(This took place while my mother was working as a nurse in a hospital.)
Mom; “Alright Mrs. [Patient], it’s time to take your meds!”
Patient; *Turns to I.V pole and begins speaking to it* “Hah, you hear that? She wants me to take that poison? She’s crazy!”
(I’m visiting an uncle in the hospital when I hear this exchange between a doctor and various patients, nurses and residents.)
Patient #1: Excuse me, but I want to be seen by a doctor.
Doctor: I am a doctor.
Patient #1: Sorry, but you’re obviously a nurse, sweetheart.
Resident: Hey, nurse. Yeah. Can you get this thing for me? Hurry up!
Doctor: I am an emergency physician and your superior.
Patient #2: Sorry, but you look too ditzy to be a doctor. Can I see someone else? No offense, but women doctors creep me the f*ck out.
Doctor, muttering under her breath: The next f*cking time I hear that I’m going to f*cking beat someone with my degree.
(The funny thing was, she was the only doctor in the ER at the moment. So she wound up having to treat a whole slew of aggravating, sexist, racist or just plain dumb patients. There was one guy who was hitting on her the whole time, bragging about how he could ‘provide immense sexual pleasure.’ Yeah, right. His penis was stuck in a water bottle, which was the whole reason he was at the hospital.)
I volunteer in a charity-run café in a hospital when I am fifteen. It is pretty close to the psych ward, which leads to some… interesting encounters:
Customer: “I’ll have two sausage rolls, please.”
Me: “Okay, so that will be [total].”
Customer: “F*** you! This is my last £20!”
The customer waves the note in my face.
Me: “Miss, please calm—”
Customer: “I HAVE TO FEED MY BABY YOU ABSOLUTE C***!
(note, she was obviously over 60, and could not have had a baby)
Me: I cannot lower the price. I can cancel the transaction or return one of the sausage rolls if you want.
Customer: *screeches and swears at me, demanding a discount*
I repeat what I said before, which is what I do when I get stressed/overwhelmed. The customer continues her screaming fit.
Coworker: I’m sorry, but you cannot speak to my coworker like that. She has no control over the price, and also is a child. I need to ask you to leave.
The customer runs away screaming. I later see her being put into a wheelchair by a nurse wearing the psych ward uniform. After she left I burst into tears, and my co-worker bought me a slice of cake and sent me through to the back to calm down.
I work at a hospital in the central supply department. We carry just about everything: patient care items such as deodorant or slippers, first aid supplies like bandages or gauze, large items like crutches or commodes, and everything in between. Basically, if the nurses carry it in the supply closet, it probably came from us.
One night, I get a call from a nurse on the fourth floor.
Me: “Central Supply, this is [My Name].”
Nurse: “Yeah… is this Central Supply?”
I can feel my eye twitch.
Me: “Yes. Can I help you?”
Nurse: “I’m looking for… a… thing.”
Me: “Okay. What kind of thing?”
Nurse: “It’s plastic. It comes in a package.”
Me: *Putting on my best customer service voice* “That’s about 75% of our inventory. Can you tell me what it’s used for?”
Nurse: “It’s plaaaastic. It comes in a paaaackage.”
Me: “IV tubing?”
Nurse: “No.”
Me: “Catheter?”
Nurse: “No.”
Me: “Oxygen tubing?”
Nurse: “No. It’s plastic. It comes in a package.”
This goes on for a few minutes with me trying to guess the item or trying to get her to describe it to me. The nurse keeps giving me the same answer; only the pronunciation of the words “plastic” and “package” changes.
Me: “Do you have an empty package I could look at?”
Nurse: “No.”
Me: “Is there more than one in the package?”
Nurse: “It’s plastiiiiic. It comes in a packaaaaaage.”
Me: “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re asking for. You’re welcome to come down and look around. Or maybe you could ask one of the other nurses.”
Nurse: “I—”
Me: “I’m getting a call on the other line from the ER. I have to get it. Let me know if you find out what it’s called. Okay. Bye.”
Fortunately, the call from the ER is an easy one. But as soon as I get off the phone with them, I receive another call from the fourth floor.
Me: “Central Supply, this is [My Name].”
Charge Nurse: “Hi, this is [Charge Nurse] from [department].”
Me: “Hi. How can I help you?”
Charge Nurse: “Do you carry water pitcher liners?”
A light bulb goes off and my customer service filter vanishes.
Me: “Oh! Is that what she wanted?!”
Charge Nurse: *Chuckling* “Yeah.”
Me: “Yes. We have those; I’ll bring some right up.”
Not the strangest call I had while I worked there, but definitely the most frustrating.
I work in the administrative offices for several doctors who work in the neonatal ICU at my hospital. Our department doesn’t have a clinic, but the building does have OB-GYN offices, so we sometimes get calls for their offices downstairs and I am familiar with most of the doctors that work in the building.
Me: Newborn Medicine, this is Jill.
Adult male: Yes, can I make an appointment with [Random doctor I’ve never heard of]?
Me: I think you may have the wrong number, this is newborn medicine at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.
Guy: Yes, that’s where she practices. I need an appointment.
Me: …okay, is this for an obstetrician, or for a newborn?
Guy: No, it’s for me.
Me: Um, okay, let me look her up in our directories. *does this* It looks like she practices at [community health center not affiliated with our hospital].
Guy: Yes.
Me: ….oooookay. Let me get you their number. (I give him the number listed on Google, and assume this is the end of the conversation.)
Guy: Wait, I have a question. Can I make an appointment for Friday afternoon? I don’t have a PCP, but I had an accident and I just got stitches so I need to make an appointment.
Me: I don’t know, you’ll have to call them and ask. We don’t make appointments here.
Guy: Really? Not even for your hospital?
Me: …No, this is the administrative office for Newborn Medicine at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, not Harvard Vanguard, and the doctor you’re looking for doesn’t work here. Our doctors work with premature newborns, and are not PCPs. If you call the number I gave you, they can help you.
Guy. *clearly still confused* okay, thank you… *hangs up*
