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Live Short And Decompose

, , , , , | Friendly | November 2, 2016

My husband and I are at a local theme park for their yearly Halloween event, which includes “haunted” houses, areas set up as themed scare zones, and employees dressed as various monsters running around in “hordes.” I’m waiting outside the bathroom for my husband at one point, when I’m suddenly surrounded by a group of about a dozen or more yelling, howling employees dressed as zombies. I’m genuinely startled and almost leap out of my skin.

Suddenly, one of the “zombies” points at the Star Trek logo on my shirt and begins loudly hooting and growling. He throws up his hand, making the well-known Vulcan hand sign for “Live long and prosper.” All the other “zombies” do the same, clearly excited, before they turn and run off back into the rest of the park, howling and waving the Vulcan sign in the air.

Husband: *having just come out of the bathroom and caught the tail end* “What the h*** was that?!”

Me: *mildly dazed* “The single most surreal moment of my life?”

This story is part of our Haunted Houses roundup!

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A Wait-y Reward

, , | Working | November 2, 2016

I order in the drive-thru of a burger place. I find out it’s only two coupons per car, so I tell the lady working that I’ll be driving through again. When I get to the window and pay, she asks me to park in the parking lot to wait for my food. I agree and park.

I’m looking at stuff on my phone for a bit when she comes out to give someone else their order. When she sees me she asks “You haven’t gotten your food yet?” I say no and she leaves to check on my food. When she comes back she says it’ll only be a little bit and asks for the other coupon. I show it to her and she tells me that it’ll be free for the long wait.

When I arrive home with the food, I realize she upgraded the small fries of the last coupon to a large and added a Snickers pie.

I don’t know how long I waited for, but I’m sure it wasn’t for as long as she seemed to think it was.

Levels Of Service Are Bi-Poles Apart

, , | Working | October 15, 2016

Years ago I was misdiagnosed with being bipolar until it was discovered I had PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) which causes a woman to have a serious hormone imbalance — imagine having PMS 24/7 and a 100 times worse. After getting my PCOS under control with the correct medications and the right doctors everything got better emotionally for me. No more sudden bursts of anger or crying for no reason, etc.

Then about three years later I break my arm and have to go to the ER by myself. I call my husband at work and he came to the ER later on.

While in the hospital my medical records show I had been diagnosed with being bipolar BUT also showed it was a misdiagnosis. However, the ER doctor on call seems to only see that I was diagnosed with a mental disorder and that is that. He seems to completely ignore the misdiagnosis and during the my time in the ER between x-rays and scans, etc. he keeps trying to get me to take the same antipsychotic medications I was on before and even loudly berates me because I “stopped taking my meds.” I try explaining, even give him both my family doctor’s and my gynecologist’s number but he just won’t believe me. Even when my husband finally arrives and tries to talk to him the doctor just won’t listen.

And on top of that, the ER nurses somehow find out about it as well and a few of them (not all) start treating me as if I should be admitted to the psychiatric wing of the hospital for not taking the antipsychotic medications.

The final straw is when the ER doctor leans over me while I am lying down on a hospital bed and gets up in my face and threatens to have the medication injected into me even if they have to hold me down and have me admitted to the psychiatric wing. My husband gets up then and almost grabs the doctor (he later said he was going to beat the crap out of him) but I tell him to stop and I said the magic words that I implore any patient of a hospital in a similar situation use, “I have the right as a patient to refuse any and all medications and procedures and I’m demanding to see a patient advocate NOW!”

Both I and my husband agreed later on that we both have never seen a person get so pale so fast.

The doctor leaves quickly without saying another word and we assume he went to get a patient advocate but about 30 minutes later when a nurse (one of the good ones) comes in to check on us we ask about our request. She didn’t know we had requested to see one and when she goes to check at the nurses station they don’t have any request either. They go ahead and call for one then.

When the patient advocate arrives and my husband and I explain what has been happening he helps us lodge a complaint against the ER doctor and we never saw that doctor again while waiting to be discharged. The few nurses who gave me grief also seem to avoid our room which is fine with us. The patient advocate did say the doctor in question has been updated to the fact my bipolarism really was a misdiagnosis and that we made a formal complaint about his behavior. The advocate ended up apologising on the doctor’s behalf which we both thought was unfair since it should be the doctor doing it.

On leaving the ER with my arm in a cast and feeling good from the painkillers, we pass the nurses’ station. Only the nurses and staff who did NOT judge me smile and say their goodbyes and get wells. The few who treated me like I was less than human have their heads down, apparently doing “paper work.”

I don’t blame the hospital for the way I was treated. I blame that doctor and the few nurses for assuming things without either knowing the whole story or refusing to listen, and thinking anyone with a mental disorder are liars or not to be taken seriously.

It scares me that there could be people with mental disorders being treated the way I was treated.

Much A-Gluten About Nothing, Part 2

, , , | Working | October 8, 2016

(I do all of my shopping at this store. While I’ve never worked here or even at a grocery in general, I know pretty much where everything is. Tonight, I’m in the Asian food section, with a worker next to me looking bewildered at a packet of instant rice noodles.)

Me: “Having trouble?”

Worker #1: “Oh! Eh, heh… yeah. I’m stocking, but I don’t know where this goes…”

(To be fair, the brand has most of its items in this aisle.)

Me: “Oh, well, I’m pretty sure those are actually in the gluten-free section, near the bread. It’s a little weird since they’re an Asian food, but they are gluten-free, too.”

Worker #1: “Really? You think?”

(Another worker walks by.)

Worker #1: “Hey, [Worker #2]! Where does this go?”

Worker #2: “It should go right there!”

(She comes over to look and is immediately confused by the absence of this product in this aisle.)

Worker #2: “Huh… but there’s a ton of stuff from this brand here.”

Me: “As I said, I’m pretty sure it’s in with the gluten-free stuff. But good luck!”

(I move on in my shopping, but on my way out of the store, [Worker] #1 spots me again.)

Worker #1: “Hey! It was in the gluten-free stuff! You were RIGHT!”

This story is part of our Celiac Awareness Day roundup!

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Dressed For The Occasion

, , , , | Hopeless | October 7, 2016

I’m working at a women’s clothing store. We have a male cross-dresser who comes in once in a while. Some of my coworkers find it weird, but he’s always polite and sweet to us, so I will volunteer to help him, as our store’s goal is to make everyone look and feel beautiful.

One day he comes in looking for a new dress, as we’re having a big sale. I bring him some and offer my candid opinion on each of them, telling him what looks good or bad on his figure, which he seems extremely grateful for. The whole time he’s just so nice that I can’t help but smile.

Eventually I find him a discounted designer dress that fits perfectly and looks amazing. He buys it, gushing about how happy he is with my pick.

A month later he comes back to the store and specifically asks for me. He tells me how he wore it while in NYC and got so many compliments and how he thought of me the whole time. He asks if there’s a number he can call to give me a review. I direct him to the online survey, and he gives me a great big hug, thanking me again.

A few days later my boss shows me the great review he’d sent corporate, which went towards getting me a raise. It may not have been much, and I’ve moved on to a new job since, but I still think fondly of that customer and how much it must have meant to him to have someone willing to help him without being patronizing or rude.

It just shows that no matter a person’s gender, style, or body type, you should always do your best to help a person look and feel beautiful.