Allergic To Listening

, , , | Healthy | December 13, 2017

(I have been getting flu like symptoms for a week or so every month for about a year and finally made myself an appointment to see the doctor. I had to switch primary care physicians for insurance reasons. This is my first appointment with a new doctor. When I go to see him, I also happen to have some mild allergy symptoms including a stuffy nose, which I am used to.)

Doctor: “So, what can we do for you today?”

Me: “Well, for the past year or so I have been getting flu like symptoms about a week out of each month.” *my voice is sort of muffled and you can tell I have a stuffy nose*

Doctor: “Seems like you have a cold there.”

Me: “No, it’s just allergies. I’m always like this this time of year.”

Doctor: “There’s really not much I can do for a cold. I can prescribe you some antihistamines.”

Me: “I’m fine, thanks. I already take them, and this is just normal allergies.”

Doctor: “You know, with your asthma, allergies can worsen your breathing.”

Me: “Yeah, I know, that’s why I am on three medications for it. Anyway, for like a week each month I get a mild fever and body aches, sometimes headaches. This has been going on for a year.”

Doctor: “I am going prescribe you a Z-Pak just in case, so your cold doesn’t get worse.”

(Writes out a prescription.)

Me: “No, that’s okay. Like I said, this is allergies, I am not here for that.”

Doctor: “Here you go.” *hands me prescription* “Come back in a week if you’re not better.” *leaves the room*

(Needless to say I left angry and never went back to that practice. Oh, and it turned out I had Lyme disease.)

Green Cards Put You In The Red

, , , , | Working | December 13, 2017

(I have gone to visit a friend in Canada. I live in New York but am originally from Germany. I received my green card when I was 11 and at the time I am 20. I hand the border agent my green card, driver’s license, and German passport.)

Agent: “This doesn’t look like you.” *referring to the picture of 11-year old me on my green card* “However these two do.” *referring to the pictures on my driver’s license and passport which are much more recent*

Me: “I’m sorry, I was 11. All the information matches across all three forms of identification, does it not?”

Agent: “Yes but this doesn’t look like you. Why do you not have a more recent picture on here?”

Me: “Because it hasn’t expired yet.”

Agent: “Well, you should update it anyway.”

Me: “It’s $450 to renew a green card; I’m not going to be doing it early if I don’t need to.”

Agent: “I just don’t know if this is really you or not.”

(After a bit more back and forth of him not understanding why I wasn’t willing to pay $450 to renew my green card when I didn’t have to yet, he looked in the trunk of my car and had me pull over and go inside for them to take my fingerprints.)

No Bald Announcements

, , , | Healthy | December 13, 2017

(I have noticed a small bald spot at the top of my hairline. Concerned, I make an appointment with a dermatologist to get it looked at.)

Nurse: “Okay, what seems to be the problem?”

Me: “I noticed I have a small bald spot on my head and am concerned about it.”

Nurse: *looks at the spot* “Oh, that doesn’t look to bad. Don’t worry about it, hon. I’ll have the doctor come in and help you.”

Me: “Okay, thank you.”

(I then wait about half an hour on the exam table until the doctor finally comes in to the room. He sits down in a chair without acknowledging me and reads my chart. He then stands up and leaves the room. About five minutes later he comes back in and walks towards me without speaking. I see a large syringe in his hand. He reaches up to my head with the syringe and is about to inject me when I back away from him.)

Me: “Okay, wait. What are you doing? What’s the syringe for?”

Doctor: “I need to give you an injection.”

Me: “Why, what’s the problem?”

Doctor: “You have a spot of alopecia. This will help it.”

Me: “What is in the syringe?”

Doctor: “Steroids. It’s fine.”

(The doctor then proceeded to grab my head and injected the area with the huge syringe. He disposed of it, took off his gloves, and left the room giving me no information about the condition, what caused it, or if it would go away. I left there pretty angry and worried. Thank god for the Internet because I was able to do enough research on it to not freak out. It cleared up and hasn’t been a problem since but, Jesus Christ, talk to your patients before stabbing them in the head with a needle.)

Impatience Is A Dish Best Served Raw

, , , , , , | Right | December 12, 2017

Many long years ago, I worked as a server in a nightclub. As was often the case, I was asked to work a reserved party. One customer ordered food and a drink – not too complicated, right?

Well, not two minutes after I submitted her food order to the kitchen and gave the customer her drink, she demanded, “Where my food?!” I assured her that her food was on the way, and left to take orders from the rest of the customers.

Every time I passed her, it was “Where my food?!” and patient explanations from me that the chef needed time to actually make it.

After the third or the fourth time, I’d had enough. I leaned in and said clearly, “If you want your food raw, I can bring it out now.”

The customer backed off, and I had no more problems from her until I delivered her order.

Giving Handicapped People A Bad Name

, , , , , , | Right | December 11, 2017

(I’m the fitting room attendant today. From my post, I can see a man shopping with his toddler. He keeps holding up outfits and making comments according to her reaction.)

Dad: “How about this?” *toddler shakes her head* “I know, stripes and spots; what was I thinking? How about this?”

(They joke around for a few more minutes before coming up to me.)

Dad: “Do you have a family fitting room?”

Me: “Of course. How many?”

(I set them up in the room and return to my post. A few minutes later, a woman on a handicapped scooter drives right past me and towards the family fitting room.)

Me: “Ma’am, excuse me.”

Lady: “Two, don’t bother with a card.”

Me: “Ma’am, that handicapped stall is occupied.”

Lady: *ignores me and beats on automatic door button, which won’t work when the door is locked* “What’s wrong with this piece of crap?”

Me: “Ma’am, the room is occupied. You’ll have to use the handicapped stall in the women’s fitting rooms.”

Lady: *shakes doorknob* “I need to use this one; it’s bigger. Open it!”

Me: “Ma’am, that is the only family stall we have, so families take priority. You’ll have to use the other stall.”

Lady: “I’m f****** handicapped; I take priority! Get them out!” *keeps shaking doorknob and hitting door*

Dad: *pops head out door* “Is there a problem?”

Me: “I’m sorry—”

Lady: “Get out of my stall! You can’t use that; you’re not handicapped! It’s for handicapped people only! This is discrimination.”

Me: “Ma’am, this is our family stall; he needs it because he has a daughter trying on clothing, and they can’t use the other fitting rooms. There is another handicapped stall in the women’s fitting room.” *gives man apologetic look*

Lady: “No, I get to use this stall! Get out!” *tries to push in*

Dad: “I need to put my daughter’s shoes on.” *closes door*

Lady: *pounding on door* “Get out of there, you b******! Why isn’t your wife taking your daughter shopping, huh? I bet you’re a f****** [homosexual slur]! Get out of my stall, you [slur]!”

Me: *frantically paging security with my silent alarm* “Ma’am, please. His child is very small; you must be upsetting her.”

(Security finally arrived to escort her away!)

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