I Don’t Drink, But After This, I Wanna

, , , , , | Healthy | May 29, 2019

(I am 19, and I go in for my annual checkup at the doctor. I am given a standard medical questionnaire to fill in. One of the questions is, “On average, how many units of alcohol do you drink a week?” I have never been a big drinker, not even as a teen. Not for any particular reason; it just isn’t my thing. At most, I have a few drinks on New Years and a few on my birthday. I write on the form that I have a couple of units a week, which would average out to the few drinks on my birthday and New Years with plenty of wiggle room to spare, just in case. I hand the form in, and it is sent to the doctor. Eventually, he calls me in. We do my height and weight and blood pressure. All good. Then he comes to my alcohol intake and narrows his eyes at me.)

Doctor: “You can be truthful, you know. I’m a medical professional.”

Me: “I know. I am being honest. I’m not a big drinker.”

(He stares at me for a while.)

Doctor: “I was young once. And I have teenage kids. I’m not going to judge you. Be honest.”

Me: “I am being honest. I’m not a drinker.”

Doctor: *condescendingly* “What do you do when you go clubbing? Drink water?”

(Taken aback, I shake my head. I don’t go clubbing; nightclubs are my idea of Hell. I have a full-time job, often working fifty or more hours, and I have no interest in going to loud clubs or bars on my days off.)

Me: “I don’t go out much. I’d rather go out for coffee than go clubbing.”

(The doctor raises his eyebrows.)

Doctor: “Okay, well, I’m going to put you down for ten units a week.”

(He picks up his pen and actually crosses out what I wrote.)

Me: “No! What I wrote was true. I don’t drink. Even a few units a week is generous. I don’t want you to change what I wrote.”

Doctor: “Look, just be honest. If you’re not, we can’t treat you.”

Me: “I am being honest. I don’t give you permission to change it.”

Doctor: “Well, I’m the doctor, and I have reason to believe you are being dishonest. You need to stop lying on medical forms. That’s a big deal. If you keep lying on them, you could die because we don’t have the right information.”

(I keep trying to argue with him but he writes over what I wrote and puts down ten units a week. Dumbfounded and unsure of what to do, I carry on with the rest of the exam, just wanting it to be over. As soon as I am out, I go straight to reception and tell them I want to make a complaint. At first, the receptionist is alarmed and asks what the problem is. When I tell her, she pauses and then rolls her eyes.)

Receptionist: “Look, sweetie, we won’t tell your parents. Everything you tell us is confidential.”

Me: “I live by myself. That’s not my issue. The doctor falsified my medical records without my permission.”

Receptionist: “Your medical records need to be accurate, sweetie. Otherwise, we can’t treat you.”

(The receptionist refuses to log my complaint. When I continue to insist, she looks down her nose at me.)

Receptionist: “For somebody who doesn’t drink, you sure are protesting a lot.”

(I wanted to scream at her that I was angry because they were DELIBERATELY FALSIFYING my medical records, but instead, I left and transferred to another practice.)

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Unfiltered Story #151756

, , , | Unfiltered | May 24, 2019

(This story takes place when I am about to turn 15. I have a placement at this business for two weeks of work experience, but I now work there full-time.)

/A woman storms into our restaurant area, furiously demanding to see the manager with a laminated piece of paper in hand, but I can’t see what’s on it from where I’m standing. Two of my coworkers nearby, Bartender 1 (who is the assistant manager) and Bartender 2 assist her. They both hold a brief conversation with her before Bartender 1 takes her to a table, presumably to talk things through with her, and Bartender 2 disappears, laughing hysterically.
While all this is going on, I am polishing wine glasses and cutlery with Bartender 3./

Me: What’s going on over there?
Bartender 3: No idea. We should ask (Bartender 1) after she’s gone, if she ever does!

A while later, I go to get a fresh tea towel which involves me going past reception. Bartender 1 has gone, but I notice Bartender 4 (who is the manager) is attempting to sort things out with her but she sees me pass by and manically waves the laminated piece of paper at me.
It reads in big black letters, underlined in red ink:
Surcharge:
An additional sum added to the usual cost or amount paid.

I don’t know much about business terms having only been here half a week, but I pick up enough to realise she is here to complain about a meal not being “the agreed price” or something similar.
When I get back, Bartender 1 and Bartender 3 are quietly talking.

Bartender 1: Basically, the woman is complaining that we added a £4 surcharge to her son’s wedding breakfast and claims we ruined it.
Me and Bartender 3: That’s crazy!
Bartender 1: I don’t know anything about surcharges but I checked the room tab and the amount is exactly the same as all the other breakfasts people have booked. What’s her problem?
Bartender 3: Maybe she thought it was a complimentary breakfast as he was getting married, and we “surcharged” him for no reason? If that’s the case, that’s absolutely ridiculous.
Bartender 1: Yeah, that’s absolute bull. We very clearly told them at booking that the breakfast would be extra if they wanted it here. I mean, you can’t just get a free pass just because you’re getting married!
Bartender 3: I offered them complimentary champagne when they checked in, as well, but they said they were going straight up to bed! (Bartender 4) says we don’t always have to play by the rules, within reason, if it keeps the customer’s mouths shut but honestly this is their fault entirely. How stupid can you get?

Bartender 2 comes back, still crying with laughter. He does not speak English natively, nor does he come from here, but he still speaks it very well.

