When I was seventeen, my period suddenly completely stopped. I wasn’t sexually active, nor had I ever been, so the most obvious explanation went straight out the window. (I have since figured out that I am a sex-repulsed asexual, but that’s beside the point.)

My father and I called our family general practitioner’s office, and once we had convinced the assistant that no, there really was no way I was pregnant unless I was the second Virgin Mary, I got an appointment with the GP. I admit, I was rather nervous. It’s weird when a semi-regular, semi-reliable (I never had regular periods) bodily process just up and quits without warning.

The family GP was a calm, kind man who’d known my family for years, and he listened to me as I explained things before he started on a massive list of questions that, for some reason, only made me more and more nervous, which tends to make me snarky and flippant.

No, I really, REALLY wasn’t sexually active in any way. No, I had no other symptoms, no pain anywhere, or nausea, or weight gain, or weight loss, or whatever. No, I hadn’t suddenly started lactating. ([GP] was trying to figure out if maybe I was experiencing pseudocyesis, aka a false pregnancy). When he ran out of questions to ask regarding symptoms, he started asking questions about what my baseline used to be — what my periods used to be like when I still had them. Once we’d established that they were irregular, long, and heavy, he asked me the following.

GP: “And when you are having your period, do you have any other symptoms besides bleeding? Like abdominal pain or being more emotional?”

Me: *With a sarcastic grin* “Got half an hour? The whole shebang! Abdominal pain, back pain, headaches, nausea, sore breasts, ‘being more emotional’ to the point that I’m either crying all the time or really angry, mood swings, zits everywhere, fatigue… You name it, I’ve got it!”

I did say nerves make me snarky.

GP: *With a sympathetic smile* “Are you sure you want it back?”

That actually got a laugh out of me and brought the nervousness down a bit. After a moment, I came up with an answer.

Me: “Well, no, not really, but not having it can’t be good, either, right? So I would like to know what’s going on.”

GP: “That makes two of us. Now, have you been experiencing any of these symptoms lately? As if you’re on your period, but without the blood?”

And so on, and so forth, question after question, most answered with no. But the ice was broken and I was calmer about all of it.

[GP] ended up referring me for a battery of tests, and when none of those turned anything up, to a gynaecologist. After even more tests that made me realise how vulnerable a woman’s fertility really is, we finally landed, mostly through a process of elimination, on PCOS — which is decidedly NOT fun but has been manageable so far. My period returned after about two years, stuck around for a while after that, decided to take another hiatus of three years this time, and has recently decided to show up again — as I said, not fun, but manageable.

I still remember that joke [GP] made, though. It really took the sting out of a scary moment. Reading a lot of horror stories on this site made me realise I was very lucky to have a GP that actually listened to me. I was sorry to switch GPs when I moved to a different city.

I am going to start my maternity leave, and I have to do a handover to a colleague from another department who’ll cover my tasks for a few months. She’s very friendly, and she claims that technology hates her.

Me: “You need to send this file to our vendor every week. Always unhide the past weeks first and double-check that the formula includes everything until the last cell.”

Colleague: “How do I do that?”

Me: “Do what?”

Colleague: “What you said!”

I pause for a moment.

Me: “Have you used Excel before?”

Colleague: “Yes.”

Me: “Then just unhide the hidden columns and check the formula on the top cell.”

Colleague: “Unhide?”

Me: “Oh. Hmm… Okay. See how the letters on the very top jump from B to S?”

Colleague: “Uh-huh.”

Me: “That means columns C to R are hidden! Just click on the letters B and S, right-click on one of the highlighted cells, and click ‘unhide’. Now you do it.”

She clicks on B and S, and then she right-clicks WHILE the mouse is still moving.

Colleague: “Huh. Doesn’t work.”

Me: “Take your time. Do it again slowly.”

Colleague: “It’s not me! Technology just hates me!”

Me: “Don’t rush it, and technology will work with you!”

It took her four tries before she was able to unhide the columns, i.e., slowed down enough that she was able to stop her mouse before clicking the right mouse button. Thankfully, checking an existing formula is easier.

She also spent at least one minute just typing in one name due to multiple typos; her nails were so long that she kept accidentally pressing other keys.

I just finished the handover as scheduled and left.

When I plan an appointment, the system always sends an automatic email to the client with the date and time. This is something I cannot prevent. In some cases, I need to change the date for the appointment by hand. If this is a change I discuss with the client on the line, I always tell them, “Ignore the automatic email; it will give the old date. The new date is…” This almost always goes well. Sometimes people forget about what I said and a quick reminder is all that is needed. 

Not in this case. The woman I’m talking to has told me multiple times to not treat her like a fool; she is highly educated. 

Woman: “I received an email stating [old date], but you told me it was [new date].”

Me: “That is correct. That is—”

Woman: “Then why did you send an email with [old date]?”

Me: “Well, the new date is [new date]. I—”

Woman: “But the email says [old date]!”

Me: “Yes, but as I—”

Woman: “And I do not accept [old date]!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, it is [new date]. When we talked yesterday, I told you I would change the date manually and that you could ignore the date in the automatic email.”

Woman: “And then you send me an email with [old date]!”

Me: “That was the automatic email. You may ignore that date. I already changed it manually to [new date].”

Woman: “Then why did you send me an email with [old date]?”

