I am now a regular at a well-known sandwich chain, and I am impressed with how they deal with customers not wearing masks. They simply ask, “Do you need a mask?”

The first time I saw this, the customer said, “No, I have one,” and put it on. It was a great way to deal non-confrontationally with a maskless customer.

But on another occasion, while I am waiting for my coffee, I see them hand a mask to a customer not wearing one. He then walks up to the counter and starts ordering WITH THE MASK IN HIS HAND! At this point, the server has probably done all she’s allowed to do to get him to mask up. He’s way closer than a metre from her and there are no screens.

Me: “Put the mask on.”

Customer: “I am just—”

I think he is going to say that he can’t because he is busy ordering.

Me: “PUT THE MASK ON!”

He finally put it on. Seriously, it’s not that complicated.

My memory on this is hazy, but I’ll do my best to tell it accurately. A year ago, I was hospitalized and had to have emergency surgery to have my gallbladder removed. I have severe anxiety and a fear of hospitals, so I had a very hard time during my stay, especially when my family wasn’t visiting. The first day was horrible, even though the nurses were so kind. By the second day, I was doing okay, and on the third day, I was given the okay to go home. I gave the hospital permission to share my medical information with my mom.

A month later, my mom is driving me to school when she notices one of her tires losing air quickly and pulls over. We call my dad to ask for help and we talk while we wait. While I’m talking, I notice my mom looking at me strangely.

Me: “Everything okay? You’re looking at me funny.”

Mom: “You really don’t wanna go today, do you?”

Me: “I really don’t, but I know it’s important for me to go.”

Mom: “I can tell from the look on your face. You’re usually excited to go, but you look really tired.”

I’m still getting occasional pains from the surgery, and I’ve been having trouble adjusting to life without a gallbladder since many foods make me sick now. I just don’t have the energy to sit through any of my classes that day. I say this to my mom, and she is quiet for a minute.

Mom: “I need to tell you something.”

Me: “What is it?”

Mom: “You were in a very serious condition the day we brought you to the hospital.”

I’m confused by this. I was in excruciating pain that day, but everyone acted like everything was fine.

Me: “But I was told that I had gallstones.”

Mom: “You did have those, but you also had gallbladder disease and your gallbladder was thickened. You could have died.”

Me: *Pause* “What?”

Mom: “One of the nurses that was with you said your gallbladder was almost septic. You would have been dead within a month if you hadn’t gone to the hospital that day.”

I am so shocked that my mouth is gaping open. At this point, my dad shows up and looks at the tire, but my mom keeps the window up so we can still talk.

Me: “I… Oh, my God. I was that close to dying?”

Mom: “You were, but I thought you could handle knowing it now. Despite what you think of yourself, you’re a h*** of a lot stronger than you think you are.”

I stare at my mom, trying to process what she told me. I am thinking of all that has happened in the past month when my dad knocks on the driver-side window.

Dad: “Hey, does [My Name] need a ride to school?”

Me: “No, I’m gonna stay home, instead. I don’t think I’ll be able to focus today.”

I was so calm that I thought I just didn’t process what I just found out, so I waited for weeks, thinking that at some point it was gonna hit me like a train. But I never had the reaction I thought I would — no panic attack, no crying, nothing. I was shocked, but otherwise, I felt so happy that I was alive and healthier than I was before. I just accepted it and moved on. It seems like Mom was right after all.

A few years ago, a couple of friends and I go on holiday to London. While the flight itself and the customs have been pretty normal, once we are on the way to the city, my friend starts to have a pretty heavy nosebleed. While it’s managed pretty well, it’s still enough to make him look a bit pale; we decide to postpone lunch and get straight to the hotel so that he can rest and recover a bit.

We three enter the tiny hotel’s lobby, and I can already see the receptionist’s eyes widen.

Receptionist: “Um… do you guys need some help? Water? A towel?”

Bleeding Friend: “That would be nice, yeah… Where I can get it?”

The receptionist points to the dining room downstairs, which my friend wobbly descends as he tries to avoid scattering any possible blood droplets. The receptionist then turns to me and my other friend.

Receptionist: “Do I need to call 111? Or is he full of coke?”

Other Friend: “Beg your pardon?” 

Receptionist: “Just be honest with me. I won’t tell the police if he’s high; I just need to know in case he starts acting weird. I wouldn’t want to wrestle him down.”

Other Friend: “Uh… No, he’s not?”

Me: “Sorry, but you’ve never met somebody having a heavy nosebleed?”

Receptionist: “You don’t have to hide it, just—”

Other Friend: “Just what? He’s got blood leaking down his nose, for what reason I’ve got no idea. Can we please move on?”

Receptionist: “I don’t want to deal with him if he goes ape-s***, okay? I’m not his buddy or his tamer.”

Me: “Do you want to check us in, or do you want us to go take our business elsewhere?”

He sighed and let us do the check-in process. During our stay, the cleaners opened up our doors a couple of times without warning while we were in the room. While it was likely an honest mistake, I can’t help but suspect that the receptionist was trying to catch us in the imaginary act. Seriously, though, is it hard to believe you can get a natural nosebleed?

Related:
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist, Part 8
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist, Part 7
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist, Part 6
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist, Part 5
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist, Part 4

It’s late March and we’re early in the first wave of the health crisis. As such, no safety features are in place yet, meaning we have no masks, gloves, or separators on the tills yet.

I’m standing at my till serving a customer who suddenly sneezes right up in my face. I stand there, shocked, while the customer just looks at me.

Customer: “Oh, it’s okay. I don’t have it. I was cleared two weeks ago.”

Related:
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 20
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 19
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 18
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 17
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 16

I work in an ice cream shop. On a brutally hot summer day, a father, mother, and two kids come up to me and ask for their chosen flavors of ice cream. I serve them with no problems, we finish the transaction, and they go away.

A couple of minutes later, however, they come back and stand in front of me.

Mother: “Could we have you dip our ice cream in the chocolate topping?”

Me: “Oh, I am sorry, but this is not possible.”

Mother: “We’re not asking for it for free; we’ll pay you!”

Me: “Sorry again, but I cannot do this; you already ate part of the ice cream.”

Mother: “So?”

Me: *With a blank stare* “You already licked the ice cream, so I cannot dip it into the chocolate.”

Mother: *Getting angry* “You’re calling me unsanitary?!”

Me: “Ma’am, would you really want your chocolate topping mixed with another customer’s saliva?”

Mother: “Of course not! But this is completely different!”

Me: “No, ma’am, it’s not. However, I can give you a small cup of a topping of your choice and you can drizzle or sprinkle it on your cone with a spoon.”

The father cuts off his wife’s next argument:

Father: “Yes, please, that would be great!”

The kids are excited to pick out their toppings, and I give each a small cup and a plastic spoon. The kids think this is the coolest thing ever, as they have total control over where the toppings go and can add more after every lick.

The mother tries to continue her argument, but her husband firmly overrules her, pays for the toppings, and walks out. Thankfully, she follows.