CONTENT WARNING: Needles (Blood tests)

As a teen, I took part in a medical trial that involved regular blood tests, which were completed without incident until the very last one. On that occasion, the nurse couldn’t find a vein for some reason and started treating my arm like a pincushion.

Just as I was about to object or suggest changing to the other arm, they stopped, frowned, and stared intently at their most recent perforation (needle still in my arm).

Nurse: “Hmmm, I think I’ve broken the needle off in your arm.”

Their response to this was to quite obviously panic and pull the needle back out without applying any pressure. It was thankfully unbroken, but blood started pouring freely down my arm.

I was given some paper towels to wipe it all off, but the trial took place in a dark room.

It wasn’t until a point when I was walking past two police officers that on my way home that I realised my hands were still covered in blood. Both hands were rammed into my pockets immediately as I quick-stepped to the nearest public toilet to wash off a bit more thoroughly whilst trying my best to look innocent.

CONTENT WARNING: Parent In Car Accident (Very minor injuries, but scary situation.)
A few years ago, when I was nineteen and my sister was sixteen, my mother was hit by another car while pulling into the trailer park my family lived in. She was turning left in a tiny car, and a guy in a pickup truck tried to pass her on the left.

It was maybe 7:00 or 8:00 am on a weekend, so everyone else was still asleep. The sound of the crash woke my sister and me up. [Sister] ran out to see what happened and I stayed in bed. Less than a minute later, [Sister] ran back inside, yelling.

Sister: *Panicking* “It was Mom! Mom got hit!”

I jumped up, and [Sister] ran to wake up our stepfather. The three of us ran outside, not stopping for shoes or anything. We ran to the car and got to [Mom]. She was shaken and had whiplash but was otherwise fine. Someone had already called an ambulance.

We were standing around the car when a neighbor I hadn’t met before came up to us from the crowd of bystanders. I thought she was going to offer help or something, nope.

Neighbor: *To me* “Can you run and get me a cigarette? I need one.”

I was crying and panicking, standing next to my injured mother’s totaled car, with my trapped mother inside and my panicking sister next to me. I was barefoot and had cuts on my feet from the rocks and glass, and I hadn’t grabbed my glasses before running outside, so I was half-blind. It was obvious who I was, considering I had called my mom “Mom” numerous times. 

So, this random woman, whom I had never met, looked at the scene in front of her, took in everything, and decided to walk over — not to help, but to ask for a cigarette from the crying girl on the verge of a full-on panic attack, instead of asking someone from the crowd, some of whom were actually smoking.

I have lots of stories from when I worked for an airline, but this one actually happened before then.

My daughter was fifteen in the late 1990s. She was very into playing soccer, and she was pretty good. So, one summer, she wanted to go to soccer camp in Florida, which was about 1,000 miles away. The price wasn’t bad for the week-long camp, and the airfare to get her there was pretty reasonable, so we paid for the camp and the airfare, and we arranged for the camp to pick her up and transport her from the Florida airport to the camp.

We took [Daughter] to the airport and checked her in at the desk. The agent saw that she was just fifteen and asked if we would like an airline worker to meet her in Philadelphia (where she had to change planes) and make sure she got to the correct gate. After asking [Daughter], we agreed this was a great idea. We took her to the gate (you could still do that back then), waved goodbye, and headed home.

Several hours later, we got a phone call from [Daughter].

Daughter: “I’m in Florida, but there was a mix-up in Philadelphia, so I got here two hours late and missed my transportation to [Camp].”

We panicked and called the camp and the airline — their fault this happened — and tried to figure out what else we could do.

Finally, [Daughter] called again.

Daughter: “I found a cab to take me to [Camp], and I have just enough money with me to pay for it, but I’ll need more money for the rest of the week.”

Us: “Okay. Take the cab, and we’ll send you some more money by [Shipping Company].”

She made it to the camp okay and had a good time.

Now for the fun airline part. As soon as [Daughter] called us from the airport, I got on the phone with the airline to complain. [Daughter] told us that no one met her in Philly, but she found her own way to the gate anyway. She heard her flight called and went to board, but the gate agent told her that it wasn’t her flight and her next flight was the next one. She took the agent’s word and went and sat back down to wait.

