CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(For a month or so, I’ve had a very small lump right at the base of my hairline on my neck. I don’t worry too much about it, as it doesn’t seem to be growing and isn’t painful at all, until one day it very suddenly floods with blood, like a blood blister. I have a very strong family history of melanoma, so anything on my skin that changes color rapidly is cause for alarm, so the next morning I go to the emergency clinic for an opinion as they are the ones that will see me the soonest.)

Doctor #1: “Okay, let’s have a look

Me: *tipping my head to show him the lump* “It was the same color as my skin before last night when it turned red like that.”

Doctor #1: “Hmm… Well, it sort of just looks like you may have broken a capillary, but because of that, it’s a bit hard to see what might be under it… Oh, and what’s all that?”

(He points to my shoulder, which is healing up after a nasty acne breakout)

Me: “Oh, I went and visited my home state a week ago; I always break out something awful while I’m there, and it’s just healing up. And besides, the lump was there before then.”

Doctor #1: “Hmm… Well, I think we should still get you on something for that. That lump could still be acne-related.”

(This seems reasonable enough, so he prescribes me an oral medication for acne and a cream for topical use. He tells me to use both for three days and then come back to check the progress. I do so, and when I return we have the following conversation)

Doctor #1: “Oh, your shoulder looks much better!”

Me: “Er… Yeah, well, it’s had a few more days to heal.”

Doctor #1: “So, we should definitely keep you on the acne medication.”

Me: *pause* “Sure.” *with no intention of actually keeping up the entirely pointless medication* “But that lump hasn’t reacted at all.”

(He checks to see that I’m correct)

Doctor #1: “Huh! Well, then, do you want it off?”

Me: “Well… I mean, I don’t know what it is.”

Doctor: “Oh, well, that’s called a nevi. It’s just a harmless skin growth for the most part, but given your family history of skin cancer, I very strongly suggest you get it removed.”

Me: “Well… All right…”

Doctor #1: “Great! I’ll be right back!”

(He does the procedure right then — which is not fun, by the way — burning off the “nevi” with an electrical current. I’m honestly a bit hesitant, but I don’t want to be that patient that insists I know more than a medical professional. After he’s done, he starts poking me in the shoulder.)

Doctor #1: “Oh, what’s this here? You should really get this looked at, too.”

(I think about the spot he’s poking. It’s what I know for a fact is a completely benign mole. It’s perfectly healthy and I’ve had it for ages, and I’m beginning to suspect that this doctor is just of the opinion that I shouldn’t have any sort of blemish anywhere on me.)

Me: “Er… Thanks, but I think we’ll leave that one alone.”

Doctor #1: “Are you sure? I really think you should have it looked at.”

Me: *now feeling even more uneasy about the whole thing* “I’ll keep that in mind, but I think we’re done for today.”

Doctor #1: “All right, suit yourself!”

(I go home and let the burn start to heal, but I also look up the word, “nevi.” It means, “mole.” I cannot express how much my complaint was NOT a mole. I kick myself for letting this guy burn whatever it was off, but it quickly becomes apparent that what he ACTUALLY did was burn off the layer of skin covering whatever was causing my complaint. There’s still a bump there, and now it’s much more obvious as it’s turned into a bright red nodule. I do the thing you’re not supposed to do and start Googling, as I figure I can’t cause more harm by looking things up. The theory I land on is that the bump is actually an inflamed lymph node — which I did not previously know could be that near the surface — reacting to some previously unnoticed infection. This is further backed up when, after about another week, I start noticing some more lumps further under the skin, as well as developing a headache localized to that side of my head. Finally, I make an actual appointment at my regular doctor’s office and explain the whole story to him. He actually stares at me for a moment after I tell the story.)

Doctor #2: “He… he tried to burn it off?”

Me: “Yes. So, you know, that particular lump is going to look especially bad, so you might want to look at the others for better reference.”

Doctor #2: “Yeah, I’d better.”

(He comes to the exact same conclusion I did, and further traces the issue to a tooth I was preparing to have a crown put on. I hadn’t connected the two because, while the tooth definitely needs work, it wasn’t really painful so I wouldn’t have thought it was infected)

Doctor #2: “Okay, so… we’re not going to be, you know, giving you any freaking creams for this because, you know, they’re your lymph nodes… I just… God!”

