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Will Need Therapy After Dealing With This

, , , | Working | December 29, 2017

(I take my second daughter to a recommended nurse practitioner for her well-child check-ups, since our insurance won’t cover our previous doctor any more. My daughter is slow about wanting to crawl or walk, but she is making progress otherwise and is healthy, so I never worry about it, since she is still within the realm of “normal” milestone developments. Our nurse practitioner, however, doesn’t think so:)

Nurse Practitioner: *very worried* “Her feet seem… I’m not really sure how to describe it. Her ankles look… well, floppy.”

Me: “Erm… floppy?”

Nurse Practitioner: “Yes. Sorry, not sure exactly how to refer to it. Her feet flop down instead of staying straight up when she’s laying down. See? And the rolls on her thighs aren’t even. The creases should be symmetrical. There’s one here and two here, see? It might not be anything, but it could be a sign of something worse that might need therapy to correct. I want you to take her to a free pediatric orthopedic clinic coming up.”

(She then sees my panicked look, and tries to ease my worry, but still sounds like she’s worried herself.)

Nurse Practitioner: “Oh, I don’t mean to worry you. It’s just a precaution! But you do need to get it checked out just in case, so we can get started early.”

(A couple months later, I take my daughter to the clinic for the appointment. We wait over an hour to get in. When we finally see the doctor, he asks what’s wrong, and basically laughs at me when I tell him about her “floppy” ankles, and says his own daughter took forever to walk. We spend five minutes, tops, in his office while he checks her legs and ankles for muscle tone and flexibility, then sends us on our way. When we leave, I am FURIOUS that I wasted an hour and a half of my time for this, not to mention the couple of months I spent worrying about my daughter’s well-being, or if I was doing something wrong, and what it would cost if there was a serious problem. At the nine-month appointment, our NP asks me how it went. I tell her the doctor said it was nothing to worry about, that she’s just taking her sweet time.)

Nurse Practitioner: *in an unconvinced tone* “Well, if someone smarter than me says so, I guess she’s fine.”

(Later in the appointment, she asks if my daughter is taking steps or pulling herself up to stand. I tell her no, but it’s not because she can’t; it’s because she doesn’t have the interest to try.)

Nurse Practitioner: “Hmm. Well, if she’s not standing by herself and taking steps by her 12-month appointment, I’ll have to refer you to therapy for her.”

Me: *in disbelief* “Really? Oh, um, okay…”

(After the “floppy ankles,” I knew I wouldn’t put my kid through unnecessary therapy, so I started looking for a new doctor. Thankfully, a month later, my husband got a new job and new insurance, so I immediately called our old doctor to make an appointment. At the one-year appointment, my daughter still wasn’t remotely close to taking any steps and wasn’t interested in standing, so I was really nervous about what the doctor would say. I asked, but he said there was absolutely nothing wrong, and repeated what the clinic doctor said: she was just taking her time. He was shocked when I told him the NP had suggested therapy so early on. It’s been a year now since that “floppy feet” appointment, and my daughter is walking and climbing like any other two year old, no therapy needed!)

His Handicap Is A Lack Of Decency

, , , , , , | Right | December 29, 2017

(We share a parking lot with a restaurant with a lot of regulars. One has decided to be the self-appointed handicap spot judge. He will sit at the outside tables yelling whenever he thinks someone is parking in them inappropriately. We have received a ton of complaints about him, but mall security hasn’t caught him in the act yet, so he is still allowed on the premises. I’m grabbing lunch from the restaurant and see him outside, so I text security to come and keep an eye on him. Not long afterward a car pulls into a handicap spot displaying proper tags. A young woman gets out of the driver’s seat.)

Regular: “Hey! What the f*** is your handicap? That you need a latte? B****! I’m talking to you! You can walk just fine! You’re taking that spot from someone who needs it! Let me guess: you got that tag on your knees in front of the doctor! Hey! Don’t ignore me!”

(The woman has completely ignored the rant, heading to the back of the car and pulling something out of the trunk. I’ve gotten video of the regular and texted it to security, who says he is on his way ASAP. By this point I’ve realized what the woman is getting out of the trunk: a walker. Next, she opens the back passenger door and helps out a small, extremely elderly woman. The regular hasn’t stopped his insults. The second the elderly woman gets her hands on the walker, she starts towards the regular. She stops in front of him, pulls off her hat, and starts to hit him over the head with it, furious.)

Elderly Woman: “You don’t call my granddaughter a b****! What is wrong with you?! Who raised you?!”

(The regular reels back, shocked, and security walks up to see the vengeful grandmother’s anger.)

Regular: “Make her stop!”

Security: “Ma’am, please stop. Sir, you’re officially banned from mall property for harassing other customers.”

