My family attended a work-related party. My husband’s coworkers had not yet met me or our children, so I was asked many questions. Some were invasive rather than curious.

One woman glared at my husband on and off while we spoke. Finally, she started to ask questions about my age, which I deftly sidelined. Then, she gave up on subtlety.

Woman: “You seem too young to have children this old.” 

My husband is only four years older than I am; I just look young.

I could see what she was implying and thought, “Game on!”

Me: *Blandly* “Oh, these are my husband’s kids with his first wife.”

Confusion played across her face.

Oldest Son: “Mom, you are Dad’s first wife!”

The woman left our group even more confused. I did have to explain to my kids that I said that to stop her probing and, frankly, insulting questions.

I have a degenerative autoimmune condition that causes a lot of pain. As a result, I don’t always notice injuries the way most would; I have walked on multiple fractures until unrelated scans found them. Long story short, I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance. Despite this, I am often accused of being drug-seeking because I visit a lot of doctors and had a string of emergency room visits on record pre-diagnosis. 

I am about to have an operation to repair a badly damaged ankle. I am gowned and about to be wheeled into the operating room.

Doctor: “Okay, what pain medication do you want? Where am I sending this?”

Me: “Oh, it’s okay. I don’t want anything.”

I am planning to control my pain with over-the-counter medication and a certain plant that is legal in my state. This has always worked better for me.

Doctor: “Just tell me what pain medication you want so we can get on with this.”

Me: “I’m really okay. I’ll be fine with what I have at home.”

Doctor: *Visibly irritated* “We’re literally breaking your leg today. You need pain medication.”

I’m trying to be polite, but I’m getting annoyed.

Me: “No, I don’t, thank you. I don’t want narcotics. I don’t like the way they make me feel, they don’t really work for me, and I don’t want to be flagged as drug-seeking again.”

The doctor is clearly not listening at this point.

Doctor: “I’m putting you down for Percocet. We’ll get your pharmacy from your file.”

With that, she flounced off. The medication was filled. Initially, I just left it, but when I sent a friend to pick up an unrelated medication, she ended up grabbing it, as well. I took exactly one pill, which did nothing except hit me with side effects, and I flushed the rest. I was able to control my pain via my usual methods and am currently doing fantastic with my rebuilt ankle. 

Listen to your patients, doctors. You know more than we do about medical science, but we’re living in our own bodies, and sometimes we do know what’s best for us.

My parents divorced when I was ten. For the rest of my childhood, I lived with my dad, but I moved in with my mom when I started attending college.

Not long after I started college, I turned eighteen and became eligible for jury duty. I got my first summons sent to my dad’s address. But there was a problem. My mom did not live in the same county, so I was not eligible to attend that jury duty as I no longer lived in the proper county.

Not long after, due to some issues with my mom, I had to move back in with my dad. Of course, that was when my mom’s county sent me a jury summons, which I was, of course, ineligible for.

Both counties gave up on me, believing I lived in the other county. It probably didn’t help that after I moved out on my own, I happened to bounce over the county line a couple more times, and at the moment, I live at a residence so close to the county line that the person at the DMV asked which county I lived in when I registered to vote.

Last year, my family all flew to Chicago to spend Christmas with my brother. Because my brother lived in a smaller apartment that wasn’t really made to accommodate four other adults for an extended period of time, my dad reserved a rental for the rest of us using a popular website/app where people can list rooms and houses they own.

The place was nice and everything, but it was right across the street from a couple of clubs. They were closed at Christmas but opened right back up. After we left, my dad left a review.

Dad’s Review: “Decent place, not quite downtown, but easy access to various tourist areas. The stairs were a little steep, so be aware. The biggest issue was the clubs right across the street. The unit is probably best for people who are trying to have a guys’ or girls’ weekend but probably not ideal if you’re a family with young kids who are trying to sleep because of the lights of the clubs and the noise.”

That was it. He only pointed out that if someone had young kids, having them stay right across from the clubs might not be conducive.

Apparently, the owner of the rental wasn’t happy with the review. He started messaging my dad and demanding that he update his review. My dad wouldn’t because there wasn’t anything wrong with the review. The owner then started blasting my dad and complaining to the rental company about it. They reached out to my dad.

Company: “We’ve received a report that some items were missing from [Location] after your stay.”

Dad: “And?”

Company: “The owner is claiming you took them. So, you need to cover the replacement costs.”

Dad: “Can we get a breakdown of what was taken?”

The list of items taken? A carbon monoxide detector. That was it. 

My dad got into a fight with [Rental Company], one, because he had specifically purchased the extra coverage/insurance for just such a possibility — not that we go around taking random detectors but just in case something happened —  and two, because we didn’t steal the detector.

They finally settled things, and my parents didn’t have to cover anything. But my dad was extremely frustrated, especially because when [Rental Company] reached out, it was the middle of January and the owner was claiming he’d found the detector missing sometime in the first week of January. We’d all left by about the 28th of December. So, he either didn’t rent out his unit or even visit it at all during that time, or he was just trying to be a pain because of my dad’s review.

It definitely made sure my dad wouldn’t use that location again.

I work for a boat sightseeing company in Chicago over the summer.

Passenger: “How long are your sixty-minute boat tours?”

I pause for a moment.

Me: “Our sixty-minute boat tours are an hour long.”

Passenger: “So, that’s like… what… an hour-and-a-half?”