to use our staff bathroom; it’s not a problem.”

Customer: “Oh, no, thank you. It’s fine; he’s just bored!” *to boy* “We’ll go soon, I promise, and then we can go to [Nearby Toy Store]!”

(She wanders upstairs to the fitting rooms, and I don’t think any more about it, until a colleague’s voice comes over the walkie about ten minutes later.)

Colleague: “Um… I need a manager in the fitting rooms?”

Manager: “I’m in the office at the minute; is it something I can help with over walkie?”

Colleague: “You might want to come up here. I have a cup of urine.”

(As it turned out, the customer had let her little boy pee into a plastic cup, and she hid it behind the mirror in her fitting room.)

Your Card Has Been Frozen

, , , , | Right | January 27, 2018

(I’m at the register for a textile discounter that also sells toys, candy, and small domestic items like soap dispensers. It’s the evening shift, shortly before closing time, when a lady and her little daughter come to the register. Note that we accept cards, but only if the sum is 5€ or higher; it’s company policy.)

Me: “Good evening. Did you find everything?”

Customer: “Oh, yes, thank you.”

Girl: “Mummy, want this!”

(We both look at her, and she’s pointing at a PEZ-dispenser with the face of Anna from “Frozen.”)

Customer: “Oh, no, darling. You have already five of these.”

Girl: “Want Anna!”

Customer: “[Daughter], I already said no.”

(The girl doesn’t let go, though. She sits on the floor and has a full-blown temper tantrum, while the mother remains relatively calm and tries to persuade her child to stop screaming. Finally, the girl puts the toy back and starts sulking, silently.)

Customer: “I’m sorry. This doesn’t usually happen, and I know you’re about to close.”

Me: “Oh, don’t worry;this wasn’t even the worst today. Happens sometimes, even with the best-behaved kids. So, I scanned your items. That will be 3,46€, please.”

Customer: “Of course. Here you go.” *hands me her debit card*

Me: “Sorry, but you need to buy 5€ or more to pay with card. This is the company policy.” *points at the sign that explains this*

Customer: “Oh, this can’t possibly be real.” *before I can react in any way she turns to the girl* “[Daughter], give me that thing there that you want!”

(The smirk on the girl’s face was priceless.)

Some Customer’s Entitlement Can Just Run You Down

, , , , , | Right | January 24, 2018

(The road to the car-park separates the outdoor section, where I work, from the indoor section. I am standing near the pedestrian crossing, helping a lady choose some plants, when her young child runs off towards the road just as a car is driving up to it. I honestly don’t remember what happens next, but suddenly, I am on the other side of the crossing with the child tucked under my arm and the bumper of the car almost touching my leg. The driver of the car is white-faced and staring at me in shock. The mother of the child catches up with me.)

Customer: “HOW DARE YOU?!”

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “You could have hurt her, manhandling her like that! Put her down right now!”

(I realise I am still carrying the child. I put her down, and she starts to toddle off, so I hold her shoulder gently until the woman glares at me and I let go.)

Customer: “[Child], are you bruised? Are you okay?”

(The child just babbles and giggles; she obviously isn’t talking much yet. My boss turns up.)

Boss: “[My Name], are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Boss: “You go and take a break, for as long as you want. I’ll sort this out.” *to the customer* “I’m [My Name]’s manager. Can I help you, ma’am?”

(I heard her start to rant, so I legged it and had a warm drink to calm down. When I got back out, my boss had checked the camera footage. It showed the child running away, and me bursting into a sprint, scooping up the kid, and dashing for the other side of the crossing just inches ahead of the car. He told me she had wanted to press charges for “child abuse,” and he, a new father himself, had torn a strip off her and banned her from the centre. She did, indeed, send a letter of complaint to our head office, but my boss and the general manager backed me up, and she was once again told to get lost.)

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Totally Toothless Parenting

, , , , , | Healthy | January 23, 2018

(I’m a dentistry student. At my university, we work in different services every half-day. Thursday morning is when I work with kids. A dad comes in with his two-year-old. The kid starts crying the moment he sees the dentist chair, and I know I’m not going to be able to do anything on him, because putting rotating metal things in the mouth of an uncooperative and squirmy two-year-old is dangerous for both him and me. In the patient’s file, I see that the dad was supposed to have taken an appointment with a teacher to have his kid sedated. He obviously hasn’t done so, because I’m the one taking care of him. I can’t even get a good look at the kid’s teeth, because he won’t open his mouth and he keeps crying. I tell the dad that he absolutely needs an appointment with sedation, or else we won’t be able to take care of his kid.)

Dad: “But they’re only baby teeth; it doesn’t matter if they have cavities!”

Me: “If the infection gets out of hand, the adult teeth could get infected, as well, and come out black and rotten. Not to mention that the bone could be eaten away by the bacteria.”

Dad: “So, what should I do?”

Me: “I can’t do anything right now with him in this state, but with sedation we could try it. He needs to be on an empty stomach, though.”

Dad: “Why?”

Me: “Because if not, he could throw up and drown himself.”

Dad: “Sure, but I come from [City not even 15 minutes away]; I don’t have time for this!”

(I call my professor to examine the child, and together we manage to put a temporary solution on the kid’s teeth. It involves a lot of crying and screaming, with an uncooperative dad that doesn’t want to hold his child, and keeps interrupting us to “go for a walk in the hallway” with his kid.)

Me: “Well, that should slow the cavities down, but keep brushing his teeth regularly.”

Dad: “Oh, he doesn’t brush his teeth.”

Me: “I know. He’s two; you’re supposed to do it.”

Dad: “Well, I don’t.”

Me: “You’re supposed to. I don’t suppose he dresses himself yet, either, but still, he’s not naked now. Same thing: you’re the one who made him, so you’re the one who should brush his teeth until he’s old enough to do it himself.”

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