A patient has called for an ambulance because they feel nauseated.

Once in their hospital room, they order two medium pizzas from [Pizza Chain].

They then demand a free cab ride to get home.

I’m driving through a parking lot with speed bumps when some woman in a shiny, new car comes up behind me and starts riding my bumper. I’m getting frustrated because I’ve been hit in this parking lot before and I don’t want to get hit again, and this woman is so close and accelerating so fast that I’m sure she’s going to hit my car going over one of the speed bumps.

When I get a moment, I swing my car off the road into the lots and turn my car around. Just as I’m getting to face the roadway again, I get the glorious image and sound of her hitting the next speed bump so hard, she scrapes the bottom of her car. She clearly does not learn her lesson because she continues to speed through the parking lot. But I hope she takes her car to the shop for repairs eventually and they get to laugh at her for damaging her car. A bit mean-spirited of me, but I’m glad that when she did hit the speed bump too fast, it was just her car that got damaged and not mine.

My husband is a very gentle man. Because of this, I was more shocked than angry when I was slapped awake one night. I had been deeply asleep, thanks to a muscle relaxant, so it took me a moment to fully process what happened.

I was turning my head to ask why he’d slapped me; what happened? Then, I saw movement near my waist. A hand came up and slapped my face again.

It was my own d*** hand!

Apparently, trying to strengthen my arm after a rotator cuff injury caused my arm muscles to spasm strongly, bringing my hand up fast and hard.

At least my doctor got a laugh out of it.

Like many people, I do not look back on my high school years fondly, and have wanted nothing to do with that place since graduating. One day, I get a letter from them in the mail. I figure it’s a donation request, and I have no intention of ever donating to them, but I decide to read it anyway.

Sure enough, the letter is a proclamation that donations are needed now more than ever. This isn’t surprising, since I have heard that the school has been all but bankrupt for the past few years and is in danger of closing. What is surprising, though, is something that I realize after I’m done reading. The letter — which cites rising costs of educational materials as a major reason for their needing donations — is two pages long, and printed single-sided on two sheets of paper.

I chuckle at the irony, and then throw the letter in the trash.

This tale’s from a few years ago, and will need a little backstory. I have a multi-systemic collagen defect disorder called hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. To explain it in detail would take all night; suffice it to say that my joints dislocate very easily and, though I’ve learned to put them back by myself, there are some I just can’t fix unaided, the wrist of my dominant hand being one of these, for obvious reasons. Bear in mind, too, that dislocations — whether full or partial — hurt. A lot.

One evening, housesitting for a friend on the other side of my city, feeding her cats, I somehow managed to pop my right wrist half out of place. I knew it was out, and I was alone in the house, but — luckily, thought I — the nearest hospital was just over the road. I necked a dose of my usual liquid morphine, grabbed my walking stick left-handed, and headed over to Accident & Emergency.

It was quiet, so I was seen in about thirty minutes and sent for an x-ray, as per routine. When my x-ray was done, though, the doctor on duty left me to sit — on a hard, plastic chair in a cubicle, that was not helping my general chronic pain, while my morphine slowly wore off — for three hours.

After those long three hours, he finally bothered to come to me, and insisted, in the most supercilious, maddening way possible, that my wrist was fine, that the x-ray showed nothing, and that I should go home. I argued with him for a minute, but gave up. Words weren’t going to get through; that much was clear.

I sighed. Then, I asked him to humour me for a moment and get a firm grip of the hand on my injured arm. He did, not looking too pleased about it.

I yanked my arm back against his hold, hard. I could hear the crack as my wrist went back into its proper position, and so did he. The look on his face was an absolute picture.

I’ve never been back to that hospital since. And if I have my way about it, I never will!