I went to see my doctor as I’d had a weird pain in my arm for a week and then it had swelled up at the weekend. He sent me to the hospital for a scan, which confirmed I needed to stay in hospital, but they needed to find me a bed so I went back to the investigations ward to wait. And wait. And wait some more.

At 10:00 pm, there was a teenage lad whose parents were grumbling about how they’d been there for four hours and they were fed up waiting for the boy to be discharged.  

A few others joined in, waiting five, six hours… After a while of this, I decided to pipe up.

“I’ve been here since ten o’clock this morning. I got diagnosed nine hours ago and I’m still waiting for a bed because I don’t get to go home tonight.”

There were a few beats of silence before the original grumblers declared me the winner and happily waited for their son to be discharged. It actually helped break some of the tension in the room and got people talking to pass the time until I finally got a bed, so yay for winning “waiting time” to trumps, I guess.

My best friend had surgery in 2017 to remove an ovarian cyst that had gone undiagnosed until it was large enough to cause a protrusion in her abdomen. The surgery to remove it was initially successful and after a couple of days, she returned home, only to be back in hospital three days later with a truly life-threatening infection.

Over a week later, the infection has been largely treated and my friend is moved out of intensive care and onto a ward, still on a cocktail of medicines that leave her somewhat delirious. I’m visiting her along with her mother and two sisters when a doctor enters and begins telling my friend how her infection was the most severe he’d ever seen where the patient recovered. He asks if he can have her permission to write a paper about it. My friend at this point isn’t even with it enough to tell us her surname, and all four of us rather sternly tell the doctor to ask again when she is properly recovered. Embarrassed, he leaves.

I get that doctors deal with this stuff a lot and it’s normal to them, but seriously? She almost died and spent ten days in the ICU, and you think the day she gets back out onto a ward she’s going to be bouncing around the room eager to grant permission for your paper?  

My friend made a full recovery and did eventually grant the doctor permission. She told me he said that in blood cultures a score of 10 is an infection, and hers came back with a score of 1,174.

(I take over the responsibility of running a small team at work. It is clear that they are unhappy so I do all I can to help them out, talk with them regularly, and generally keep them running smoothly. Things improve quickly, but one person always has a complaint, be it work related or otherwise. He asks to speak to me in private.)

Worker: “I’ve got a problem. Why am I being paid much less than everyone else?”

Me: “I don’t know your exact wage, but I don’t think you are.”

Worker: “Well, I know that I am! [Worker #1] and [Worker #2] get paid a lot more than me.”

Me: “They have been in the position for much longer than you, have completed their training, and have had pay increases based on their yearly performance.”

Worker: “Okay, well, how do I complete my training?”

Me: “You have to show competence in each area of the job; there is a sign-off sheet for each skill. When you and I are happy with the skill we will both sign. When you have signed all of them, you are officially trained.”

Worker: “Okay, I want to do that.”

(I collect all of the training sheets. They have been written to cover one skill each; I improved them to make sure it’s very clear. You can actually use the sheet to help you with the job. Under each one, you sign to say that you are competent in that skill and have received training, and that if you fail to follow the instructions you may be questioned and possibly, in extreme cases, disciplined. I give the pack to him and hear nothing until I am called into HR.)

HR Manager: “We have had a complaint about unfair treatment and entrapment. Apparently, you have asked [Worker] to sign something that will get him in trouble.”

Me: “That would be the training document; have you read it?”

HR Manager: “Yes.”

Me: “And you can see that it is nothing like entrapment and everyone has been treated the same?”

HR Manager: “Yes, that was all. Thanks.”

(Not to be put off, I explain everything to the worker again and tell him how this is fair and normal. He accepts and I hear nothing back until I get called into HR again.)

HR Manager: “We have had a complaint that you are paying someone who works for you less, because of his race.”

Me: “This would be [Worker]?”

HR Manager: “I cannot say.”

Me: “Okay, I am going to pretend that [Worker] is the only person reporting to me of a different race and explain. [Worker] will be paid the full amount for the role, minus merit increases earned by others for their long service. He can only do this once he has signed the training documents. This has been explained.”

HR Manager: “And if he refuses to sign?”

Me: “No one can make a mistake and not face discipline if it is appropriate. That is what this is about. If he truly believes that he cannot do the job after several months and multiple training sessions, I will happily transfer him to any other department that needs him.”

HR Manager: “To be honest with you, I have already spoken to the individual, and I think that this is the case, but I need to follow the process.”

(I hoped that this was all over; I had been nothing but patient and tried to help and explain. He seemed to understand and be happy with the extra effort I was doing to get him more money. To my surprise, the worker took me to an independent tribunal, which sided in my favour. He then took me to another tribunal that sided in my favour. He later signed the documents and got the pay rise without issue.)

(Mum and I are watching TV. An advert plays that has a CGI slinky.)

Mum: “You know, there are people out there who can do all sorts of things with a slinky.”

Me: *grumpily* “I can’t even successfully push one down the stairs.”

Mum: *with excitement and pride* “I can!”

Me: *laughing at her giddiness* “You sound so proud of yourself.”

Mum: “I am!”

(I’m a server at a café. Typically, our customers are older couples who order their food and leave with little to no fanfare. However, one gentleman in particular sticks out. I notice his table has a finished tray and dirty dishes and I go to collect them. As I approach, he notices me and says:)

Customer: “Excuse me, the food was very good but I have one complaint. I found this–” *pulls out a dirty yellow handkerchief* “–under my egg sandwich. It’s disgusting. I’m a member of Health and Safety and this just doesn’t work. In fact, what’s your name?” 

(I’m shocked, a little scared, and nervous. I start to apologize before giving him my name. I’m expecting an angry outburst, but instead, he says:)

Customer: “Well, [My Name], you seem nice, so I’m going to make this situation just–“ *moves his hands and tucks the handkerchief in one of them, then opens it to reveal an egg* “–make it all disappear.”

(I realize he’s doing magic and I let out a little laugh of relief. At the same time, his wife approaches the table and sits down next to him. He grins at her, holds up the egg, and says to me:)

Customer: “I did order an egg sandwich, though. But as for the kerchief, I was only yolking.”

(I laugh again, totally on board with his joke now.)

Me: “That’s very punny, sir.”

(I move on with his trays, but not before I see him grin at his wife and say:)

Customer: “She thought it was funny!”

(His wife just kind of shook her head disappointedly at him. I don’t think this is the first time he’s done this, but it made my day!)

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