(I work in a medical clinic.)

Me: “If you could fill out this CT form for me, please.”

Patient: “I’ve done this before.”

Me: “Lovely. You should know all the answers, then.”

(I am a receptionist at a radiology clinic.)

Me: “Okay. What is your date of birth?”

Patient: “I’ve been here before.”

(A stare-off ensued while I attempted to read their mind.)

(I work twelve-hour shifts in registration in a very busy emergency department. I’ve just walked into work and we are currently experiencing downtime with our system, so I have to manually enter patients in with the correct spelling and date of birth, or the system will reject them. A patient comes up to me to check in.)

Patient: “I need to be seen by the doctor.”

Me: “Okay, I just need your first and last name.”

Patient: *speaking extremely low* “Dara Smith.”

Me: “Okay, did you say Dara?”

Patient: “No, I said Da-ra-thy.”

Me: “So, is that Dorothy?”

Patient: “No, Dorothy has no syllables; my name has three.”

Me: “Okay, can you spell your first name for me?”

Patient: “I can’t believe you don’t know how to spell Do-ra-thy.”

Me: “Is it just the traditional spelling of Dorothy? D-O-R-O-T-H-Y?”

Patient: “Yes.” *shaking her head*

Me: “Okay, ma’am, the way you are saying it makes it sound like there is an A in there somewhere. But I have you checked in, so take a seat and they will call you up shortly.”

Coworker: “And we still have eleven hours to go with this s***.”

I was at the doctor’s office for my appointment, and I just got finished. When my Mom and I were up at the desk to schedule another appointment, the receptionist was on the phone. I don’t know how the conversation started, but the receptionist thought the person on the other end said “cellar.” After a few times, saying “cellar,” she realized that they said “SHOWER.”

So, she stated to the person, “Well, that probably explains why you were confused, when I said, ‘I hope you’re feeding her down there…'”

(I’ve struggled with disordered eating since I was fairly young; it flares up any time I get stressed and can last anywhere from just a few days to as long as a year. People who learn about my issues with food rarely take them seriously because I am overweight; I’m 5’5”, about 165 pounds, and a US size 12. At the time of this story I have been in college for about a year and am in the middle of a rough patch, and I decide to go to the university health center to seek help.)

Me: “I think I might have an eating disorder. Whenever I’m experiencing a lot of stress, I stop eating and spend all of my time in the gym.”

Doctor: *laughs* “I wish I had that problem! When I’m stressed, I head straight for the cookies! So, what brings you in here today?”

Me: “Uh… That’s why I’m here. I’m worried that I might have a problem because I starve myself.”

Doctor: *laughing again* “I hardly think you need to worry about that! A little less food and a little more exercise can only do you good!”

Me: “I… Are you sure? I mean, I’ve eaten two bagels in the last week.”

Doctor: “See, that’s your real problem! Carbs go straight to your gut, you know.”

Me: “I don’t think you understand; all I’ve eaten in the past seven days is two bagels. I tried to eat a sandwich yesterday, but I got so anxious I couldn’t swallow. I really think something is wrong.”

Doctor: “Well, if I were you, I’d try the Keto diet. It works great, and you’ll be in shape in no time!”

(I gave up then and asked her about some bruising on my limbs, for which she recommended iron supplements and weight loss. Fortunately, my roommate noticed my disordered eating a few days later and put me in touch with a local counseling clinic, where I got some actual help.)