I’m in college on summer break. I’ve been experiencing occasional stomach pain and cramps for no known reason. I also have thyroid disease, and my doctor has recently changed my meds.

This all comes to a head one Sunday at church with my mom. I’m already not feeling great because of my new thyroid meds, and during the sermon, my stomach starts cramping again. My mom helps me out to the lobby and asks if I can walk to the car. I can’t, so she sits me on a bench and goes to pull the car around.

An acquaintance has followed us out.

Acquaintance: “Are you okay?”

I open my mouth to respond, but another cramp hits me, so all that comes out is a groan.

Acquaintance: “Guess that’s a no. Did you eat something bad?”

Me: “No idea. I already wasn’t feeling well because of my new thyroid medicine, and now this.”

Acquaintance: “You know, being on those pills shows a lack of faith.”

Me: “Excuse me?!”

Acquaintance: “You should stop your medicine. Have faith that you’ll be healed.”

Me: “I’m not stopping my medicine.”

Acquaintance: “Then you don’t have faith.”

I open my mouth to respond, but I hear the senior pastor’s wife’s voice behind me.

Pastor’s Wife: “I’m on thyroid medicine, too. Does that mean I don’t have faith, [Acquaintance]?”

Acquaintance: “Um…”

Pastor’s Wife: “I’d go back to the service if I were you.”

The acquaintance bolts back into the sanctuary. The senior pastor’s wife sits next to me.

Me: “Th-thank you.”

Pastor’s Wife: “No problem. Adjusting to a new thyroid medicine dose is hard. Looks like your mom brought the car around. Let’s get you home to rest.”

She helped me out to the car, as I was now doubled over in pain. The pain went away, but it came back a few days later. I ended up in the Emergency Room, where it was discovered that I had gallstones. I had surgery soon after.

While I was in a recovery room, a balloon, flowers, and a small gift basket were delivered. The senders? My church’s senior pastor, his wife, and the other pastors on staff.

A couple of days after a software install, a client calls and complains that our product is completely broken. He threatens to cancel payments and drop the project. Fuming, he refuses anything but on-site support (not part of the contract) and claims that the instructions we left him are useless. He demands that we make the three-hour trip today. 

I am shown into the client’s office and sit down.

Me: “What is your password?”

Client: “I don’t know the password! That’s the whole problem!”

His assistant handed him the instructions and pointed to item number one: “On all new installs, the password is the user’s last name.” After he spelled his name aloud for me, I logged him in. He said thanks and I was shown out. 

I work in a clinic and we are slammed. It’s flu season, years before the global health crisis. Coughs, croups, asthma, and intestinal issues abound. Instead of a regular appointment schedule, each day, we have at least one provider scheduled to take care of nothing but urgent care — basically whoever walks in off the street needing immediate care.

The provider on schedule is a very sweet, capable lady. A woman walks in with a toddler and explains that she is his aunt and he needs to be seen. She has a note from the mother stating she can be present for his exam. [Provider] takes a look, finds some minor infant issues (along the lines of diaper rash, nothing serious), explains things to the aunt, and sends them on their way with a topical cream.

An hour later, [Rude Mom] calls in demanding to speak to [Provider]. Apparently, the cream [Provider] prescribed is not a satisfactory solution.

The front desk employee actually breaks protocol and goes back to speak to [Provider], who explains the situation briefly but cannot stop to talk to [Rude] Mom because she has at least five other genuinely sick patients in various rooms. [Front Desk Employee] relays the information and tells [Rude Mom] that for a more detailed consult she’s either going to have to wait until [Provider] has a minute to respond to messages or come back in with the kid and get a time slot.

[Rude Mom] goes off about how she can’t take off work. [Front Desk Employee] murmurs sympathies, stating that she has her own children and knows how hard it can be. [Rude Mom] does NOT care for that and snaps back.

Rude Mom: “I don’t give a f*** about your kids! I care about my kid, and I don’t want to hear your f****** problems!”

