This story happens when DVD rental stores are still a thing. The store in question is a Mom-and-Pop rival to the big chains. I like it because their owners are nerds, like my husband and me, and they have a lot of TV series available that the chains don’t have.

I borrow part of season two of “Six Feet Under,” and then my problems start. Several weeks later:

Owner: “Hey, just so you know, you haven’t returned that Six Feet Under DVD yet.”

Me: “Really? I could have sworn that I did.”

Owner: “Well, it’s not showing up on the system, and I can’t find it on the shelves, either.”

Me: “Aw, man. I have no idea where it is.”

Owner: “Can you have a good look for it at home?”

Me: “Of course.”

I go home and ransack my house. No luck. The next time I visit the store:

Owner’s Wife: “You still have that Six Feet Under DVD, and it’s now really overdue.”

Me: “I’ve looked everywhere. Are you sure that it’s not on the shelf?”

Owner’s Wife: “I’m sure; I’ve checked a few times.”

Me: “Rats. Can I just pay for a new copy?”

Owner’s Wife: “That’s okay. Just keep looking.”

Time goes by, and we have our carpets replaced throughout the house. This means that we empty out every single room as much as we can, and all of our furniture gets moved around. I am certain that the errant DVD will be found, but nope.

Owner: “Uh, that Six Feet Under DVD…”

Me: “I know! I can’t find it, no matter what. Please, can’t I just pay for a new copy?”

Owner: “See, the thing is, they’re not sold by the DVD; they’re sold by the season. You’d have to buy the entire season, and that wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Me: “I really don’t mind.”

Owner: “Nah, it’s cool. Just keep looking.”

Months went by and then years. The owner and his wife would periodically remind me about the missing DVD, I’d offer to pay for an entire season, they’d kindly turn me down, and then the cycle would repeat the next time I visited their store. Sadly, they eventually went out of business. That DVD never showed up. I’m guessing it’s in the Bermuda Triangle.

I’m pregnant with my second daughter. My general practitioner is very nice but has a little trouble with English. He sends me for an ultrasound and this conversation happens at our next visit.

General Practitioner: “I have results from your ultrasound here.”

Me: “How does it look?”

General Practitioner: “You are having a monster.”

Me: *Horrified* “WHAT?” 

General Practitioner: “Yes. Very big baby. Probably ten pounds.”

Me: “Oh… Thank goodness.”

I probably should have told him that “monster” is NOT the word to use when describing a baby-to-be.

My daughter’s friend invites her to join her and her family at their cabin for the weekend. [Daughter] is thrilled; we don’t have a cabin, and this one is REALLY nice.

She leaves mid-afternoon on Friday and gets back Sunday afternoon, whereupon we have this conversation.

Me: “How was your weekend?”

Daughter: “Fine. Uh, is there anything to eat?”

Me: “Sure, there are lots of leftovers in the fridge. But dinner’s going to be in just an hour—”

Daughter: “Oh, I’ll eat dinner; don’t worry. I have to have something now, though. I’m starving.”

She opens a container of leftovers and starts eating ravenously.

Me: “Wow, why are you so hungry?” *Laughs* “Didn’t they feed you?”

Daughter: “…”

Me: “They did feed you, right?”

Daughter: “Well, sort of. We got there around dinnertime on Friday, and there was a big bag of trail mix on the kitchen table. I was told to help myself, which sure, I did. I love trail mix. Seven o’clock came and went, though, and so did eight. I quietly asked my friend about dinner, thinking maybe I could help make it, or something. She pointed at the trail mix and said, ‘That’s dinner.’”

Me: “You’re kidding.”

Daughter: “It gets better. There was nothing for breakfast or lunch the next day, either. If I wasn’t worried about appearing rude, I would have taken off to the nearest town to get something else to eat. Plus, I didn’t have a car. We drove up in my friend’s car, so I would have had to borrow hers.”

Me: “All you got to eat all weekend was trail mix?”

Daughter: “Yup. And the weirdest thing is that my friend didn’t seem to think this was strange at all.”

To this day, I don’t get it. It wasn’t that the family lacked money, and if cooking was too much effort, my kid would have been happy with a bowl of cereal.

At eighteen, I was diagnosed with ADHD. Over the years, I’ve used different coping mechanisms to stay organized to varying degrees of effectiveness. I probably could have benefited from medications but felt like it wasn’t affecting my life too negatively.

