My grandmother retired as a kindergarten teacher back in the early 1980s, just before I was born. Now, she was ninety-four, and I was accompanying her to the neighbourhood doctor for a general check-up/visit. The doctor is also a family friend, thus the visit was more “friendly” than “medical” and without an appointment; hence, the doctor typically lets her sit in the waiting room until he’s free enough to have a long chat with her, while also checking her medical issues out.

This time around, there were quite a few people in the waiting room, so Grandma was just chilling, reading a magazine she’d brought along. A gentleman, probably in his mid-fifties, kept staring at her. He finally mustered the courage to speak to her.

Gentleman: “Are you [Grandma]?”

Grandma: “Yes, I am.”

The gentleman turned to his wife sitting next to him.

Gentleman: “[Grandma] was my schoolteacher!”

Grandma explained that she would have taught him in kindergarten. Everyone was pretty surprised at the recollection; it would have been nearly forty-five years, if not more, for the gent to have been in her class. Upon hearing his name, Grandma shocked everyone by recollecting his childhood nickname — one that he himself had forgotten!

A second gentleman walked into the clinic, and the first immediately pointed Grandma out to him; they were classmates, so he, too, would have been in her class. He was leaving the doctor’s cabin as Grandma was called in, so he happily pointed out to the doctor that she was his teacher. Even the doctor was surprised at the happy reunions.

Later, when we left, a third gentleman, younger than the previous two, entered the clinic. He saw Grandma and immediately bent down to touch her feet. Touching an elder’s feet is considered a mark of respect in Indian culture, a method of asking for and receiving their blessings. On inquiry, he revealed that he had been her student in the early 1980s, probably from the last batch she taught before retiring.

The school where Grandma taught, our old neighbourhood, and the doctor’s clinic are all on the same block, so whenever she’s visiting the doctor or any of our old friends and neighbours, we usually bump into a few of her kindergarten students on the road. All of them — many of them now grandparents themselves — walk up to her and spend a few minutes chatting with her.

I always marvel at such student-teacher relationships: relationships that began at the beginning of the students’ childhood, still as impactful decades later; relationships that transcend generations; relationships that are still in force even after your kids have grown up and their kids are in the same classroom where you were once. It’s heartening, giving me hope for the future.

My boyfriend and I offer sailing holidays. People book a berth in a cabin and live and sail with us for one week. This, of course, means that we actually live with our customers and spend A LOT of time with them in very limited space.

Before the global health crisis, we had around 200 guests a year. Ninety-nine percent of them were great and there were no issues, but boy, that one percent is really tough because you’re stuck together.

We have three cabins for guests; each cabin is for two people. People who book are families, friends, and couples, but also people traveling alone — in all kinds of constellations. If you don’t want to share a cabin, you can book one for you alone for an extra charge.

This happened a few years ago. The crew was a father and his sixteen-year-old daughter, a married couple, a man travelling alone, and “The Psychologist”.

The Psychologist behaved very strangely from the beginning. He was very aggressively dominant in every discussion, acting like everyone else was a piece of s*** under his shoe. He was always interrupting and correcting other people, and he would not stand being proven wrong.

When the crew was talking about the groceries they were going to get, The Psychologist turned to the sixteen-year-old and said in a baby voice:

The Psychologist: “But since you don’t drink alcohol, maybe you would like some candy, instead?”

I can’t actually write in a baby way, but imagine it with a lisp and the typical weird way some people speak to babies and toddlers.

He kept making inappropriate comments to the wife of the couple (who owned a spa and did massages). From day one, he was trying to demean me. I think it bothered him that I was “higher ranked” on board and that I was a woman AND younger than him.

It wasn’t starting well.

On the second day, The Psychologist took the wheel; our guests are welcome to join in and take part in the sailing. He was awful. I tried to give him some tips on how to sail smoother, faster, and plainly… better. He refused to listen. After a while, the sixteen-year-old took over, and she absolutely rocked it. She had a feeling for it, the boat picked up speed, and it was apparent that she was just better at it than The Psychologist.

The Psychologist didn’t like that. Oh, no. I remember there being some discussions at dinner that night, and everyone was annoyed with him.

On the third day, the man travelling alone wanted to take the wheel at the departure, with my boyfriend (who is the skipper and the one responsible) standing next to him assisting. The Psychologist kept on interrupting, trying to explain what to do (which was incorrect). My boyfriend told him to be quiet.

The Psychologist got really grumpy and decided to take out revenge. When he was supposed to loosen his line and pull it back in, he held it tight, making us bump into the neighbouring boat. (Luckily, there were no damages, but there could have been.) We all saw him do it.

Boyfriend: *Angrily* “Stay out of the sailing area, keep your mouth shut, and behave like an adult!”

Well… he didn’t. After that, The Psychologist was always trying to be in the way, on purpose. He refused to move OR help during the manoeuvres, pouting his lip and crossing his arms all the time. My boyfriend had to be harsh again.

