(I am thirteen years old. I break my wrist and end up with a fibreglass cast. After about six weeks, when it is time to get it off, my dad takes me to a medical centre. The nurse who is allocated to the task of removing it is a little abrupt when describing the process, but in a way that makes me think she is just busy.)

Nurse: “So, we’ll be using this saw to cut along the length of the cast on your arm and then make a cut around the thumb. You’ll feel a small tickling sensation.”

Me: “Sounds good; ready when you are!”

(The nurse inserts what is essentially a wooden tongue depressor under the cast so that the drill hits that and not skin, and then cuts along the length of my arm. It feels fine; there’s no pain or tickling. The nurse changes to the thumb section, puts the wooden thing under the cast, and starts to saw. I start to realize that it’s hurting rather than kind of vibrating.)

Me: “Um, that’s actually kind of hurting; can we stop?”

Nurse: *stops, but scoffs* “We can’t stop! Do you want a cast on your arm forever?”

Me: “Um, no, it just really hurts.”

Dad: *getting concerned* “She’s normally pretty good with pain; can we try it a different way?”

Nurse: “There’s no other way to do it. We need to cut it loose around the thumb, and I’m nearly done, anyway!”

(FINALLY, after about a minute of me trying to hold still and not flinch, the cut around my thumb was finally done and the cast could be removed. As soon as it came off, the nurse went white, kind of muttered something about getting a doctor, and walked out of the room. I then looked down and realised my thumb was dripping with blood, because the saw wasn’t sitting on the wooden depressor but instead cutting into my hand the whole time. My hand was fine, and the cut was super-glued shut, which gave me a fun story to tell at school for a week! To all nurses out there: I understand how busy and overworked you are, and that sometimes people complain of pain when there’s really nothing there, but sometimes there is something wrong with your routine procedure!)

(I work at a fast food restaurant, which offers certain boxed meals intended for groups of people. The meals have sides included, but you can swap the sides for different sides or for drinks. A customer comes in one night reasonably late.)

Customer: “I want [boxed meal], but instead of fries, I want [drinks].”

Me: “No problem! Here are your drinks, and your meal will be ready shortly.”

(We make the meal for the customer, and she leaves happy. Ten minutes later, she’s back and upset.)

Customer: “I just ordered a meal from here, and I didn’t get any fries!”

Me: *a little confused* “Can I see your receipt?”

(She hands it over, and I’m right; it’s the same customer that wanted the swap.)

Me: “Okay, you ordered the [boxed meal], and you swapped the fries for drinks. I personally handed you the drinks, so I’m afraid I don’t see the issue.”

Customer: “I want fries!”

Me: *ringing up the two large fries that would normally be in the boxed meal* “Okay, that will be [total].”

Customer: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEAN! Most of the time, when I come here and substitute the fries for drinks, I still get the fries!”

Me: “I see. Well, while we might make the occasional mistake when it comes to substitutions, I’m afraid that swapping an item usually does mean swapping. You don’t get both.”

Customer: *storming away* “I wouldn’t have come here tonight if I had known you would be paying attention!”

(I’m sitting on the couch while my two-year-old son wanders around like always, playing with his toys and talking to himself in his limited vocabulary. My mother-in-law is sitting on the couch next to me, and she is known for dozing off at the drop of a hat, and she has done so in the ten seconds that it took my son to wander into the next room and back.)

Son: “Nan Nan?”

Me: “She’s sleeping.”

Son: “Nan Nan sleeping?”

Me: “That’s right.”

Son: *walks up to my mother-in-law, slaps her leg, and shouts* “Wake up, Nan Nan!”

Mother-In-Law: “Wah! What is it?”

Son: *holds finger up to mouth* “Shh! Nan Nan sleeping!”

(And he then wandered off back into the other room. He’s my favourite.)

(I’ve just started in an office where everyone puts in $2 a week to cover tea and coffee supplies, and whatever is left at the end of the year goes towards a Christmas party. Since I don’t drink tea or coffee, but occasionally a certain brand of hot chocolate, I buy the hot chocolate sachets and just use the milk and sugar while paying my $2 even though I sometimes don’t even use them. As the sachets are expensive, I keep them in my drawer in my desk. The lady who organizes the supplies doesn’t notice this until this happens. A coworker is pregnant and can’t handle tea or coffee.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], I have [Brand #1] honeycomb hot chocolate and little marshmallows. I even have [Brand #2] chocolate chip cookies. Want some?”

Pregnant Coworker: *eyes light up* “Oh, yes, please! [Brand #1] hot chocolate and [Brand #2] cookies are amazing, but so expensive. You sure?”

Me: “Not a problem. How many sugars?”

(After getting her order, I take just enough of my supplies with me to make two cups. The coworker who organizes the supplies see me.)

Coffee Coworker: “Ooh, hot chocolate.”

(She grabs a sachet, opens it, and dumps it into her cup. I’m shocked, as she clearly knows that I’ve bought these myself, and doesn’t even ask or say thank you.)

Me: “Just for next time, I buy these as I don’t like tea or coffee. They’re not for everyone.”

Coffee Coworker: “But all tea and coffee supplies are for everyone, as long as you pay your money.”

Me: “I get that, but a box of these is [price roughly the same for ten sachets as a jar of cheap instant coffee she buys]. I buy them for myself. I’m only making two now because [Pregnant Coworker] wants one. I can’t afford to supply the whole office.”

Coffee Coworker: “Fine. God, it won’t happen again.”

(She spots my cookies and grabs a huge handful, even though she doesn’t supply biscuits, leaving just two cookies, and goes back to her desk. I make another cup for myself, and from then on I only take exactly what I need to make a cup for myself. One day the coffee coworker comes and stands near my desk, talking to my pregnant coworker.)

Coffee Coworker: “God, it’s so cold. I’d really love a hot chocolate right about now.”

(Seeing as she doesn’t get any reaction from me, she says even louder:)

Coffee Coworker: “Mmm… A nice hot chocolate with some chocolate chip cookies would be really good right now.”

(I keep ignoring her, but my now heavily-pregnant coworker has had enough.)

Pregnant Coworker: “If you hadn’t been such a b**** and just taken it before, maybe you could have had one.”

(The coffee coworker went bright red and walked back to her desk in a huff.)

(My mum used to joke that I had everything in my handbag except the kitchen sink. One day she goes to a garage sale and picks up a plastic toy sink and gives it to me. About a week later I get stopped at a police check for random drug and alcohol testing, license checks and searches of cars. I pass the drug and alcohol testing and license checks then am I asked to get out of my car with my handbag.)

Officer: “Anything in your bag or car I should know about?”

Me: “No. But as this is going to take a while, can I please call my work to let them know I’ll be late?”

Officer: “Let me search your bag, then you can.”

(I hand him my bag which is quite big and is mostly full with the toy sink sitting near the top.)

Officer: *trying not to laugh* “Seriously? In all my years as a cop that’s the first time I’ve seen everything including the kitchen sink.”

(He hands me my bag, keys and license back.)

Officer: *still laughing* “Have a good day, miss.”

(I get a few dirty looks from other people in the line as I drive away but am pleased to be able to make it to work on time.)

Related:
I Have A Sinking Feeling About This, Part 2
I Have A Sinking Feeling About This