(My nurse is going over some basic questions whilst taking my blood pressure.)
Nurse: “And we’re not a smoker, are we? You don’t smoke.”
Me: “Uh, yes. Wait, no. Wait, yes. Hang on… I don’t know how to respond to that! I don’t smoke. That is my answer.”
Nurse: “Yeah, you’re right, actually. I should probably learn to phrase that better!”
(Many years ago, there was a TV show called “What Not To Wear,” which consisted of two “fashion stylists” getting members of the public with “poor” dress sense and outfitting them with clothes that suited their shape, colouring, etc., with the usual big reveal to friends and family at the end. Predictably, there’s a whole series of books based on the series to enable the average person to better style themselves. I work in a book shop. It’s a very quiet morning, and there’s only a few customers in the store. There’s a middle-aged gentleman and one of the regular customers — a slightly crazy lady — waiting to be served.)
Me: “Hello, sir, how can I help?”
Customer #1: “Could I have a copy of ‘What Not To Wear’?”
Customer #2: “Well, those trainers for a start!”
Me: *determined not to react* “Certainly, sir. I’ll go fetch you a copy.”
(I dash off quickly to grab the book, resisting the urge to look at the guy’s trainers when I leave the counter. In the meantime, the man is having a blazing row with the crazy regular. I bring the book back, only to be dragged into the argument. The crazy customer disappears, leaving me to try and pacify the irate man. After spending ten minutes with him somehow blaming me for the woman’s critique of his outfit, he buys the book, while continuing to rant to me. Finally, he leaves and the crazy woman comes back.)
Me: *trying very hard not to shout at her* “How can I help?”
Customer #2: “I only meant it as a joke. Can’t he take a joke?”
Me: *through gritted teeth* “I’m afraid he took it quite personally. How can I help?”
Customer #2: “Honestly, I was only having a joke.” *thinks for a moment* “They were awful trainers, though.”
Me: “I couldn’t possibly say, not being able to see them from behind the counter. Do you need any help?”
Customer #2: *starts wandering off muttering* “Can’t take a joke…”
(No apology or anything, despite hearing the guy ranting for ages to me. We did all have a laugh about it in the staff room, but I never saw him again to see if he upgraded his dress sense.)
(I go to the doctor due to being on my period for five weeks. The conversation is fairly routine; he asks if I’ve changed my diet and about what my period is normally like — he seems a bit freaked out when I say it is normally only two weeks — but overall it seems to be going well. He then asks if I could be pregnant.)
Me: “I can very safely say I’m not pregnant.”
Doctor: “Oh? What contraception are you using?”
Me: “Asexuality.”
(Normally when I say that, the doctor just nods and continues with questions, or asks if I want to consider long-term birth control “as a precaution,” but otherwise just drops the subject. This guy lost it, ranting about proper birth control and about how I, a 25-year-old woman, “should know better by now.” No, I don’t know what he meant by that. I let him rant for a few minutes, and when he finally calmed down, I said, “It means I’m a virgin.” He blinked, apologised quietly, and gave me some pills for the actual reason I was there. I left after making a note of his name so I could make a complaint.)
CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.
(My cousin is sitting in the reception area, waiting for his appointment with the doctor, when a gentleman who is also waiting suddenly has a heart attack. The receptionist screams for help, all the doctors come running, and while they are busy administering CPR, the receptionist calls for an ambulance. The receptionist then prepares to go outside, to guide the paramedics to the right location when they arrive. My cousin, along with all the other patients in the waiting area, keep out of the way to allow the doctors to work on the gentleman… all except one patient, who arrived in the midst of all the chaos, hasn’t registered what is going on — or simply doesn’t care — and is therefore standing at the reception desk, huffing in indignation.)
Patient: “Well, really! Where do you think you’re going? I have an appointment! And I’m in a hurry, so I expect to be seen on time.”
Receptionist: *looks pointedly down at the floor, where the doctors were still administering CPR* “Well, I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid all the doctors are a bit busy right now, TRYING TO SAVE THIS GENTLEMAN’S LIFE!”
(We have a new girl starting with us today. We are getting everything prepared for opening, and the owner is going through the list of jobs and assigning them. After we’re all put to work, the new girl comes up to us.)
New Girl: “Whoa, is he always like that?”
Me: “Like what?”
New Girl: “So misogynistic! I’ve never heard anyone speak so authoritatively to a woman. I was genuinely scared.”
Me: “He wasn’t being misogynistic. He doesn’t even raise his voice when he’s angry.”
New Girl: “Yes, he was. He was walking around like he owned the place!”
Coworker: “He does.”
New Girl: “No, [Owner] does!”
Me: “That’s him.”
(She gave us all blank looks then blushed. She excused herself to go to the toilet and didn’t come back. We learned later that she resigned; she thought the owner was a woman, because his name was gender-neutral.)