Boyfriend: “Look. Either make room to let people work or go downstairs.”

The Psychologist tried to rush to the front of the boat instead, which was actually pretty dangerous at that moment; we had a lot of wind and the boat was tilting.

My boyfriend told us to pull down the sails as we were motoring into the next marina. He told The Psychologist they needed to talk. The Psychologist was 100% sure that my boyfriend would apologise to him. Boy, was he wrong.

My boyfriend gave him “the yellow card”.

Boyfriend: “If you act like that again, trying to sabotage and endanger the crew and the boat, you will have to leave. Also, you need to watch your tone with the guests.”

After that, The Psychologist tried to rally the rest of the crew against us, but to no avail. No one liked him. Unfortunately, he behaved well enough not to get kicked out, but the mood was ruined for the rest of the week. The last night, he came onto the wife of the couple so hard — making explicit comments, etc. — that it almost turned into a fist fight.

Of course, he complained to his booking agency afterward, demanding his money back. Too bad for him — the rest of the crew had written to them complaining about him!

I went to China with my parents in 2017. We took a coach tour and most of the experience was good. When you booked with the company, there was a booklet that had the name of the provinces and cities you’d visit. Most of them also had “extra” stuff one could pay for. For example, in one city, you could pay to go visit the pandas at the zoo. The provided booklet had information about exactly what you’d experience with these extras.

One extra thing was a rickshaw ride to a noodle place for lunch. The rickshaw ride occasionally made me think of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride which was at Walt Disney World back when I went in 1997.

My parents and I were enjoying the noodle dishes we were given for lunch. While we were eating, one of the other tourists on the trip started complaining very loudly.

Tourist #1: “There’s no fried rice! I want fried rice!”

Our tour guide and the restaurant owner’s niece told this tourist that they didn’t eat rice there, but the tourist just kept demanding it. My parents and I were confused. Did he not read the information about the extras? It was right there in clear print.

And that was after, much earlier on in the trip, someone told my mom and me this:

Tourist #2: “I don’t eat Chinese food. I only came because someone asked me to.”

For the past five summers, I’ve worked in a camp’s “petting zoo” room. There are many reasons I love my job, but one of them is the hilarious and adorable things I hear from the kids, especially the youngest.

This boy is about five years old.

Boy: “Where does [Iguana] go at night?”

Me: “All of the animals stay here.”

Boy: “But what if they eat each other?”

Me: “They’re fine; they all stay in their own cages.”

Boy: “But how do you keep them safe?”

Me: “What do you think is here at night that could hurt them?”

He pauses for a beat.

Boy: “Ghosts! What if the ghosts get her?”

Me: “Uh… [Iguana] isn’t afraid of ghosts.”

Boy: “Is that because she’s a grownup?”

Me: *Pause* “Yes, that’s it.”

Boy: “Okay.” *Points at a turtle* “Is she afraid of ghosts?”

I’m a nurse and have been working like crazy in these wonderful times of plague.

I need to get a patient to another ward and, luckily, it’s in the same building, so instead of waiting for the porters — who have been run ragged as much as anyone else in a hospital; praise to them, too! — I decide to wheel the patient there myself. We have a large lift — elevator for you Americans — designed for gurneys and the like, so I bring the patient there.

The door opens, and in the middle of this large space… is HER. The hair, the clothes, the age, the sneer. Everything about her screams, “I want to speak to your manager.”

She gives me one look with my patient and steps forward, blocking my path.

Woman: “No. Wait your turn.”

Me: “What?!”

Woman: “This is my lift. Wait for the next one.”

Me: “No, this is not your lift. I need to get this patient to the ward upstairs.”

She actively sticks her FOOT out to block my gurney before I can get the patient in.

Woman: “SOCIAL DISTANCING! SOCIAL DISTANCING! STAY BACK!”

Me: “Back off! Patients take priority, so if you don’t want to be close to anyone else, you wait for the next one. Or take the stairs. I don’t care, but get the h*** out of my way.”

Woman: “But he could infect me!”

She’s pointing at my patient, who is just staring at this woman like, “WTF?!” I am DONE with this woman.

Me: “I am nine days into an eleven-day run of shifts, most of them running twelve hours. I do not have time for this, or you, or your f***ery. F***… OFF.”

Something breaks in me and I think she sees that, too. She gave a loud “harrumph” and storms off, making sure to “accidentally” hit me with her handbag as she swings past me. So much for social distancing!

As the doors close, all my patient can say is:

Patient: “I’m about to have an operation, but that was the most painful thing I’ll experience in this place.”

He (and I) are doing fine!

The woman, hopefully, is still waiting for a lift somewhere, wondering why she has to share them in a busy hospital.

Related:
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 13
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 12
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 11
Why Nurses Should Rule The World, Part 10

This story is part of the Editors’ Choice 2021 roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

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