She continues in this vein, getting more and more irate until [Front Desk Employee] hangs up the phone.

Another hour passes, and suddenly, I get a frantic call to the front. [Rude Mom] has managed to escape her workplace and is in the waiting room making a scene. [Front Desk Employee] is hiding in the hallway to avoid escalating things, but I can tell she’s about to lose her temper. 

I go up there to try and calm things down.

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name]. I hear you’re having some problems. Would you like to come back and talk with me?”

Rude Mom: “H*** no. I don’t care if I’m making a scene; y’all deserve to sweat a little!”

Me: “Ooookay. Well, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? I’ll see if I can fix it for you.”

Rude Mom: “Just bring the phone b**** out here and I’ll fix it myself!”

She gestures toward the door and makes a fist.

Me: “I sent her on break, and I certainly won’t be bringing her back up here. I’d really like to help you if I can.”

Rude Mom: “Fine, then. I just want to let you know that all your staff are rude b****es, and you’re a rude b****, too.”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Rude Mom: “I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY SON! I AM A GOOD MOTHER, AND Y’ALL DON’T GIVE A S***, AND THAT’S MAKING ME PISSED!”

She rants like this for a few more minutes. As far as I can parse out, we were lying about the diaper rash, and she wants an explanation that fits her personal diagnosis of a real problem for her toddler. No, it isn’t diaper rash! She knows her own son! Stop lying about diaper rash! STOP LYING ABOUT DIAPER RASH AND TELL HER THE TRUTH!

Me: “Look, I can get you records of the visit, I can let you sit down with a nurse, or I can take you to a room and we can talk more. I don’t know how else to help you.”

Rude Mom: “WHAT DO I CARE? WHAT’S ONE MORE INCOMPETENT B****?”

Me: “Okay, listen. If you want to come back and talk to me when you’ve calmed down, great. But right now, you’re upsetting my other patients and you need to leave.”

At this point, she’s making threatening gestures, so I put my hand on the phone and start to dial the police.

Rude Mom: “Oh, I’m leaving. I’m f****** leaving, and I won’t be back!”

Everyone heaves a collective sigh of relief as the door closes behind her. I apologize to the other people in the waiting room, especially the children, who are looking a little shell-shocked. They all mutter that they understand and it’s okay, but I feel terrible.

After I calm the front desk staff down, I go back and find [Front Desk Employee] and tell her to take a few more minutes and get herself a cup of coffee.

I go back to my desk, but ten minutes later, my phone rings. It’s [Rude Mom].

Rude Mom: “I just want you to know that I could sue you. Those receptionists were not telling you how things really went down, and they made it look like I am a bad mother. Just thought you should know.”

She hung up. I popped two Tylenol and laid down on a couch for a while.

Afterward, I contacted the owner and got the woman banned from the clinic, but it still bothered me. I was so afraid she was going to throw a punch at me or something, over a diaper rash and a little cream.

I am out having dinner with family.

Uncle: “Take my water back; it doesn’t have enough ice in it.”

The waiter brings him a new water.

Uncle: “No! This has too much ice in it.”

The waiter brings him two cups: one with ice and one with water.

Uncle: “No! This isn’t what I wanted!”

Father: “[Uncle]! No one knows what you want!”

He screwed his face up and sat silent and grumpy for the rest of the meal. I don’t want to go out to eat with him again.

While this didn’t happen to me, it did happen to my best friend who is like a sister to me. She’s been in Los Angeles working as an usher at a fairly prominent theatre in Hollywood for a good few years. She’s seen quite a variety of patrons come through her doors.

During a long run of an epic modern musical about a certain Founding Father, she has to handle a loud and rather disorderly patron. 

Finally, the patron cries out:

Patron: “I spent $400 to be here! How much did you pay, hmmm?”

My friend replies in a calm gentle tone but still can’t keep the slight smugness from her voice.

Friend: “Sir. I am paid to be here!”