My husband and I caught a particular contagious illness a few days before Christmas 2020. We were lucky enough to not be down and out, but we didn’t want company. My family was understanding and held our gifts for a day when we felt better. His family showed up unannounced and walked into our house without knocking, arms full of gifts and small children (our nieces and nephews). 

Me: “Excuse me, what is this?”

My husband shrugged at me and then turned to his family.

Husband: “Why are you guys here?”

Mother-In-Law: “Well, you said you couldn’t come to Christmas, so we brought Christmas to you!”

Husband: *Covering his face with his shirt* “Because we’re sick. Get the kids out of here!”

Mother-In-Law: “Oh, that stupid [Country] virus scam? You’re fine. Just take some vitamins.”

Me: “No, you—”

Mother-In-Law: “It’s probably all the processed foods you’re eating. My kids were never sick growing up.”

I know this is a lie. They were sick as much as any other kids; they just never went to the doctor unless they were bleeding or something was broken because [Mother-In-Law] didn’t believe in vaccinations or modern medicine. 

Me: “Honestly, this is not okay. You need to leave.”

Brother-In-Law: *Unsure* “Mom said she cleared this with you?”

Husband: “She did not.”

Brother-In-Law’s Wife: “Maybe we should go?”

Mother-In-Law: “No, just put the playpen over there. We can put the gifts on the table. You—”

Me: “Leave!”

Silence. [Mother-In-Law] wears the pants in their family and has never liked how outspoken I am about her tyrannical ways. 

Mother-In-Law: “This is a holiday for the family. If you don’t want to participate, that is your choice. You can go sulk in your room.”

Husband: “Mom, you need to get everyone out of here.”

Mother-In-Law: “So, you would rather spend your Christmas with your—” *air quotes* “—‘wife’ than with your family?”

Husband: “If it means protecting the kids, then yes, I do.”

[Mother-In-Law] motioned for everyone to pack up and leave. Then, she turned on her heel, leaving the door wide open. I got up to close it, only to see her throwing the middle finger over her shoulder. 

Me: “You know, Grandma got run over by a reindeer!”

[Mother-In-Law] posted photos all over Facebook, talking about how great it was to have all of her loving children and grandchildren with her during the holiday.

A week later, [Mother-In-Law] called and asked why we hadn’t apologized for our behavior. She sounded ill but wouldn’t admit to anything more than a stuffy nose. Several of [Husband]’s other family members — including one of the toddlers — also got “a bad cold” over the next few weeks, but since none of them would test for [illness], they steadfastly denied having it. And we never did get the gifts his family brought for us.

This happened a few months ago on a very busy night. I was absolutely SLAMMED by the point of the night when my three-top turned into a seven-top and managed to find a second table to add to their initial table in my already full section.

I had so much food to run at that point, so when I noticed this table had added people, I told them I’d be right there. It took a while, maybe five or ten minutes; I’m not sure. My frazzled a** ran over, and everybody placed their order. One guy, while placing his drink order, handed me five bucks. I continued the order, and then his friend handed me a twenty. Good start!

I brought them their drinks. The dude handed me five bucks. I came back with their salads. Five bucks. Dropped off salt and pepper. Five bucks.

I mentioned to the hostess at one point that every time I went to this table, the guy handed me five bucks. I went on with my night.

I brought them their food. He handed me five bucks. At that point, I finally said something.

Me: “Do you just walk around with $5 in your pocket at all times?! How many $5 bills do you have?!”

Customer: “I’m a continuous tipper.” *Hands me five bucks*

I left it at that and continued my night. His friend came up to me at some point away from the table.

Customer’s Friend: “His health is deteriorating, and he wants to use his money to make others smile.”

Well, I was the lucky one who got to serve him that night. Eventually, one of the hostesses came up to me.

Hostess: “I see what you mean about five bucks.” *Flashes a five-dollar bill* “I was cleaning tables around yours, and he gave me five bucks!”

I high-fived her, and the night continued.

More and more people came to me to tell me that this guy had handed them five bucks. If they were working in his vicinity, five bucks. He asked me what time it was at one point, and I pulled out my phone to check. His friend stopped me and said:

Customer’s Friend: “You’re supposed to say, ‘It’s tip time.'”

And he handed me five bucks!

One coworker caught wind of the five bucks phenomenon, and he walked in the customer’s vicinity to see if he’d hand him five bucks. He didn’t, so we thought, “Maybe just the girls get five bucks?”

