Sadly, this story is not a funny one, but one full of anger and sorrow. Today, we learned that a coworker, who had been sent away in an ambulance two days ago with breathing trouble, passed away en route to the hospital.

When our bosses learned about it, they told the workers. Most of us didn’t know her that well, but we all knew how nice she was to everyone. One of my other coworkers had known her for years, so she was taking it harder than most. Then, in came our inhuman coworker.

Jerk Coworker: “Morning!”

Friend Coworker: “Oh… Yeah… Um… Morning.”

Jerk Coworker: “What’s wrong?”

Friend Coworker: “We lost one of our cashiers. She passed away. At only forty-six..”

Jerk Coworker: “Oh? Who?”

Friend Coworker: “[Coworker]. She collapsed at work and… and she didn’t make it.”

Jerk Coworker: “Oh… Well, I didn’t really like her.”

Someone then told him to get the f*** out as [Friend Coworker] started crying. He still doesn’t think he said anything wrong and that she is being “over-dramatic”.

My friend and I meet every Thursday for lunch at a local brewpub. My friend has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair.

We’re seated by the hostess, who asks for our drink orders. We each ask for a pint. The hostess looks at me expectantly.

Hostess: “Is that okay?”

Me: “Is what okay?”

Hostess: *Motioning to my friend* “Is he allowed to have beer?”

Me: “I don’t know. Let me check.”

I take out my cell phone and dial a number. My friend’s phone rings, and he answers.

Me: “Hey, [Friend], this is [My Name]. We’re at [Restaurant], and they want to know if it’s okay for you to have a beer.”

Friend: “I guess so. Just this once, though.”

Me: *To the hostess* “He says that it’s okay.”

The hostess just glared at us before leaving, and a few minutes later, a waiter brought us our pints and took our order.

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I pretty frequently get UTIs and related problems. Normally, a quick check-in with urgent care gets me antibiotics and on my way. On this particular trip, I am checking in as my original antibiotics did their job but caused a second problem as certain antibiotics can. For reference: I am a trans man on a very low dose of hormone therapy, but I do not pass in the slightest due to some factors outside of my control. 

Problems start right away: the doctor steps in, asks my name, and then looks up and does an obvious double-take. This happens a little less than half the time — I don’t expect urgent care docs to look over my whole chart in less than five minutes — so I shrug and relay my symptoms. 

Me: “I’ve had [common gynecological issue] before, and all my symptoms line up, so I think that’s what it is.”

Doctor: “We need to test for that.”

Me: “…I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Doctor: “Here’s the kit for the self-test. I’ll step out so you can take the swab.”

I have never before or since had a doctor tell me to take the sample for this particular test on my own, but I’m exhausted, uncomfortable, and ready to leave, so I shrug and do what I’m told. About fifteen minutes later, the test comes back negative. I’m confused but tentatively mention:

Me: “I’ve heard that being on testosterone could potentially cause early onset menopause and could mimic some of the symptoms I’m having, but I’m on such a low dose that doesn’t make any sense. My whole cycle is actually way more regular since I started taking testosterone.”

Doctor: *Practically rolling his eyes* “Hold on while I check a few things.”

Less than five minutes later, he returns with a prescription. 

Doctor: “I did some reading on that condition you mentioned, and you’re probably right. I’ve gotten you the same prescription we give to menopausal women. You can pick it up downstairs.”

I’m a little upset at potentially having a permanent issue and wary that he “did some reading” in such a short amount of time, but I follow through and start using the prescription I was given. Less than a week later, my symptoms have increased so much that I can barely function without being in intense pain. Back to urgent care! 

After the typical tests (done by a different doctor this time), I’m sat down for my diagnosis. 

Doctor #2: “So, it’s [common gynecological problem] like you thought. It’s in such an advanced stage that we kind of only have one option for your antibiotics. It’s strong, so there’s a chance it can also cause [several other, much worse gut problems]. I don’t know why your last test didn’t catch this. Your sample might have gotten contaminated somehow, but most of the doctors here are more careful with such a routine test.”

Me: “…Thank you. I’m glad we got to the bottom of it at least.”

I was finally able to get sorted out, but the antibiotics did in fact cause several much bigger problems, which included needing to get an MRI and spending almost six months waiting for a routine procedure while my health steadily declined. That’s a whole different story. Thanks, first doctor, for being super weird and having me go through all that!

I was at a state park over the Fourth Of July weekend. There were a lot of Spanish-speaking families there.

While I was walking around, I heard this older white lady talking to her companion.

Lady: “I don’t know how to say this without sounding racist…”

I decided to listen in because… I mean, I’m nosy. I won’t make an excuse for that. 

Lady: “…but it’s so nice to hear other languages at the parks. When I was a kid in the sixties, you never heard anything else.” 

…Huh. 

I hope she had a good time.

The way my mum and dad got together was like something out of a cheesy romance movie. Mum was eighteen and Dad was nineteen when they met at a house for a party. At the time, my mum had a boyfriend, but after talking to her, my dad could not get her out of his head. He then spent a month searching for her, only knowing her first name. He found her boyfriend, who was now her ex, but he told my dad that he had no idea who he was talking about.

At the beginning of the next month, my dad was out on a date at a pizza parlor… where he saw my mum on a date, as well. They all decided to sit together. Halfway through, my mum’s date ditched her, so my dad decided to take both girls home. He dropped off his date first so he could talk to my mum for a little longer.

They came to a stoplight, and the radio was playing a song called “Little Arrows”, which is about Cupid shooting arrows at random people so they’ll fall in love. My dad leaned over the steering wheel and looked up at the sky.

Mum: “Um… what are you doing?”

Dad: “Lookin’ for arrows.”

Mum tells me that she knew right then that this was the man she would marry. Two weeks later, Dad proposed. They were together for almost thirty years before Dad passed away.