(I work as a pharmacy technician. On the weekends, we don’t get drug shipments, which can lead to some… interesting situations.)

Customer: “I need to get this prescription filled. It’s for my wife; she’s at home waiting for it.”

Me: “Certainly, sir, just let me put it into our system.”

(I proceed to enter the patient’s information into our computer.)

Me: “All right, sir, it will be about fifteen minutes.”

Customer: “I’ll just wait right here. She needs it tonight.”

(As we are beginning to fill the prescription, we realize we have none of the medication he needs. The pharmacist calls him over.)

Pharmacist: “Sir, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any of this medicine here. We can order it today and it will be here Monday.”

Customer: “I don’t have time to wait; she needs it tonight!”

Pharmacist: “Well, I can call another pharmacy to see if they have any.”

Customer: “You do that!”

(The pharmacist calls the other store. They have two of the pills, which should be enough to get the man’s wife through the weekend.)

Pharmacist: “Sir, the pharmacy in [Town about thirty minutes away] has enough of this drug to get her through the weekend. Would you like to transfer this prescription there?”

Customer: “No, I don’t want to drive that far!”

Pharmacist: “Well, I can call the doctor to see about getting it changed to something we do have.”

Customer: “Fine, call them now! Hurry up. She needs this d*** medicine tonight!”

(The pharmacist calls the doctor. He refuses to change the medicine. The pharmacist explains that the customer is insisting that they need the medication tonight. The doctor informs us that she can wait to start the treatment on Monday without any problems.)

Pharmacist: “Okay, sir, I called the doctor and he wouldn’t change it, but he said it would be fine for your wife to wait until Monday to begin the treatment.”

Customer: “She needs the medicine tonight! I don’t understand why you won’t just give me the d*** pills!”

Pharmacist: “Sir, we don’t have a single one of those pills to give you.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous. They had them at the hospital. Why can’t one of you just go to the hospital and get some more of them?! She needs them!”

Pharmacist: “I’m sorry, it’s not legal for us to do that. Your doctor said your wife will be fine until Monday.”

Customer: “Why won’t you just fill my d*** prescription?”

Pharmacist: “Because, sir, we don’t have any of the pills.”

Customer: “This is bulls***. If anything happens to her, it’s your fault!”

(The customer left, angry. He was back on Monday to pick up his wife’s prescription. And guess what? She was fine.)

(I’m sixteen when I get all four of my wisdom teeth out at once. I’m understandably a little fuzzy and in pain after the procedure, but overall surprisingly lucid. I tend to be painfully polite, and since I can’t speak with the gauze in my mouth, I clumsily sign, “Thank you,” the only thing I know how to say in basic sign language, to the nurses helping me to the recovery area. A few weeks later, I’m discussing the aftermath of the procedure with my parents.)

Mom: “Do you realize how many times you said, ‘Thank you,’ to the nurses?”

Me: “I wanted to be polite! They did a good job!”

Mom: “You were thanking them every two seconds!”

(Good to know I’m polite even when I’m high on anesthesia.)

Late at night, my grandfather calls me to say my grandmother is having an “episode” and needs me. I hurry over, take one look at her, and call an ambulance; we escort her to the hospital.

My grandmother has become increasingly anxious about getting older and sicker and is visibly shaking and getting upset at the sudden onset of people around her taking blood, canulating, running ECGs, etc. The primary nurse has been professional, but far from warm or personable. My grandmother and I are nurses ourselves — well, Grandma was, years ago — so we totally understand that that happens sometimes.

My grandmother is given a cup of disgusting potassium liquid to drink, which she does quickly, but, in an effort to try and cheer herself up, she says, “Ugh! Wah wah wah! I want a lolly after that!”

The primary nurse disappears out of the room for a minute and returns… holding a rainbow lollipop, which she unwraps and presents to Grandma. She says, still in her serious voice, “That’s for being a brave girl,” and then heads out of the room again.

Grandma was so chuffed she talked about that little gesture for her remaining years.

(I’m on the phone with someone who is trying to schedule an appointment they describe as urgent.)

Me: “We’re booked solid until next Friday but I can squeeze you in. It’d just be a shorter appointment.”

Patient: “What? Why?” 

Me: “Because we’re full and that’s the only way I could possibly fit you in, I’m afraid.”

Patient: “That’s completely unacceptable! I don’t want to be squeezed in! I need a full appointment! Book me for your soonest appointment right now!”

Me: “Okay. Then the first day we can see you is [date two weeks from now]. Would noon work for you?”

Patient: *pause* “What does being squeezed in mean?”

(We’re in the waiting room during our adult son’s brain surgery. A family sits near us and I hear:)

Family: “He’s in Jesus’s hands now.”

(I lean over to my son’s girlfriend and say:)

Me: “They sent a carpenter in to do a surgeon’s job.”