Sometime in the 1980s when I started work, I was given a tour of the office.

Manager: “Oh, here are the restrooms. Don’t go in there after Two-Coke-Tim.”

Me: “Who?!”

Manager: “Oh, you haven’t seen Two-Coke-Tim yet? You’ll spot him in the break room. He always has at least two cans of Coke, which he chugs and then moves on to get more.”

Me: “Okay, but why would I not use the restroom after him?”

Manager: “One day while I was washing my hands in the bathroom, he walked in, downed a whole bottle of Pepto-Bismol, looked at himself in the mirror for a solid five seconds, and then headed straight into the bathroom stall. This guy already creeps me out, so I noped right out of there before I heard whatever he was about to do.”

I have had many “first days” in my almost fifty-year career, but that was the only one I remember!

When we first adopted our Maine Coon cat (from an ethical breeder), we were told she wouldn’t need to be brought to the groomer and weekly brushing was fine.

That may have been the case for someone experienced with intact long-haired cats, but one, she was our first long-hair (we also have two domestic short-hairs [DSHs]), and two, when she was spayed, her hormones thickened her coat.

As a result, within four months (and granted we weren’t as diligent about brushing as we should’ve been), she had very visible matting, bad enough that we desperately started looking for a groomer!

We found one that took feline clients about a half-hour away, and unfortunately, she needed to be shaved. It broke our hearts that we had failed her so badly! (Fortunately, she’s a former show cat and is used to being groomed.)

Now, she has a “spa day” every two or three months to ensure that this never happens again! Additionally, we have begun a daily ritual of “Brushies!” for all three cats (it helps keep shedding down for the DSHs). Dusty has learned to enjoy Brushies, and one of our DSHs thinks Brushies are the Best Thing Ever, but the other (who sheds the most, naturally) isn’t as thrilled, even when bribed.

This story reminded me of a story about my dad. A few weeks after my dad was born, my grandma worried that her baby didn’t seem to be looking at her right. So, doing what any worried mother would do in the days before Web MD, she took him to the doctor. The first eye doctor they saw told my grandma that nothing was wrong. She still thought that my dad was looking at her funny, so she took him to another eye doctor. This eye doctor also didn’t find anything, but my grandma was not convinced. She KNEW that something was wrong. 

My grandma was done with these doctors and decided that she would stop just going to random child eye doctors; she would find the best eye doctor in the area. If even the best eye doctor couldn’t find something wrong, maybe my dad was okay and not looking at her funny. After doing some research, she was able to figure out who the best eye doctor in the area was and called to make an appointment. However, the earliest they could see my dad would be in six months. The eye doctor didn’t even normally see infants anyway — only adults. 

My grandma didn’t know what to do. Six months was too long. So, she called her mom and asked for advice.

Grandma’s Mom: “If you are certain that something is wrong with your baby, you go to that doctor’s office and sit in the waiting room and wait there until they see your baby!”

My grandma, even though she didn’t want to be rude, was worried enough to follow this advice. 

The next day, she went into the doctor’s office and explained the situation. They told her the doctor couldn’t see her, so she sat down in the waiting room and waited. Eventually, at the end of the day, the doctor felt sorry for her and decided to at the very least humor her and examine my dad. As it turns out, it was a very good thing he did. My dad had congenital glaucoma, and the doctor realized that he needed to be operated on right away if he was to have any chance of having vision at all. They were able to operate on him in time to save one eye, but he is blind in the other, not that you can tell. If Grandma had waited those six months for the appointment, he would have been fully blind.

Sometimes, mothers do know best.

Related:
An Eye-Catching Lesson

I work for a worldwide prestigious chauffeured black car company — a twenty-four-seven, 365-day business that works in many countries.

A lady calls in, very upset. 

Caller: “My driver is ten minutes late!”

I get it. You schedule a pickup for a certain time for a reason; they should be there on time. We monitor traffic and weather conditions so we aren’t late. I call their local dispatch office.

Dispatch: “Oh, yeah, that guy.”

Me: “What happened?” 

Dispatch: “Yeah… he got hit in an accident. He should be okay, but the injuries are quite bad. We sent another driver to pick her up, and he’s about five minutes out.”

I start to explain this to the lady, but she interrupts.

Caller: “I don’t see how that’s my problem! I pay for a car to be on time!”

Me: “Well, your initial chauffeur was hit by a semi-truck and had to be transported to the hospital, and he is in a very grave state. I hope he makes it through — being a single father and all.” 

I have no idea if he was a single father or was hit by a semi, but she instantly shut up and accepted the resolution of another car picking her up. Ethically dubious? Maybe, but work with wealthy clients long enough, and you learn tricks to deal with how self-absorbed they are.

I’m working at the checkout at a grocery store in early January. The holidays have been very indulgent, so I am trying to eat healthier to recover from it! I am checking out a customer’s items when a coworker swings by and offers one of the many chocolates that have been left for staff over the holidays that we’re STILL trying to get through.

Me: *To my coworker* “Oh, no, thank you. I’m trying to lose weight.”

Customer: “Oh, so you’re fatphobic. How sad.”

Me: “What? No, not at all. I’m just trying to go easier with the candies after the holidays, and—”

Customer: “If you don’t like candy, then fine, but you just said you’re trying to lose weight, which means you find extra weight disgusting, which means you think fat people are disgusting, which makes you disgusting.” 

I have to admit that it takes me a while to respond as I come to grips with all of those warped leaps of logic. Thankfully, my coworker is still around.

Coworker: “That is not what she was saying! She just wants to be healthier after the holidays! Seriously, calm down!”

Customer: “You’re the reason so many women suffer with self-image. You think being thinner is more desirable, so you starve yourself to achieve unrealistic beauty standards, and it forces society to see all larger women as undesirable and disgusting. So sad. You need to try better.”

And with that, the customer just leaves without taking any of their stuff.

Coworker: “Wow… What the h*** was that?!”

Me: “I don’t know, but give me one of those candies. I think I’ve earned it after that…”