Their Anger Needs No Refill

, , , | Right | January 1, 2020

(I am walking to the waiting room to pick up one of my patients when I overhear the following between another patient and the administrative assistant. Background info: patients are told multiple times, by multiple providers, that they must contact their doctor seven days in advance before they run out of medication to ask for a refill. This is to ensure that they do not run out of medication before the refill can be sent out and processed.)

Patient: “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS! I RAN OUT OF MY MEDICATION A WEEK AGO! You people are always messing up! I should get you fired!

Administrative Assistant: “Ma’am, I cannot help it that you ran out of medication before letting the doctor know that you needed a refill. It is your responsibility to let us know before you run out of medication. As you see on this sign–” *points to a sign taped to the glass at eye level that states the seven-day policy in simple words* “–we require seven days advance notice.”

Patient: “Well, that’s just stupid! No one reads these signs! I DON’T COME HERE TO READ!”

(I had to stop myself from chuckling and tried to remain professional as the patient stormed by me and into the elevator. She continued to yell about not coming to the center to read until the elevator doors closed and blocked out the noise.)

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Your Fine Is Finito

, , , | Right | January 1, 2020

(I work in an academic library and am on the lending desk when this patron comes up to get a book out. I open their record, which has a $100 fine from a lost book; textbooks are disgustingly expensive, friends. Books don’t become “lost” until a month past due date. Patrons are blocked from borrowing at $50.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t issue this to you. There’s a fine on your account.”

Patron: “What? There shouldn’t be!”

Me: “It’s a lost book fine; were you not notified?”

Patron: “I wrote an email about it!”

Me: “Sorry, whoever got that didn’t leave a note. Can you tell me what happened? Were you notified of the due date?”

Patron: “I was in Italy.”

Me: *waiting for the rest of the story*

Patron: *sigh* “I couldn’t return it, could I?”

Me: “Did you contact us near the time? We usually check if someone can drop it off for y—”

Patron: “NO, I had it with me.”

Me: “…or we try to renew it.”

Patron: “I didn’t bother.”

Me: “Okay. Well, anyway, if you return it now, we’ll waive the fee.”

Patron: “I don’t have it.”

Me: “That’s fine. I can put this aside and you can bring it in tomorrow, maybe?”

Patron: *even more irritated sigh* “It’s in Italy.”

Me: “It’s… sorry?”

Patron: “I left it in Italy.”

Me: “On purpose?”

Patron: “The email said it was lost, anyway!”

Me: “If you lost it, and you can’t return it, you won’t be able to use library services until you pay the fine.”

Patron: “Ugh, fine, but I shouldn’t have to!”

(Best part? The book was about personal responsibility.)

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Scratching Your Karma Itch Today

, , , , , | Right | December 30, 2019

I work at a grocery store. I was heading out to collect the carts from the parking lot when I saw a guy finish loading his groceries into a shiny, expensive car and shove the cart off in a random direction, instead of leaving it in the receptacle.

The moment he got into his car, the wind picked up and blew the cart into his bumper, leaving an impressive scratch across his nice paint job. There is some justice in the world.

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Duty Calling

, , , , , | Related | December 30, 2019

(I regularly follow yarn-related workshops, mostly — well, always — attended by women only. Invariably, just before lunchtime, some phones are ringing and I witness the following conversations or variations thereof.)

Conversation #1: “No, I’m not home for lunch. I told you yesterday and this morning. You will need to take care of yourself.”

Conversation #2: “The bread is where it usually is. Yes, it is. I bought a new loaf yesterday. Well, you can put anything you like on it. The fridge is full.”

Conversation #3: “No, I won’t be home. That is why I left money next to the phone, so you can order pizza.”

Conversation #4: “Yes, you can eat the leftover soup. Use the microwave.”

(I wish I could say it was all teenagers calling, but the pizza money? That was actually the husband calling.)

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You Have To Spell It Out To Them

, , , , , | Healthy | December 29, 2019

(I have recently been diagnosed with epilepsy at age fifteen and am at my fourth or fifth neurology appointment. For some background, some types of epilepsy can be categorized as “reflex,” meaning there is usually a trigger — most people are familiar with flashing lights — but there are a huge variety of triggers, ranging from drinking alcohol to hearing a specific kind of music. I am describing to my neurologist some symptoms I’ve been experiencing.)

Me: “Sometimes while I’m reading, I’ll have spells where the words are very difficult or I can’t read them at all.”

Neurologist: *mostly disinterested* “Oh… Well, have you been diagnosed with learning issues?”

(I’ve told him all of this before.)

Me: “No. I’ve been reading since I was four and it’s actually one of my favorite things to do. I’ve never shown any signs of dyslexia or anything like it.”

Neurologist: “Do you notice any patterns to when this occurs?”

Me: “I’ve noticed it happening a lot when I’m reading in Spanish.”

(I’m in AP Spanish and have been studying the language for around six years; I’m definitely not fluent yet but am reasonably proficient. I have also told him this before.) 

Neurologist: *long silence* “You’re probably just bad at Spanish. Go ahead and schedule another appointment for a month out.” *leaves*

(I ended up not telling my parents about this part of the appointment for around six months because I was embarrassed and believed my neurologist that I was probably exaggerating. However, during this time, the symptoms worsened, so I told my parents who found another neurologist — incidentally, around thirty years younger. He immediately diagnosed me with reading epilepsy, which is fairly uncommon but absolutely not unheard of and has nothing to do with any prior learning disabilities. For me, it is triggered by unfamiliar words, which, obviously, come up more often in a second language. I’ve now, thankfully, been able to receive much better care.)

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