Once the global health crisis hit, I was laid off.

When my industry reopens, the myriad of new regulations, sanitizing steps, changes to daily practice, and dealing with the public who may or may not have strong opinions on the rules all lead to my stress levels rising and my ADHD becoming more unmanageable. Brain fog and memory issues rise through the roof. Now, at thirty-six years old, I’ve decided to talk to a psychiatrist to look into medication options.

These are some highlights from my very frustrating two-hour appointment where I feel like I am defending the legitimacy of my diagnosis.

Doctor: “Your teachers never complained about you?”

Me: “No, but I still struggled in my classes.”

Doctor: “No one talked to your parents and your teachers never complained, so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Also:

Doctor: “You studied subjects that required a lot of academic focus in college. So it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Me: “I ended up dropping out because I couldn’t maintain my GPA. I only did well in the classes I liked and needed for my degree. I failed the mandatory Bible classes everyone had to take.”

Bible college was a bad choice.

Also:

Doctor: “Do you ever have issues with distractibility?”

Me: “Sometimes I forget I’m hungry and I go all day without eating. Suppertime rolls around and I can’t figure out why I’m starving, and then I realize I might not have eaten at all that day.”

Doctor: “GOOD FOR YOU!”

Also:

Me: “My work has been really affected. All the new rules and regulations because of the health crisis have caused me to forget a lot of important things and it’s causing my performance to suffer.”

Doctor: “The crisis has changed everyone’s jobs. Your job isn’t that hard, anyway, not like a secretary. You don’t even need to concentrate that hard, not like a secretary.”

Also:

Doctor: “So why did you look for a diagnosis? Who referred you?”

Me: “My dad and my little sister both have it. I’ve had many of the same issues as my sister. She was diagnosed with dyslexia in kindergarten and they found out about her ADHD during those tests. At the time, I was just the chatty, loud, fidgety kid. I flew under the radar until years later when I realized I probably had it, as well. That’s why I looked into it.”

Doctor: “So why did you go looking for a diagnosis?”

Me: “Because it ran in my family? As I said, I already have a dad and sister with it, and I wanted to know before I went to college so I could be prepared during exams if I needed academic accommodations.”

I was close to tears a couple of times, and after I hung up, I realized I had been on the phone with him for two hours. I was so frustrated and upset. I talked with some friends about what happened and they all told me I should make a complaint.

I contacted my hospital’s Patient Experience Liaison as soon as I felt mentally ready. After an investigation, they found that I got an accurate assessment but his tone and wording did need to be addressed.

The doctor approached me and said he was sorry that I’d had such a negative experience and would use my complaints to focus on self-improvements. The director of the unit said my experience would be used to help teach students the importance of proper communication.

It’s in my file that I will never be scheduled with that doctor again.

There might not have been drastic changes, but I’m happy it’s on his record, and I hope that if others have issues with him, they also file reports.

In our younger days, my husband and I sign up for a “boot camp” fitness class. This class is pretty intense and fairly expensive; if memory serves, it costs $300 per person for ten classes.

At the start of the first class, our instructor does a quick roll-call. She frowns and comments:

Instructor: “Hmm, [Classmate] isn’t here. That’s a shame; attending the first class is pretty crucial, because I go over some important techniques. Oh, well. I’ll call her later and see what happened.”

At the start of the second class, [Classmate] is once again a no-show. Someone asks [Instructor] if she’d gotten hold of her.

Instructor: “Oh, yeah. She told me that she got super busy and was unable to make that first class, but she swore she’d be here today. I reminded her that she’d spent $300 and asked if another class time would fit her schedule better, but she said no.”

Third class, still no [Classmate].  

Fourth class, ditto. And so it went. She never did show up, despite [Instructor] bending over backward to try to accommodate her. [Classmate] always had an excuse: “I got busy,” “I forgot,” “I got stuck in traffic,” etc.

[Instructor] even offered to refund some of her money, because she felt bad for taking it and not providing anything in return. [Classmate] indignantly refused this offer.

Classmate: *Defensively* “I’m going to come! I just keep having bad luck!”

As for my husband and me, we enjoyed the class so much, we signed up again for the next session. So did [Classmate]. And you can probably guess what happened.

I guess some folks just have money to burn!