So, we sent the new guy out in that vicinity to test that theory. He came back with $20.

Anyway, I cashed the table out. The customer tipped $30 on their $80 tab. His friend came up to me while I was taking another table’s order and handed me a twenty.

I ran outside to thank them again, and I saw the guy talking to some coworkers. He asked one of them what time it was.

Coworker: “Oh… I know this one! Tip time!”

He handed her ten bucks since he had run out of fives. He went on about how great of a night he’d had.

I responded by talking about how great of a night WE’D had.

At this point, I was standing at a distance, though. I couldn’t accept any more money. They had already given me a ridiculous amount.

Me: “Sir, you made everybody’s night. You are the reason we love what we do.”

Customer: “Remember me.”

I will.

Customer: “And look for me when [Band that’s playing tonight] plays.”

I do. They’ve played maybe four times since, and I haven’t seen him.

I hope that guy is doing okay. My favorite part of that day, aside from everybody being overjoyed at work, was the joy in his eyes. He seemed genuinely happy to see our reactions. I aspire to be like him one day.

I read this story and was already dreading the ending because I am a person with a uterus.

I was recently diagnosed with Lupus because of a work injury, so I currently have three doctors: a specialist, my primary doctor, and my worker’s comp doctor.

I had to get my arm X-rayed.

Nurse: “When did you have your last period?”

Me: “[Date about three weeks prior]. My next one is due in five days.”

The app on my phone is a lifesaver.

Nurse: “Any chance you got a baby going on in there?”

She’s always funny; I love it when she does my intake.

Me: “None. Yes, I am sexually active, but our birth control is one hundred percent effective. I’m addicted to lesbianism.”

Not a bad outcome. [Specialist] wanted full-body X-rays to see the deterioration of my joints — fun times. 

X-Ray Tech: “Any chance you may be pregnant?”

Me: “My girlfriend loves to try, but we have found that we can’t make one.”

Yes, I know, don’t be rude to medical staff, but I have heard that question fifty million times. Mentioning [Girlfriend] usually shuts down the follow-up, and I’ve gotten sarcastic over the years.

X-Ray Tech: “Right on. Let’s get these pictures and get you home to the girlfriend. Is she pretty?”

Me: “Very, and my best friend.”

And then comes the bad one — the one that every uterus owner dreads. I needed antibiotics because of an infection unrelated to everything else. 

Doctor: “When was the first date of your last period?”

Me: “[Second week of December].”

Doctor: “It’s January.”

Me: “I know. My app says I can start any day now.”

Doctor: “It’s been twenty-five days. You’re probably pregnant.”

Me: “There are a couple of issues I take with your statement. It’s been twenty-three days; these little numbers tell me that. Since I started at eleven years old, my cycle has been twenty-five days. My girlfriend’s is twenty-eight days, and I have a friend who has a regular medically checked-out forty-day cycle. Second, I’m not able to get pregnant because I live with, sleep with, raise a cat with, and have sex with another uterus owner.”

I’m non-binary; we use trans-inclusive language.

Doctor: “Do you use condoms?”

Me: “…On the toys, to make clean-up easier.”

Doctor: “And you’re not on hormonal birth control, so you’re probably pregnant. You should take a test before you start antibiotics.”

Me: “[Doctor], my partner is a girl. I don’t have a medical degree, but I do know how babies are made. You need, at the very least, sperm. I have not had sex with or even kissed someone who makes sperm since 2018. I have hugged a few, but all our clothes stayed on. I have not gone to a sperm bank or in any other way had sperm near me since 2013. I am not pregnant.”

She flat-out refused to give me the script. I flat-out refused to leave without a second opinion.

The second doctor took my no and the girlfriend thing as proof that I was not pregnant and gave me the script.

Reasonable Doctor: “Not like it matters much; we’re giving you low-grade antibiotics that are perfectly safe for pregnant people.”

The infection is gone, and my period started the day after that whole interaction. Turns out I am not pregnant. Who knew?

Related:
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 18
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 17
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 16
Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 15
They Don’t Always C When They’re Sticking To The Script

Customer: “Are you a midget?”

Me: “No, I’m just short.”

Customer: “How tall are you?”

Me: “4’11”.”

Customer: “Then you’re a midget.”

Me: “No, I’m just short.”

Customer: “No, you’re literally a midget. Legally, you’re a midget.”

