Years ago, a friend of mine worked as a tech in the deep bowels of an office building. Think the corner of a sub-basement — not exactly a public position. Nonetheless, he was ordered to remove some posters that were deemed offensively political. What did the posters say?

“Reunite Gondwanaland!” and “Support the Pangaean Liberation Front.”

I have a relatively common issue with my blood pressure. There are a lot of routine things that make a person’s blood pressure spike, pain being a common one. The problem for me is that my blood pressure is especially reactive and doesn’t come back to equilibrium easily; it doesn’t take much to make it spike, and then when it tries to regulate itself, it overcompensates and nosedives, instead. This isn’t dangerous, for the most part, just irritating, because it means that I faint extremely easily from relatively little stimulus — for example, getting blood drawn. I’m used to skepticism about this, but this was by far the worst example of condescension I’ve come across in a while.

Also worth mentioning is that, because I faint so frequently, it holds no dread for me. It’s not fun, but it happens. I lay there for a bit, I get up, and I get on with my day. So, even knowing that I am facing a trigger doesn’t give me any anxiety. This is just what we’re doing today.

A visit to my general doctor ends with him wanting to check my thyroid levels (because I’m blessed with both this issue and an autoimmune disease that can only be monitored through a blood draw), so a somewhat impromptu visit to the lab ensues. When I get called back, I immediately inform the phlebotomist. It’s just polite.

Me: “Oh, just so you’re aware, I have a fainting reaction, so if I could lie down for this—”

She just rolls her eyes and points me to a different room than the original one she was leading me to, presumably because there wasn’t a table in the first one. It’s not a promising start, but oh, well. I stretch out on the table and she comes back with her supplies.

Phlebotomist: “Name?”

Me: “[My Name].”

Phlebotomist: “Date of birth?”

Me: “[Date], 1989.”

Phlebotomist: “Well, about time to grow out of this, then, isn’t it?”

I just stare at her for a second. I’ve never had someone be quite this aggressive about it.

Me: “I… can’t. It’s not a psych issue; it’s physiological. I literally can’t help it.”

She gives another eye roll and sits down next to me.

Me: “Seriously, if I faint, I will probably be less bothered about it than you will.”

Phlebotomist: “Sure. Did you drink any water today? Your veins are being difficult.”

Me: “No. It’s 9:00 am and I didn’t think I was doing bloodwork today.”

Phlebotomist: “Ugh. Well, you should have. It would make this easier for both of us.”

At this point, I’m almost hoping I will faint. My eyes don’t close and it freaks people out something awful. Ironically, when she finally gets to the stick, she does so well that I don’t feel it, which means no blood pressure reaction. As soon as she pulls the needle out and has a bandage on me, I pop up from the table.

Phlebotomist: “Oh… you’re okay?”

Me: “Yeah. It’s the pinch that does it. But you did a good job and I didn’t feel anything, so I’ll be fine.”

Phlebotomist: *Looking slightly baffled* “Oh…”

Me: “Yeah, whatever. Thanks.”

I get that it’s probably frustrating to deal with people who have phobias or are just extremely pain-averse — not that you shouldn’t treat those people with compassion, too, as being snippy with them is only going to make the anxiety worse — but I don’t think I could possibly have looked and sounded more nonchalant for the entire exchange. She still acted like I was throwing a toddler tantrum. I’m sorry my blood pressure is a drama queen, but skip the attitude, maybe?

I was second in line at a liquor store recently. The customer in front of me had his back to me and the clerk was bagging his booze.

Customer: *Mumbles something indistinct*

Clerk: “Do you want this in a bag or against the side of your head?”

This was not an idle threat, as the sales counter was elevated, the clerk was tall, and the jerky customer was a bit on the short side. His head was definitely a tempting target. The customer lowered his head, grabbed the bag, and left. The clerk’s smile returned to her face.

Me: “Here’s my credit card… with no crude comment attached.”

Clerk: *Laughing* “You’re fine, hun. It’s just him that does that.”

This happened in the mid-1990s when having a cellphone was pretty much unheard of. I own a car repair shop in a small town, and one day, a woman came in visibly distressed. As she was turning off the highway, she heard a pop sound and it sounded like her tire. It actually wasn’t; it was her tire axle, which is a completely different thing and a bit more costly.

After looking at the amount of work it would take, what it would cost, and whether we had the part in stock (surprisingly, we did) I went back out to talk to her sitting in the waiting room. Or at least, that was where I had left her. Instead, I saw her standing behind the desk answering the phone and writing notes for the mechanics, and my front person was nowhere to be found.

When she hung up the phone, making another note, she caught my eye. When I started to ask her what was going on, the phone rang again, and she sighed and picked it up again. She gave our answering spiel and then also started asking what vehicle the customer was talking about. When that call was done, I quickly asked her what was going on.

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

Customer: “About forty-five minutes ago, your front office person told me he needed a smoke and walked out. Then, the phone started ringing, so I just answered it; I’m a receptionist and I know how important it is for the customer to be heard! Don’t worry; I’ve been telling everyone that I’m brand-new but I’d get all their questions to the proper people. That’s what this notepad is filled with!”

My front office person strolled back inside as I was letting the woman who had graciously helped out know what was going on with her car. The front office guy had the gall to tell me that he thought he might need to go home early. I let him know that he could go home early as in right now, and then I let him know what I thought of him leaving a customer alone at the front desk for over forty-five minutes.

Employee: “This place will go to pieces without me!”

Then, he took his stuff and stormed out. I turned to the woman who had helped me already so much.

Me: “I’ll give you a free replacement on your axle if you can help me out with the phone for the rest of the day.”

Customer: *Laughing* “Only if you buy me lunch; I’m starving!”

After getting her lunch and getting her car roadworthy, I walked back to our front office to find that in between calls, she had wiped down everything, made piles/folders for pressing issues, reorganized the call system to make more sense, and even managed to hang up a notification system for all of the mechanics.

Me: *Jokingly* “Are you looking for a job? Because you can have one with me any time.”

Customer: *Laughing* “I’ll think about it!”

And now, nearly thirty years later, she still laughs when people ask how we met and tells them, “I came in for a car repair and found a job and husband.”

This story is part of our Halfway-Through-2022 roundup!

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I have been a librarian for over thirty years. We are a relatively big library in our town, and one of the more conveniently located libraries — right across from a middle school, by a major store, and near a dog park. But when the health crisis hit, we went from being in person to being only pick up in the car. Our state considered us essential. People for the most part were understanding about it, though we did have some interesting people. The absolute best patron, though, was one who remembered our names.

She would drive up, and when we came out, she would always have a smile and try and make conversation. This girl would constantly check out ten to twenty books every week and return them promptly every Monday. The odd thing was that the books were all over the place; some days it would be mysteries and sometimes it would be classics or nonfiction.

When we finally opened back up, she was there that Monday afternoon with a big plate of cookies and donuts from the local bakery with a card letting us know how much she appreciated us, especially since she knew that we had a lot of work to get out all her books. I finally asked her if she was reading all those books, because honestly, we were always curious.

Customer: *Laughing* “I read some of them, but I didn’t want the library to go under during this, so I figured if I could get as many books as I could checked out, they would see that this was a necessary thing.”

I admit my eyes were a little teary. And now, nearly six months after we have fully opened, she still checks out that many every week.