CONTENT WARNING: Animal Abuse, Death

The phone rings.

Coworker: “Thank you for calling [Pet Store]. This is [Coworker]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Hi, do you sell Winter White hamsters?”

Coworker: “Yes, we do. Do you need any help or information with them?”

Caller: “Well, you see, I bought a hamster from you about a year and a half ago, and it was almost always covered in bloody scabs, cysts, and other unsightly disgusting wounds! It recently died!”

My coworker is surprised and a bit confused.

Coworker: “Oh, I am sorry to hear that.”

Caller: “I blame you.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry?”

Caller: “I blame you people for selling sick animals! I bought another one from you back in September, and that one died, as well.”

Coworker: “Ma’am, all of our animals are looked over by a certified veterinarian. And once we get them in the store, they’re isolated for a few days to help us further watch for any possible diseases. We also offer a two-week guarantee on all of our animals, so if there is some sort of problem with the animal, you can always bring it back and we can refund you. Are you sure you got this hamster from us?”

Caller: “Yes!”

My coworker starts trying to do some detective work because there is NO WAY an animal that ill could’ve been sold.

Coworker: “Ma’am, what kind of bedding were you using for these hamsters?”

Caller: “I use pine bedding.”

Pine bedding is INCREDIBLY toxic for small animals. They tend to have an allergic reaction to the bedding, which may cause symptoms as the hamsters had. My coworker tells her how toxic pine bedding is for small animals.

Caller: “Listen. I’ve been breeding and raising hamsters for ten years. I know what I’m talking about, and you don’t have to explain that to me!”

Coworker: “Okay, ma’am. What would you like me to do, then?”

Caller: “I’d like to speak to a manager.”

My coworker handed the phone over to the manager on duty. Unfortunately, he ended up giving her a 25%-off ticket for her next hamster purchase. The catch? Apparently, the hamster that died was female. We have never sold any female hamsters; she got the hamster from another store and not us. I still don’t understand why she didn’t take the poor thing to the vet and not let it live its life with such horrid wounds.

My girlfriend and her two adult children are very into zombies and preparing for the zombie apocalypse. At the moment, my girlfriend is sick and, as always when she’s ill, she’s being a bit melodramatic. My step-daughter isn’t always very patient with her mom’s antics.

Girlfriend: *To her daughter* “If I die, as my firstborn, it’s up to you to make sure I don’t come back as a zombie.”

Step-Daughter: “I mean, we can take care of that now, if you want.”

When my brother was little, he caught a flu that developed into pneumonia. He was prescribed Tylenol (paracetamol/acetaminophen) for the symptoms and an antibiotic that came in pill or syrup form. He was always determined to prove that he was grown up, so he insisted that he was old enough to take pills instead of syrup. Even though he was told that the antibiotic pills were bigger than most pills, he insisted that could take them.

After he had been sick for a while without much improvement, my mother began to notice something odd: when she gave him his medicine, he’d take the Tylenol right there in the kitchen and then bring the antibiotic to his room. While she was trying to figure out how to ask him about this, he walked up to her.

Brother: “Mom? What would happen if I didn’t take my medicine?”

Mom: “Well, you’d get even sicker, you’d probably go to the hospital, and then you’d die.”

Brother: *Going pale* “…Oh.”

A while later, she found him on his bedroom floor, bawling over a container of all the antibiotic pills he’d stashed to avoid taking them, wailing about how he didn’t want to die.

They went back to the doctor and got the antibiotic in syrup form. My brother made a full recovery and never forgot the importance of taking your medication.

I’m working as a hostess at a popular chain restaurant on a busy Saturday night, where the wait is at least forty-five minutes for small parties. A woman is making a reservation for ten people and I put her party on the list, checking in every few minutes to see if there’s a table available.

She gets fed up after about thirty minutes and starts yelling at me.

Customer: “You’d better find a place for us to sit, because I’m a diabetica.”

That’s not a typo; she said, “die-a-beet-uh-ca.” I’m pretty sure she was just making it up so she could be seated faster.

I’m just assuming here, but if you had diabetes, wouldn’t you at least know how to pronounce it?

I got her some water and crackers anyway, but she was not a happy camper about the fact that she still had to wait like everyone else.

Related:
What A Diabeetus, Part 11
What A Diabeetus, Part 10
What A Diabeetus, Part 9
What A Diabeetus, Part 8
What A Diabeetus, Part 7

My boss is a good boss. His personal life is off the rails (and he tends to overshare that), and he may not be a great teacher, but he’s a good boss. I had an unexpected medical event that meant I could not drive or work until the cause of it was found. My boss told me not to stress about it and that I’d still have a job when I was able to work again.

There was only one neurologist in my area of the state that took my insurance, and he was a two-hour drive away. He also only worked a couple of days a week. As you can imagine, it was a long time before I was able to be seen. A couple of days before my scheduled EEG (brain scan), about five months since I’d last worked, my boss called me.

Boss: “So, are you able to come back to work yet?”

Me: “Unfortunately not. I have an EEG scheduled for [date], and then it’ll be at least another month before we get results from that. But that puts us right around Christmas, so I probably won’t actually get results back until January.”

Boss: “Okay, well, keep me updated. I was calling to let you know you got another raise; you’ll be making $17.50 an hour when you come back.”

I had been told he was very diligent about giving raises regularly, but I hadn’t imagined he’d continue counting my time while I was unable to work! There were unfortunately some other delays before I was finally cleared and able to drive again, making my total time out of work ten and a half months. This put me at another raise point, so I actually came back to $18 an hour.