Me: “Yeah, I figured not. Antibiotics, then?”

Doctor #2: “Yes. And we’ll do some blood work too… I just…. He tried to burn off your lymph node!”

(I left feeling rather vindicated, and as of writing this up, my lymph nodes have finally started settling down, and my headache is gone. Would have been nice not to have a chunk of my neck burnt off first, though.)

(A customer orders a large coffee, and requests cream and sugar in it, as well as a few cream cups on the side. I go to clarify:)

Me: “So, you wanted cream and sugar inside the coffee, as well as a couple on the side, right?”

Customer: *uppity* “Yeah, I wanted three or four, as well, as the eight inside, as I ordered it.”

Me: “All right, just trying to clarify.”

(I hand her my screen to show her, which has the coffee and two cups on the side.)

Customer: *more demanding* “Um, I said three or four!”

(I return with two more cups.)

Customer: *huffs* “I’m just going to point out that you’d seem less hostile if you smiled more!”

(I did smile, and as she was leaving, I wondered how some people could be so rude over a couple of cups of cream.)

(Years ago, I played in church orchestra with a guy who occasionally packed a gun. His wife said he’d sometimes plop down on a metal folding chair with a clank from the gun. This guy was also pretty small — maybe 5’4″, 163 cm, tall. One day he is going into a convenience store and the clerk is locking the door as he goes in.)

Friend: “What’s going on?”

Clerk: “Dude back there has been shoplifting. I’ve already called the police.”

(My friend pays for his gas, and about that time the crook has found himself locked in. The shouting with the clerk quickly escalates into a knock-down, drag-out fight. My friend just stands next to the popcorn machine in the store and nibbles a little popcorn and watches the fight like it is a show. In the end, the clerk manages to wallop the guy over the head with a bottle and he goes down. The clerk came to my friend:)

Clerk: “Why didn’t you help me?”

Friend: “Why? You looked like you were doing pretty good.”

Clerk: “Yeah, but if I wasn’t, he was coming after you next.”

Friend: *pulling the pistol from his pocket* “No, he wasn’t.”

Clerk: *shocked* “You got a license for that thing?”

Friend: “Nope.”

Clerk: *unlocking the door* “Get out of here before the cops get here!”

(I love crazy people.)

(My family and I go out to do some holiday shopping at the mall. My husband decides we need to split up, so he goes one way, and our six-year-old son and I go another. As we’re walking, a young lady attempts to hand him a peppermint candy cane, which I gently decline.)

Me: “Sorry, we just found out he’s allergic to most red candies.”

Candy Cane Lady: “Oh, that’s okay. Let me—“

(Another woman has obviously overhead, and storms over.)

Other Customer: “That’s bulls***! You’re just saying that so you can have his candy!” *snatches a cane and attempts to shove it into my son’s hands, resulting in him hiding behind me*

Me: *pushing him further behind me* “Ma’am, get the f*** away from my kid.”

Other Customer: “You’re a horrible parent! Not letting your child have a candy cane! He’s not allergic! Nobody’s allergic to candy!”

Me: *backing up so my son is standing in the doorway of a store, with me between them* “Ma’am, if you don’t back the h*** off, I will defend my child.”

(Apparently, through this ordeal, the lady with the canes has been calling mall security, who finally show up and escort the aggressive lady away, still yelling about “fake allergies.” I explain to the officer what was happening, and, as per his script, he gives me a warning before walking away.)

Candy Cane Lady: “Some people, huh? Let me see if I’ve got some spearmint left for this brave little man.”

(He got two and gave one to his daddy!)

(I want to try on some pairs of pants, so I head to the changing rooms. I like to have a little fun with the employees, since I know the day can get dull.)

Me: “Hi. Do you have a changing room available?”

Clerk: “How many?”

Me: “Just me.”

(She has a deer-in-the-headlights look, as she has no clue what to say or do. I let her off the hook.)

Me: “I have three to try on.”

(I talked to her afterward. She was quite nice, but, as I suspected, a little frazzled from a long day and glad to have a cheerful shopper.)