Regular: “Harassing?! They’re the ones cheating the system. She—” *gesturing at the granddaughter* “—doesn’t need a handicap spot.”

Security: “No, but she—” *gesturing to the grandmother, who has sat down, exhausted from her exertion* “—probably does. Anyway, it’s none of your business. Ma’am, are you all right?”

Grandmother: “I’m 92 years old, and it’s been too long since I put an a**hole in his place. I’m fine!”

This story is part of our Invisible Disability roundup!

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Should Have Just Thrown In The Towel

, , , | Friendly | December 29, 2017

(I am 24 and a student not living with my parents. It is Christmas time and my mother asks me to go to the laundry shop to a pick a Christmas tablecloth she had dropped there the week before. I have always looked younger than my age.)

Me: “I’m here to pick up this.” *gives the ticket*

Worker: “Hmm. I can’t find it. Maybe the paper fell. You don’t know what the tablecloth looks like, do you?”

Me: “No. It was my mother that dropped it off last week; she just gave me the paper.”

Another Customer: “This youth nowadays! What a lack of respect! What are you? Fourteen? You should know what you have at home! You’re only mooching from your parents! Only want to have fun!”

Me: *with a deadpan face* “I’m actually 24, and I don’t live with my parents. My mother asked me a favour and I did it for her.”

(By then the worker had found the tablecloth with the missing paper, giving it to me and muttering an apology, so I walked out while the other customer stared with an open-mouth. The fun fact: my mother also didn’t remember which tablecloth it was when I told the story. The worker also apologized to my mother when she went there again.)

When Your Entitlement Gets You Shut Down

, , , , | Right | December 29, 2017

(It’s my last shift at a fast food restaurant before I leave and move to university. My shift ends at the same time we close, which is three minutes away. As it’s so late, I’m the only one serving the drive-through. The customer I’m currently serving has decided to change her order while at the window. Another car comes up to the speaker and I ask them to wait while muting my headphones. Once my current customer drives off, I turn it back on.)

Customer: “…and [Meal] with fries and large [Drink].”

Me: “I’m sorry; I was helping another customer. Could you please start over?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “It’s not my problem if you don’t care about your customers. I’m not repeating myself.”

Me: “Okay, I apologise for my lack of multitasking. Have a nice night.”

(I turn off the headphones and check the clock. My shift is now over, so I do a final clean up. While cleaning, I notice a car outside the window.)

Me: *opening the window* “Sorry, but we are now—”

Customer: “You lazy b****, take my order now!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you said you weren’t going to repeat yourself, so assumed you didn’t want to order now. As I said, we are now closed.” *closes the window while she screams at me*

(I go to collect my stuff from the break room, and come out while my manager speaks to the customer who is still at the window.)

Manager: “You don’t seem to be getting it. I can’t fire her.”

Customer: “WHY THE F*** NOT?!”

Manager: “Because she has literally just finished her last shift. She no longer works here.”

Customer: “Oh, well, can I order now?”

Manager: “No.” *closes the window*

(We both laughed while the customer continued to scream. I said goodbye to everyone and sprinted to my car in case the customer saw me. The morning after, I got a text message from the manager who also ended up opening. The customer came back and demanded I be fired. He again said that I wasn’t working there anymore, after which the customer demanded free food, because she was upset she didn’t get her way. Words were said, and he doesn’t think she’ll be coming back anytime soon.)

Returner Burner: On Location

, , , , , | Right | December 29, 2017

(I start off my shift at my main store, where I am called over when an angry customer requests the manager on duty. I look over the receipt.)

Me: “The cashier is correct. You’re well outside the 90-day return policy, and formal wear has to be unworn to be returned. You can see that here.”

Customer: “Bulls***! I paid $250 for this; you have to take it back! Do you know who I am? I’m Mrs. [Customer]!”

Me: “I’m afraid the final answer is no.”

Customer: “We’ll see!”

(Almost immediately afterwards, I have to run to a meeting held at our next closest location, which is about an hour drive away. I get there, and I am talking to another manager when I see a familiar, angry face at the returns desk. I can’t help myself, and walk up behind the counter.)

Me: “Hi there, Mrs. [Customer]! As I told you in [Home Store Location], we can’t return formal wear, and you’re outside the return date.”

Customer: “I, uh… I mean… Give me that receipt!”

(At this point I take a wild guess, as there is another store location only a twenty-minute drive away.)

Me: “I’ll give it to you, if you promise I won’t see you at [Third Store Location] trying to return this again.”

(The customer’s eyes go wide and she stares at me for a few seconds, in shock.)

Customer: “What? How did you know?!”

(She picked up her dress and ran out of the store, leaving the receipt behind.)