Going Toe-To-Toe With The GP

, , , | Healthy | November 30, 2017

(I have a horrible ingrown toenail. My GP determines that surgery is necessary. He is right, as after half of it is cut away, I still have a normal toenail remaining. The surgery is done under general anesthesia, a move I thought was overkill, but it is a success. Some years later I am seeing a podiatrist about the same problem with the other foot and the doctor concludes the same treatment. I tell him about the first surgery.)

Doctor: “They gave you general anesthesia? That’s ridiculous. Was it a GP?”

Me: “I thought it was extreme. Yes, he was my GP.”

Doctor: “Figures. GP’s don’t know how to anesthetize a toe. Okay, let’s get this taken care of today.”

(He sets me up for surgery, sticks a needle in the base of my toe and injects me. After a bit he uses something pointy to test my toe.)

Doctor: “There, you shouldn’t be feeling anything.”

Me: “I can feel that quite easily. Try again.” *I look away so he knows I’m no cheating by watching* “Yeah, I can still feel it.”

Doctor: “Hmm. Let’s get you some more anesthesia.”

(After a bit, it’s still not numb. I’m suddenly feeling a great lack of confidence after hearing his short diatribe about GPs.)

Doctor: “Well, on a few rare individuals, the main nerve for that part of the toe runs up the wrong side of the toe. Let me see if that’s it.”

(Lucky for him (and me) that turned out to be exactly the case. I still get a wry grin thinking about him complaining that another doctor couldn’t just numb my toe.)

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Khan’t Be Serious

, , , , , | Friendly | November 22, 2017

(I go to eat at a buffet-style Mongolian restaurant with “Genghis” in the name on my lunch break. During the meal, I can’t help but overhear a nearby table.)

Patron: “When in Genghis, do as the Genghans do.”

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Made You Go Red In The End

, , , | Right | November 13, 2017

(I am traveling for work in southeastern Oklahoma, and we stop at a gas station. While my coworker is filling the tank, I go inside to get some drinks. As I am paying, another customer comes into the store. He is wearing a golf shirt in a bright purplish pink, the color that’s often associated with azaleas.)

Clerk: “Oh, I like a man who’ll wear a pink shirt. You know that’s a confident man!”

(I think she sincerely means to compliment him, but the guy’s face just totally falls.)

Customer: “Oh. I thought it was red.”

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You Walked Right Into That One

, , , | Healthy | November 10, 2017

My boyfriend is away on a trip for several days. On the first day he scrapes his leg on something, but the cut isn’t deep and he doesn’t think anything about it. By the end of his trip, his leg is swollen, sore, and hot to the touch. When he gets home he can barely put weight on it, and once we get ice on it and the swelling goes down, we see that his calf muscle is knotted up, creating a huge ‘dent’ in his leg. Worried that it could be something like a blood clot, I insist on rushing him to the ER.

We get there, and my boyfriend insists on walking in, though I drop him off as close to the doors as I can, so he doesn’t have to limp too far. He almost doesn’t make it through signing all of the paperwork because standing hurts so much. We get to the back quickly, and a doctor sees us and states that they will do an ultrasound to rule out a clot. All good so far.

After the ultrasound tech leaves we wait. And wait. For about an hour.

Finally a nurse comes in and asks if we’re ready to leave. After some confused glances, we point out that we were never given a diagnosis. The nurse apologizes, saying she thought we’d already spoken to the doctor because our paperwork was up for discharge, but she’ll go get him right away.


The doctor comes in, tells us it isn’t a clot, and that it must be an infection. What kind of infection is not stated (they didn’t test to find out), and she bids us goodbye after stating that there will be a prescription for antibiotics for him at our pharmacy.

Then my boyfriend tries to get up… but can’t. After an hour and a half of having his leg elevated, bringing it below waist level is incredibly painful and he can’t manage it. Note: I am 5’3″ and 170 lbs; he is 6’4″ and 260 lbs. I cannot help him out alone.

I go out into the main hall and explain the situation to the doctor, and how we need some way to get my boyfriend up and out of the ER. He says, okay, we’ll get him some pain medication. Cool. Sounds like a plan. So we wait again.

For. Another. HOUR.

Finally I venture out again and flag down a nurse. Guess what: THEY FORGOT WE WERE STILL THERE. Like, just completely forgot a patient was still in a room.

The nurse has to go flag down the doctor again, and I go back to the room. Not too long after, a new nurse comes in and hands my boyfriend a piece of paper. It’s a scrip for pain medication, to be filled at our pharmacy. So… you know… not helpful in the least with our current predicament.

We explain to the nurse the problem, and she responds, in the most condescending voice possible, ‘Well, you walked INTO the ER, so clearly you CAN walk.’

Both my boyfriend and myself are just stunned by the audacity of the statement. When he came in at triage he gave his pain as an eight. We are now telling them it has gotten worse, and the response we’re getting is basically ‘walk it off, p****.’

Attempts to reason with her are fruitless — she just repeats the same thing to us and even implies that we are being ungrateful for the better prescription for pain medicine (‘Originally, we were only prescribing you ibuprofen, but we were nice enough to write you this prescription, too’). After arguing in circles with her for a few minutes, my boyfriend builds up enough rage-adrenaline to heave himself out of bed and just grit through the pain, though he turns bright red in doing it. The nurse seems to take this as a victory and flounces off — no offer for a wheelchair or crutches, even just to get to the car.

On the way to the car we agreed that unless one of us is actively dying, we’re going to the next town over for ER care from now on.

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Your Attempt At Free Food Is Toast

, , , , , | Right | November 10, 2017

(I work at a diner, which is part of a national chain. Our restaurant is located about a quarter-mile from one of the major cross-country interstates, so we get a lot of truckers and a lot of to-go orders. I am a hostess, but I am usually the one to take to-go orders, because they rarely tip and I’m not getting the reduced wage for tipped employees. This guy has called in for a sandwich and fries.)

Me: “Good evening. Welcome to [Diner]. Table for one?”

Customer: “No, I called in a to-go order for [Customer].”

Me: “Oh, yes, sir. I took the order and I just saw them put it in the window, so let me get that for you.”

(I go get his order from the pass-through window by the kitchen and put it in a bag with napkins and condiments.)

Me: “Okay, that’s a [Sandwich] with fries, and I’ve put ketchup, salt and pepper, and some napkins in the bag. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

(Up to now, this has been completely normal, but while I am saying this, he opens up the styrofoam box and starts poking at the food.)

Customer: “Go get me a manager.”

(I try to get him to tell me what was wrong, but all he says is to get a manager. Fortunately, the manager on duty notices that the transaction isn’t proceeding smoothly and comes over, so I don’t have to walk away from the register and leave him with the packaged but not paid-for food.)

Manager: “Sir, is there a problem?”

Customer: *poking at the sandwich* “This has been sitting under the lights forever. Look, the bread is all hard and crunchy!”

Manager: “Sir, [Sandwich] comes on toasted bread. It’s crunchy because that’s what happens to bread when you toast it.”

Me: “And it wasn’t sitting! They put it in the window while you were between the two doors in the entry!”

Manager: “If you wanted it on untoasted bread, we can remake it, but please remember to say that, next time.”

Customer: “And these fries are too hot! I could have hurt myself.”

(Yes, he has totally ignored what we said about the bread.)

Manager: “Well, I suppose that’s a problem that will correct itself while we’re remaking the sandwich, won’t it?”

Customer: “I eat at [Diner] restaurants all across the country, and it’s always terrible!”

Manager: “Then why do you keep coming back?”

(Sorry, buddy, your transparent attempt to bully us into free food won’t be working tonight!)

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