Me: “Because that email was sent before I changed the date manually. I first need to make the appointment, which triggers the automatic email, and then I can change the date manually.”

Woman: “Then you should have put the right date in that email.”

Me: “I couldn’t, because the email was already sent then.”

Woman: “Well, then you should have changed it afterward!”

Me: “I can’t change the date in an email already sent, ma’am.”

Woman: “Why not?”

Me: “Because I would then need to go on your computer and edit the email from there.”

Woman: “So?”

Me: “That would be kind of illegal?”

Woman: “I don’t see why. You made a mistake; now fix it!”

I just send a manual email saying, “Your appointment was changed to [new date].” She still wanted me to edit an already-sent email.

Related:
Email Fail, Part 43
Email Fail, Part 42
Email Fail, Part 41
Email Fail, Part 40
Email Fail, Part 39

We have a “No Solicitation” sticker at our doorbell. However, we have noticed quite some people ignore it or try to be witty and say, “I didn’t ring the doorbell.” This guy took the cake, though. 

A guy knocks on the window and, considering his outfit, I have a gut feeling about what this is about. 

Man: “Hello, ma’am. I hope I didn’t startle you.”

Me: “Yes, you did.”

Man: “I am a gardener, and I saw your trees—”

Me: “I know, and we are not interested. We—”

Man: “I love trees, as well! And I would like to offer my services—”

Me: “And we are still not interested.”

Man: “Yes, but your trees—”

Me: “We are not interested. That’s why we have this sticker here.” *Points at the sticker* 

Man: *Glances at the sticker* “I would really—”

Me: “I would like to end the conversation now. We have a ‘No Solicitation’ sticker for a reason.”

Man: “But—”

Me: “I wish you a good day. Goodbye.”

I accidentally close the door louder than intended, and the guy leaves. But still, I considered myself polite enough for someone so disrespectful. 

Husband: “Did you really have to tell him three times before he left?”

Me: “I’m surprised he left at all!”

I then leave for groceries. When I come home, my husband jumps up to greet me. 

Husband: “You’ll never believe this!”

Me: “Believe what?”

Husband: “That gardener returned!”

Me: “What?!”

Husband: “He admitted that he saw you leave and wanted to know my opinion.” 

Me: “And?”

I’m slightly worried because my husband doesn’t know tact at all, even though that gardener does not deserve tact.

Husband: “I said that I would never disrespect my wife and that he had five seconds to buzz off. He tried to talk back, so I just started counting down. Did you know that your counting-down trick does not only work with cats?”

Me: “What would you have done if he had stayed?”

Husband: “Well, the ice machine was just done with a batch of ice cubes…”

It’s nice to know my husband has my back.

The company I work for deals with Housing. People move all the time, but once in a while, it’s because someone passes away. Because some people try to commit fraud (pretending someone died to dodge paying costs), we are required to get a copy of the death certificate.

I get a notification of someone’s passing, but instead of the certificate, we only get the invitation to the funeral. When we discover this, it’s the time of the funeral, so my coworker sends an email asking for the death certificate. We get no response, so a couple of days later, we call. No contact.

Our procedure tells us to cancel the cancelling of the contract, but we want to try one more time. I finally get a hold of the daughter; she rents with us, as well, and her birthdate says she’s middle-aged.

Daughter: “Oh, eh… the certificate… I didn’t send it? Oh, I have it here… Where is it… Here it is. But how do I get it on a computer?”

Me: “Do you have a smartphone? Yes? Do you know how to take a picture and email that? All right, then just email that picture to [address]. As long as we can read it, it’s fine.”

The daughter promises to send the email straight away! But it doesn’t come. Two days later is the first inspection, so I ask the inspector if she wants to ask for the death certificate. Perhaps the daughter wasn’t able to do it after all.

According to the inspector, this is how the inspection went, paraphrased.

Inspector: “Good morning.”

Daughter: Good morning. Can I help you?

Inspector: “I’m here to inspect the home of your mother. My condolences.”

Daughter: “But my mother doesn’t live here.”

Inspector: “Eh… According to my file, this is the house of [Mother], right? We received a request to cancel the rent because she passed away.”

Daughter: “Oh, she did, but she didn’t live here. She lived [a couple of houses away]. Oh, dear, I have an appointment with the inspector over there now!”

Inspector: “That would be me. Ma’am… which rent needs to be cancelled? Your house or her house?”

Daughter: “Her house, of course!”

Inspector: I see… Ma’am… I’m afraid you cancelled your house’s rent, not hers. But it’s okay; we can revert that! How about we go to your mother’s house together?”

Daughter: “Why?”

Inspector: “To… do the inspection?”

Daughter: “Oh, right! Where are my keys?”

Inspector: “Do you mean the ones in your hand?”

Daughter: “Huh? When did I grab them?”

Eventually, the inspector went with the daughter to the other home and did the inspection. They also went back and the inspector took a picture of the mother’s certificate. They calmly said goodbye.

When the inspector returned to the office, everything went super hectic for a couple of hours to revert one cancellation and start a new one, making sure all was documented.

Because of the gut feeling of the inspector, it was decided a social worker would check up on the daughter, as well. It might have been grief that caused this, but let’s be rather safe than sorry. Unfortunately (but understandable), due to privacy, I won’t be getting any more updates.