(I am completing an externship for my chosen area of study. Some of the things I handle require a lot of documentation. In terms of this particular product there is a difference between state-funded product and private product; it is literally the same stuff, but the funding is separate, and therefore the stock is kept separate. I have prepared a product from the private stock for a person, and it turns out that it wasn’t needed. Due to the nature of the product, I can’t just put it back or use it on someone else. I must mark it as “wasted” and dispose of it. Later that afternoon, this discussion happens with the coworker in charge of keeping the stocks accounted for.)

Coworker: “There was wasted [state-funded product]?!”

Me: *anxieties kick in mildly* “Uh, yeah? I was told to prepare it, and then it turns out it wasn’t needed.”

Coworker: “Okay, we need to get some paperwork filled out. If we don’t track this stuff, then we could lose our funding for the [private stock]!”

(I start filling out the paperwork, and about halfway through the light-bulb clicks.)

Me: “Oh, wait. This was from private stock. Do I still need to fill this out?”

Coworker: “Private stock? Then why did you say it was [state-funded stock]?”

Me: “I panicked?”

Nearby Coworker: *ponders for a second* “Yep, that’s an acceptable answer.”

(I work in an emergency room. It’s late morning when a well-dressed woman of late middle-age registers. She states that she was just in a serious accident and must be seen immediately. Although we know that we hear about serious in-town accidents right away, sometimes a serious accident does occur in the country and the victims may be brought in by private vehicle. They usually have on outdoor-appropriate clothing rather than clean high heels, but we still hustle the patient back quickly. Once in a bed, she relates that the “serious accident” occurred hours ago, in town, at a speed she calls “much less than 20 miles per hour.” She has driven here in the car involved. She gets an exam and a neck x-ray. Then, she complains:)

Patient: “This is taking too long. I am diabetic and haven’t eaten breakfast. You have to feed me.”

(It’s about 11:30 am.)

Me: “What have you been doing since the accident?”

Patient: “I went to see a lawyer first, then came straight to the hospital.”

Me: *sighs* “We’ll get you some crackers and peanut butter.”

Patient: “No, I’m in the mood for an egg salad sandwich.”

Me: *finally had enough* “This is not a restaurant, and we don’t have egg salad sandwiches lying around to give out!”

(She got her crackers and peanut butter.)

(An old man walks up to the counter at about midnight with a big bag of chocolate.)

Customer: “Had to get these for the wife.”

Me: “Oh, how sweet of you!”

Customer: “Oh, well, she just craves chocolate every time we have sex. And we just ran out, so she made me come get more!”

Me: “Oh… Uh… Okay.”

(I finish the transaction in silence.)

Me: “Have a good night!”

Customer: “I already did!”

Me: “Clearly.”

My friend has talk-to-text and it is generally okay. Or at least, we’ve all become good at translating. One day we had a limping duck that had a swelling on her foot. Knowing it could be bumblefoot, which is possibly life-threatening even if treated aggressively and quickly, we took a picture of it and sent it to the vet with the following text…

Text: “Dr. [Vet], the following picture is our duck’s foot. We are concerned it might be bumble f***. Please advise treatment. We can get her to the office this afternoon, if needed.”

Some time ago this customer came into the campus bookstore where I work. He stared at me uncomfortably as I rang up his textbooks, but I thought nothing of it after. Then, he started showing up more and more to buy smaller things like pencils, etc., and he’d always go to my register despite there being empty lines at others.

One day he came in again and stared at me, as he always does. Twenty minutes after he left there was a phone call at the register. I answered and immediately recognized his voice. He asked me horrible sexual things. I hung up and told my manager. We figured he might call again and waited. I saw the same number come up and pointed it out to my manager. My manager answered the phone this time, threatening to call the police.

Campus police were called, and the responding officer had me fill out a report. By the end of it, the officer claimed there was no solution, because banning the guy from campus “wouldn’t be fair,” since he’s a paying student. I’m a student, too, and am forced to see this kid from time to time. My manager, however, made sure he’s at least not allowed in the store.