After a couple of hours, another flight was called. [Daughter] went to the gate and was allowed on. After boarding, it was announced that the plane was going to Puerto Rico — no mention of Florida. She asked a flight attendant, who confirmed that they weren’t going to Florida, so [Daughter] got back off the plane. She managed to get a new flight, but it was a couple of hours later, of course. That’s why she was so late to get her transport.

On the phone, I started loudly complaining about what had happened, and I asked the airline to refund everything. They absolutely refused, despite numerous phone calls and escalations. (These days, I probably would have sued, but I wasn’t the type to threaten that back then.)

In frustration, I finally asked for something that seemed very reasonable. On [Daughter]’s return trip, she was due to change planes at NYC’s LaGuardia airport. I asked if it was possible for her to get off and have her luggage taken off, as well, and we would pick her up there instead of her original destination. They said she could get off at LaGuardia, but her luggage would continue on. I spent more time trying to get them to change their mind, and I sent a lot of complaint letters, but nothing was ever done for us.

Fortunately, [Daughter]’s return went smoothly, and she had no trouble changing planes this time. When we met her flight, we were all relieved.

Lesson learned, though, about letting even fifteen-year-olds fly alone.

A couple of decades ago, I worked at an equipment rental place that also sold sand, gravel, and other bulk goods. I worked in the back sending out, receiving, and repairing rented machines.

We got a new hire who I knew from my kids’ school, and he didn’t give a s***. He would run away from customers or just turn his back to them and pretend he wasn’t there. He didn’t last long.

The funniest conversation I had with him was when he saw one of the women from the front desk hop into a Bobcat and load a customer’s truck with the gravel he’d bought. It blew the kid’s mind.

Kid: “Is she allowed to do that?”

Me: “Yup, she’s allowed to vote, too.”

Kid: “But… why?”

This story is from the late 1970s when I was about eighteen or nineteen years old. This was long before you could check on movie schedules and showtimes online. I called the movie theater one afternoon to check the start times for movies for that evening. Each time I called, I got a busy signal, which was a bit unusual, especially for mid-afternoon on a weekday. I’d wait a minute or two and try again. Still getting a busy signal, I tried waiting a few minutes between tries but still got a busy signal.

Finally, after a good twenty minutes and more than a dozen attempts, I tried yet again. I got a busy signal, but this time only for a second or two. Then, I heard a click, and I found myself connected to a call between what sounded like two teenage girls just chatting on the phone, one of whom was working at the theater. I sat there, at first surprised at this glitch that somehow tied me into an existing phone call, and then fuming that this girl had spent who knows how long holding up the phone line from customers like me by chatting with her friend.

I listened in for a few seconds and heard this mundane conversation.

Theater Teen: “Yeah, I’m on until the last movie starts tonight, and then I’ll be off, probably a little after ten.”

Other Teen: “Geez, that makes a for a long day. Does [Friend] still work with you there?”

Theater Teen: “No, she left here almost two weeks ago. She got a job at that dress store at the mall. She just started last week. She loves it because gets, like, a really big employee discount!”

Other Teen: “Man, I should try that. I spend so much on clothes; I could use a discount!”

Theater Teen: “Oh, you don’t need to tell me! I spend half my check on clothes and makeup and stuff! So, what else is new?”

Other Teen: “Oh, not much. I have stinkin’ ton of homework to get through tonight, though. Every teacher just piled on their own homework. Don’t they ever consider that other teachers give homework, too? My God!”

Theater Teen: “Yeah, I know, like they’re the only teacher who gives out homework.”

At that point, I’m aggravated that I couldn’t get through to the theater for the past tenty minutes because of THIS. So, I decide to have a little fun. I put on my best “manager voice”.

Me: “Young lady, are you on that phone again holding up the lines? You march yourself into my office right this instant!”

Theater Teen: “Oh, Mr. Jones, ah, I’m, ah, sorry! I’ll be right there.”

Other Teen: “Oh, my gawd, I hope you’re not in too much trouble! Oh, s***! Call me later!”

Theater Teen: “Oh, no, I… I don’t know. I thought he was busy checking the theaters out! Crap! I’d better go!”

They hung up, and I started laughing for a few minutes before I called back. A guy answered the phone this time, and I found out the times in just a minute. Nasty little trick, I know, but hey, I got her off the d*** phone!

Lesson learned, I hope!