I’m a pharmacy technician. My pharmacist is counting out some medication on a tray using one of the metal spatulas. Usually, we count in fives, and you get pretty good at doing it quickly.

A customer comes up and is waiting on a prescription, so my pharmacist goes back and quickly starts to count out the medication. Right after she caps it, the customer looks at her in awe and asks 100% seriously:

Customer: “How does that magic stick thing know how many pills are in the bottle?”

The customer didn’t realize that she was the one doing the counting. I was caught between amazement and laughter.

It’s December, and I’ve had to book time off for dental surgery. Normally, the recovery is two or three days, but due to the delightful combo of a tiny mouth, nerves that are about 30% larger than normal, and roots that are 50% longer than normal (which puts the root tips essentially touching the facial nerve along the jawline), the surgeon told me to plan to be out a week minimum.

I’m nervous about dentists anyway, so I am on edge before they even start. Thankfully, they knock me out for it, so I am only vaguely aware at the very end when they are putting the last stitches in.

They move me to a recovery room so I can wake up a bit before going home, and I get a text from my boss. Keep in mind, I’m loopy as heck still.

Boss: “Hey, just to let you know, I’ve calculated the year-end bonuses. It will be added to your final paycheck.”

In my drugged state, I think I have just been fired, and just before Christmas! I panic, of course, and my brain starts going on wild tangents about me not being able to pay my bills, losing my house, etc.

I look at my phone again, and only then do I see the text my boss sent immediately after the first one.

Boss: “You will also be getting a raise, so you will see that on your first January paycheck.”

At the time, all I felt was relief. But once the sedation wore off, I found it hilarious. I told the company VP about it, and he laughed and told me I would never be fired because I know how to do so many aspects of everything in the office besides selling policies and that the office wouldn’t be able to function without me.

It’s definitely nice to be appreciated, but good lord, that’s a lot of pressure!

Prices of cigarettes have gone up, and one particular chain-smoking customer isn’t having it.

Customer: “Why did you put the prices up?!”

Me: “It wasn’t me, sir! I just work here.”

Customer: “You’re a useless whore, and I hope you die alone!”

Wow, this guy really needs his cigarettes.

Customer: “Well?! What do you have to say to that?!“

Me: “Sir, I refuse to enter a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent. Either buy your cigarettes or f*** off.”

He f***ed off.

Related:
Tobacco-No-No

I was married to my son’s mother for eleven and a half years. My son called me on his twelfth birthday.

Son: “Dad, I did it! I lived with Mom longer than you did!”

My daughter is twenty-two years old. She has autism and is diagnosed with Asperger’s. She’s high-functioning, but she has some tics which give her away. She gave me permission to share this story.

She’s trying to work on her social skills and become less sensitive about her surroundings, so she has joined a group on social media where they invite people out who might struggle with the great “outdoors”. During and after their outing, they discuss thoughts and bring out suggestions on how to improve and be more comfortable.

One day, they sit down at a café. There are more people around than usual. It’s more than my daughter can handle, and she starts stimming — rocking gently from side to side while folding and unfolding her hands. It’s a behavior she uses to help calm herself.

From nowhere, a couple of women approach, asking another member of the group what’s going on with “this”. The group leader speaks up, trying to be sensitive about his group.

Lead: “I’m not sure what you mean, miss.”

My daughter, however, doesn’t care what others think and wants these women gone.

Daughter: “I have Asperger’s. I don’t like crowds. I’m here with these people trying to work on this.”

The women speak to her with fake enthusiasm in their voices, with a tone usually used when talking to pets.

Women: “Oooooh. Okay, sweetie. Can we just ask you a quick question? Are you vaccinated?”

Having had this question asked before and knowing how this might turn out, my daughter is quick to respond.

Daughter: “Just recently! My idiot parents didn’t vaccinate me or my brother.” *Not true* “We both caught a neuro-comolious disease.” *Not a real thing* “That gave me autism and my brother ADHD.” *Not true* “We both got vaccinated once we moved out, but it’s too late now. We’re r****ded for life and it’s their fault!”

There’s nothing else said. The two women simply walk away with confused expressions. 

[Daughter] comes home and shares a little bit of this event. I give the group lead a quick call. With my daughter right next to me, I put him on speaker.

Not only does he fill in some extra details, but he happily praises my daughter for speaking more than usual and not getting worked up by the situation. He isn’t happy she lied, but he does support my daughter’s logic. 

Daughter: “I’ve been asked about vaccines a lot. If they can make things up, why can’t I? If I tell the truth, they lie to themselves. So, I thought next time, I would lie first.”

She’d had this planned out, even the name of the condition. She said she wouldn’t do it again, and for her routine and sanity, I agree. But I can’t help thinking to myself, “Why not?”