Me: “First, it’s ‘little person’. Second, I’m pretty sure I’d know if I had dwarfism or another medical issue, numb nuts.”

Customer: “You can’t call me numb nuts!”

Me: “You can’t call people midgets.”

Customer: “Call over your manager!”

Manager: “I’m already here, sir, and I heard your conversation.”

Customer: “She insulted me!”

Manager: “You called her a derogatory term for a small person.”

Customer: “I can’t call her a dwarf! There’s no such thing!”

Manager: “And yet here you are, being Grumpy…” 

The customer didn’t get it, but thankfully, he left at the behest of my manager.

A similar thing to this story happened to me in high school. It was highly annoying, and, to be honest, it still infuriates me thirty years later that anyone can be this ill-equipped for their job.

For whatever reason, my science teacher didn’t like me. Mostly, she seemed annoyed to meet me outside of school, and I get that she didn’t want to mix her work life and personal life, but it wasn’t my fault that her children’s daycare provider was my next-door neighbour. ([Teacher] lived one street over from us.) Thus, I met her or her children almost daily after school.

[Teacher] sucked at math. If we had a weekly test and I had 12 points on one page and 14 points on the other, she would add it together and conclude that my total point was 10 out of 26. It never made any sense. I would point out her error, and she’d tell me that she’d correct it in her notes and it wouldn’t affect my grade. Hah. Suuuuuuuuuure.

She never made these errors on other students’ tests, just mine. It was weird. Oh, well.

Then, we had the major exam for the semester. The day before, a Thursday, I was in massive pain and went to the school nurse, who sent me to the hospital, where I was booked for urgent surgery during said exam.

So, I went back to school to talk to [Teacher] as I had missed her class for the hospital visit.

Teacher: “Come straight after surgery to take your exam.”

I showed up on Friday, almost unconscious from the massive pain as the anesthesia from the surgery was fading off. [Teacher] just looked at me and told me:

Teacher: “Just take the exam during class on Monday.”

Me: “You could take my books to make sure I can’t study during the weekend.”

Teacher: “Go home.”

And she closed the door in my face.

[Teacher] was sick that Monday, but I still got to take the exam. And then, I fell ill and missed a couple of weeks, so when I finally was back in school, the grades were final. [Teacher] threw my exam at me. The score was mediocre, and I knew I had done better than that, so as she began berating me for my poor results, I quickly checked the test. Then, I heard her yammer about my poor results on our weekly exams. 

Darling, I have the weekly exams right here. Let’s take a look at them. Oh, yes, she hadn’t corrected her stupid errors and still had those abhorrent “results” she had somehow conjured up by failing first-grade math. And THIS exam? She had outdone herself.

As usual, she was unable to add two sums together (13 + 26 = 12), AND she had missed grading the major task, worth a whopping 25 points. I don’t remember the exact numbers, but I think her original result was that I had 21 out of 50, whilst the actual result was 49 out of 50. As I said, infuriating. She had given me a grade THREE STEPS below what I had actually achieved, and she told me that she couldn’t possibly change it nor raise it more than one step the next (and final) semester.

[Teacher]’s solution was that I was relieved from attending class. I could skip the entire semester and she would still raise my grade. She had effed up that badly. But I like school. I like to learn stuff. So, I attended class, did all the assignments, got top scores (she still never calculated the results correctly because she was a moron), and graduated with a grade two steps below what I had achieved.

Yup, I’m still pissed about that.

[Teacher] also had to start the semester by telling my extremely ambitious classmates that no one would be able to get top grades because I was the top student and I couldn’t get it, and thus, no one else could, either. They really hated me because of it — like it was my fault [Teacher] was such a moron. Oh, and she actually could raise grades more than one step as she did it for one of my classmates, so she was a LYING moron.

One of my priorities as a teacher was to make sure I NEVER missed grading anything. And that my calculations were correct. It is my duty as a teacher to ensure that the students get the grades they deserve.

There was no way for me to dispute my grade. As a teacher, I always make sure that the students know how to dispute grades, and if they want to dispute another teacher’s exam, I listen to their complaints and support them however possible. That only happened once, but it was not a pleasant battle. However, the students who asked for my assistance were students I was mentoring, so I was the obvious go-to person for help. In the case of [Teacher], this would have been an issue, because, well, [Teacher] WAS my mentor.

Related:
Even Gifted Teachers Can Make Mistakes