Bartender 2: Guys, guys! (He looks around before beckoning us closer, in between fits of giggles.) Okay, I was laughing when she comes in, because she come in and she told me “My name is Mrs Birch!” and I start laughing so hard.
Bartender 1: Why?
Bartender 2: (lowering his voice) ‘Birch’ means small penis in my language. Which is what she is! She is a small cock if she think her son get free breakfast just because he gets married!

(We all burst into laughter. I never did find out what happened to Mrs Birch but we still have the laminated piece of paper and now wave it at each other as an inside joke. Mr Birch, I hope you had a great wedding and I hope your mother hasn’t completely embarrassed you!)

They Pulled The Rabbit Out Of The Hat

, , , , , , , | Related | May 20, 2019

When my now-husband and I got together, I had one house rabbit who was very much a daddy’s boy; that is, I was his daddy and nobody else! A couple of months into our relationship, we decided to go to the pet shop to look at and pet the other rabbits under the pretense of wanting to get him a playmate. The babies were all adorable of course, and then the staff member asked if we wanted to meet the adoptions.

The last one she brought out was a large doe who was still in isolation and not ready to be adopted. She had been brought in because she was “aggressive” and she had nicks and still-healing bites along her ears. When I picked her up and stroked her, she just melted into my arms.

We returned the day she was available for adoption and took her home.

We were able to guess from her behaviour some of what happened to her. She had serious food and attention issues, and would pester us constantly for attention, as well as my other rabbit once we got them living together. Most heartbreaking was the nightmares; when she slept she would squeak and twitch and jolt out of her sleep, clearly distressed.

About a year and a half ago, we lost the older rabbit, and when she fell into a depression we knew we had to get her a new playmate, no matter how we felt about it.

She’s been with us for approaching six years now, and while some of her issues remain — primarily with food; to this day she’s terrified of not getting enough — the difference warms my heart every time I remember it. She still loves attention but now it feels less like being attention starved and more like her simply being an affectionate rabbit. She and our newer rabbit absolutely adore each other. Best of all, now, when she sleeps, we can still tell when she’s dreaming, but now they’re clearly pleasant dreams; her eyes and ears twitch, and she does the gentle intermittent tooth grind that is the rabbit equivalent of purring. She wakes up slowly, sleepy and happy. She has gone from an animal constantly afraid of losing what she had to one who is simply… happy.

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Data Protection Protects You From Callers Like Her

, , , , , | Legal | May 16, 2019

(I am working in the collections department for an energy supplier when I get a call from a woman regarding a letter she says she received. She says she has a question about it. She gives me a reference number and I pull up the account.)

Me: “I’ve got the account up. May I ask your name?

(The customer gives me her name and it is the same as on the account. I then ask her to confirm address and DOB, both of which match what is on the account.)

Me: “Thank you for confirming those details. What was your query?”

Customer: “Yes, what is this letter all about?”

Me: “There is a balance on the account. It needs to be paid. You owe [amount].”

Customer: “No, I don’t.”

Me: “I’m not seeing any payments since [date].”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand. This isn’t my account.”

Me: “Your name is on the account and you confirmed the address.”

Customer: “No, no. This letter isn’t for me. This is my friend’s account. My name is [Different Name].”

Me: “I’m sorry, madam, I can no longer discuss the account with you without the customer’s permission. Is the customer there?”

Customer: “You just broke the data protection law. You disclosed my friend’s details.”

Me: “Actually, madam, you committed fraud.”

Customer: “No, I didn’t. I never said I was the customer. You broke the law; now you’re going to lose your job. I’m going to report you.”

Me: “Actually, madam, when I asked what your name was, you told me it was [Customer’s Name], when I asked what your address was, you said it was [Customer’s address], and when I asked you to confirm your date of birth, you told me it was [Customer’s DOB]. You pretended to be your friend, which is fraud.”

Customer: “No, I didn’t. If you heard that, that’s your fault. I’m going to report you!”

Me: “You are welcome to report this to the data commissioner. I’ll get you the details if you like. We are obligated to report this incident, as well, and will send the recording of this call to prove what was said.”

Customer: “How dare you say that to me?! Get me your manager!”

(I got my manager, who took over the call. My manager promised to listen to the call and arranged to call the woman back once she had done so. Later that day, my manager came and spoke to me. She listened to the call and confirmed that the customer definitely committed fraud – she clearly said her name, address, and DOB were the customer’s. My manager gave me an anti-fraud form to fill in so it could be passed on to the police. During the call, the woman gave me her full name, and she gave my manager several phone numbers when they arranged the callback, one of which was a work number. My manager also got the woman’s address because she wanted me to write her a formal apology for accusing her of committing fraud. All these details went on the form we sent to the police.)

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Unfiltered Story #150978

, , , | Unfiltered | May 15, 2019

We work with councils and don’t do work for the general public. I am answering the phone during an office day.  It is 4.30pm and most rangers finish at 5pm.
Me: [Company Name], [My name] speaking.  How can I help you?
Caller:  What time do you close?  I want to hire a boat.
Me: I think you have the wrong number, we’re a ranger service.
Caller:  What?  You don’t do boats?
Me: No, we work for various councils.  We are a ranger team.
Caller:  You’re not [other Company who we work with occansionally]? (They also close at 5pm)
Me:  No this is [Company Name].
Caller:  It says you work in partnership on the website.
Me:  All our work is partner working.   Would you like [Other Company]’s Centre number?
Caller:  Yeah, I guess.
I gave him the number, which I had to repeat several times before he hung up muttering to himself.  This is a all too frequent occurence but not the strangest call we’ve had.