I donate blood every few months; I know there’s a need for it, and my blood type is the universal donor.

Once, during a donation, a woman comes in and asks questions about everything. I figure it must be her first time. There’s nothing wrong with that; she just seems a little nervous. The phlebotomist hooks up her IV, and her bed is next to mine.

Woman: “So, who are you donating for?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Woman: “My husband is having an operation, so I’m giving blood in case he needs it.”

Me: “Oh, I see. No, I’m not donating for anyone in particular.”

Woman: “You’re not?”

Me: “Nope. Just… whoever needs it, I guess.”

The woman looks around the room, shocked. The other donors are now listening to the conversation.

Woman: “So, all of you are just donating, what, out of the goodness of your hearts?”

She started laughing and then quickly stopped. She didn’t intend for the comment to sound mean; it just genuinely had never occurred to her that blood banks are full of blood from people who donate just to help others.

I’m feeling under the weather, and I go and see my doctor. My complaint is a simple one and all I need is a three-dose run of medication. I go in to the local major chain pharmacy and drop off my prescription. 

Later, I get a call telling me that they can’t run my script as it was rejected by the insurance company. 

Dang it.

I go in and find out that, while my condition is severe enough that I really need three doses to clear it up, the insurance company will only allow the more common two-dose run. Three, apparently, is right out and is an offense to the Insurance Deities. 

Me: “Okay, what if we don’t involve insurance? How much would this be if I just paid out of pocket?”

Pharmacy Tech: “You can’t do that. The insurance company rejected it.”

Me: “I understand that. What if we don’t submit it to insurance and I just pay cash?”

Pharmacy Tech: “You cannot do that. The insurance company denied it.”

Me: “If I didn’t have insurance, what would you have done?”

Pharmacy Tech: “We’d have just charged you the cost of the medication.”

Me: “Okay, how abo—”

Pharmacy Tech: *Cutting me off* “We cannot do that. The insurance company denied it. You cannot get your medication.”

Me: “F*** the insurance company! I want to run this as an out-of-pocket! How. Much. Is. It?”

Pharmacy Tech: “Sir! I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

At this point, I had to reach down deep and find my inner Entitled Jerk. I demanded the manager. 

Basically, what happened next was pretty much the conversation above but with a manager backing the pharmacy tech up. Eventually, I asked for the script back and was told that since it was denied and had been stamped as denied, they could not give it to me.

I started to get really annoyed and was about to really flip out, but then the police officer they called while we were going around tapped me on the shoulder and explained that I was being trespassed off of the grounds. 

The officer was polite about it, listened to my side of the story, and agreed that it was unfair and that I should have been able to get my meds or at least get my script back.

Eventually, I called my doctor back, they issued another script, and I went to a locally-owned pharmacy. I told them that insurance was not going to cover it and that I wanted to just pay for the medication if it wasn’t too expensive. They told me, it was reasonable (very reasonable), I paid, and I got my meds. 

The kicker? Without coupons or pharmacy discounts, the medication was only $8.34 a pill. I got banned from my pharmacy over a lousy nine bucks.

As a little kid, I was such a geek that I actually enjoyed math, and since my parents were often doing math with my older sister, I picked up some things by listening in on them. One of those things I learned ahead of my class was the impressive feat of adding a whole three numbers at once!

But when it came time for the class to learn the same thing, they didn’t add the numbers right — at least that’s what young me thought. Our teacher taught us to add all numbers in the ones column, then the tens, etc. By contrast, I’d always added the numbers by adding the first two and then writing the third number under the sum of the first two and adding those. The way I had learned seemed less error-prone. I mean, adding three whole numbers in your head at once — who could possibly manage such a feat?! So, I chose to ignore the way our teacher was teaching it and keep doing things the way my father had taught me.

Then, one day, the teacher had multiple problems written on the board and she called four or five students up to solve their problems at the same time in front of the class. I was on the far end, away from the teacher, but I was worried that she would catch me doing things the “wrong” way, so I did things my way, put the answer, and then hastily erased my work so she wouldn’t see how I did things.

She wasn’t having any of that. When she got to me she agreed that the answer was right but insisted that I needed to show my work. So now, I got extra attention as she made me redo my work in front of the class with her watching me as I did my math “wrong”.

I was honestly expecting a scolding for not doing things the way she had taught us. Instead, she acted surprised and asked me to explain my “complex” logic for how I was doing the work to the class. She told me that was a good way of doing things and actually said she was fine with kids doing math however they wanted if they got the right results.

Come our next math test, we were asked to add numbers the way she had taught us, but the very next question asked us to add the same numbers “[My Name]’s way.” She continued to encourage kids to learn both ways, and I was proud to have a whole way of doing math named after me!

It’s only later as an adult that I can fully appreciate how refreshing it was to have a teacher willing to encourage kids to solve problems their own way rather than insisting we all stick to the officially taught way of doing things. Thanks for being flexible, Ms. [Teacher].

I work as a guest service agent at the front desk of a hotel. A guest called down to the desk for assistance with the Wi-Fi, which is not uncommon; when you connect to our Wi-Fi, it asks for several pieces of information in a pop-up window, and guests are often confused about why you have to give a conference number. (Spoiler: you don’t, actually; just the other information it asks for will give you access.)

However, this guest’s issue was… not that.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Hotel] front desk. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Guest: “Hi. How do I connect to the Internet?”

Me: “You just need to connect to the [Network] Wi-Fi network, and when it opens the dialogue box—”

Guest: “Oh, no, I don’t need the Wi-Fi. I just need the Internet.”

I’m stunned into silence for a moment before I compose myself.

Me: “Ma’am, as far as I’m aware, there isn’t a way to connect to the Internet without connecting to the Wi-Fi.”

Guest: “Oh, I thought Wi-Fi was just for Bluetooth stuff.”

Didn’t know when I got into hotels that I’d also be minoring in tech support!

A customer orders during an unexpected blizzard. They are regulars that always try to underpay with change, so therefore never tip. They also don’t really have a driveway to speak of. I mean, if you want to count two slightly worn grass tire tracks as a ‘driveway’ then I guess they had one. They also lived up a steep hill.

Of course, this particular night, I get their order and go to take it out to them. I try to drive partially up the hill but it’s really slippery so that doesn’t work. I get their two pizzas and two-liter soda out of the car and start walking. I make it three steps past the front of my car when I lose my footing and fall. I manage somehow not to drop the pizza or soda, and try and stand up and hear howls of laughter!

The kids are laughing their heads off!

I can’t put any weight on my ankle, so I’m trying to get their attention, but they just keep laughing. Finally, a parent comes out, and asks:

Customer: “Do you plan on completing the delivery?”

Me: “I think I hurt my ankle.”

The parent starts laughing too! Eventually, they come down, don’t tip per usual, and leave me to drive a stick shift in a blizzard with what turned out to be a very badly sprained ankle. 

The joke ended up on them in the end, because we instituted a “must have accessible driveway” option and no more pizza for them.