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We’re All Just Blood-Flavored Capri-Suns

, , , , , | Healthy | March 16, 2024

I work as a phlebotomist. One day, I get a little hypoglycemic while working, and I grab a Capri-Sun to get some glucose in me.

My hands shaking a little bit, I keep stabbing the pouch with the straw, and the straw keeps not penetrating. Finally, with a grunt, I manage to work it through. I bring the beverage to my mouth only to find a patient staring at me with wide eyes.

Patient: “Uh… Is there someone else — anyone else — who can draw my blood, please?”

Me: “Why?”

Patient: “No offense, but after watching you stab that juice pack seventeen times with the straw, I can’t help but imagine you doing that to my arm.”

Me: “Oh. Okay.”

I fetched someone else to do his arm. It was a very embarrassing event, and I felt bad about it for weeks after. I’ve never since attempted to drink a juice pack while at work.

What A Diabeetus, Part 13

, , , , , , | Right | March 15, 2024

I wear my insulin pump on the back of my arm. A customer comes up behind me, grabs my arm with one hand, and tries to pull the pump off with the other.

Me: “Excuse you. Do not touch me.”

Customer: “Is that a nicotine patch?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “What is it?”

Me: “None of your business.”

Customer: “Excuse me? Get your manager.”

Me: “Sure.” *Into my headset* “Manager to clearance aisle to speak with a customer.”

Manager: “Why?”

Me: “He tried to take the device off my arm, I told him not to touch me and wouldn’t tell him what it was, and now he wants to talk to you.”

Manager: “Okay.”

Me: “He’ll be here soon.”

Customer: “You didn’t need to tell him all that!”

Me: “Was any of that a lie?”

Customer: “All I wanted to know was what it is!”

Me: “I would have told you if you had asked before you grabbed me and tried to take it off.”

Customer: “You’re just being a b****.”

Me: “Okay. You can talk to my manager when he gets here.”

I start to turn away but think better of it. As I turn back to the customer, he is reaching out again. He recoils.

Me: “Touch me again and I will drop you like a dead bug.”

Manager: “I can handle this, [My Name].”

Customer: “She threatened me! Did you hear her?”

Manager: “Yes, sir, I did hear my associate warn you not to touch her. And I saw the security video where you tried to remove the device from her arm without so much as greeting her, let alone asking to touch her.”

Customer: “You’re all full of s*** and shady a**holes!”

The man leaves. [Manager] gestures at my arm, and I turn so he can inspect it. We have known each other for years, even before we were coworkers, so he knows my medical history and we are comfortable talking about it.

Manager: “It looks good. Why didn’t you just tell him it was an insulin pump?”

Me: “I don’t owe strangers an explanation of my body. I’m tired of justifying how I look to people who have no impact or input.”

Manager: “Well… yes. But it would have been less stressful.”

Me: “And even less so if he had just asked first.”

Manager: *Sigh* “True. You are correct.”

[Customer] tried to go to corporate, claiming I had harassed him and taunted him with my “IV drug use”, but [Manager] had my back. He sent the CCTV and a written statement that I was under no obligation to explain my medical needs to anyone. 

Related:
What A Diabeetus, Part 12
What A Diabeetus, Part 11
What A Diabeetus, Part 10
What A Diabeetus, Part 9
What A Diabeetus, Part 8

They Are Soda-rn Fired

, , , , , | Working | March 15, 2024

I was in my store before we opened, stocking shelves and getting ready for the day. A man in a uniform for a soda company we work with came up to me carrying a pre-made sandwich, a soda (from the competing company), and a bag of chips.

Man: “Hey, where’s the cashier? I’ve been walking around looking for someone for fifteen minutes.”

Me: “We aren’t open yet.”

I looked at his uniform.

Me: “Are you making a delivery?”

Man: “I’m just trying to get my lunch before work.”

Me: “Ah. Unfortunately, we aren’t open for another hour so—”

Man: “Then why was the door unlocked?!”

Me: “Because the employees are inside. I’m sorry I can’t ring you up.”

Man: “Just open the f****** register. It takes two minutes.”

Me: “No.”

I turned and went to the back room, looking at the security camera to see when he came in. He pulled the doors apart (they are automatic but off outside business hours), walked right to what he needed, and right up to me.

After I left him standing there, the man threw the sandwich on the floor, opened and dumped the chips, and shook the soda before spraying it all over the floor. I called our contact at the soda company he worked for and told them the story.

They asked for the video, which I emailed. They never told me what happened to him, but I haven’t seen him since.

Like Pushing A Big, Stupid Rock Up A Really Big Boillh

, , , , , , , | Working | March 15, 2024

I work in an internal tech support call center. When we’re talking with techs onsite, we often give them our email address in order for them to send us pictures of the equipment and the like. Our email addresses are the standard for most companies: “first name dot last name at [Company] dot com.” Both my first and last names are super simple — four letters each. Although my first name isn’t super common, I do share it with a very famous African American Jazz singer and actress.

Me: “I need you to send a picture to my email. I can give you that whenever you’re ready.”

Associate: “Okay… I’m ready.”

Me: “Okay, my email is Lxxx dot Hill at [Company] dot com.”

Associate: “Hold on, you went too fast.”

Me: “Sorry about that.”

I spell my name phonetically, slowly.

Me: “L-X-X-X dot H-I-L-L at [Company] dot com.”

Associate: “Okay, so you said ‘O’, right?”

Me: “What?! No, there is no O in my name.”

Associate: “Oh. Okay, so it’s O-I-L-L, right?”

Me: *Flustered* “No, there is no O in my name. It’s L, like in ‘lion’ or ‘lima’.

I spell my name phonetically again.

Associate: “Okay, so what’s the rest?”

Me: “Uh, it’s H-I-L-L at [Company] dot com.”

Associate: “That’s spelled B-I-L-L-H, right?”

The whole office is now laughing at this.

Me: “What?! No. My last name is spelled like Hill, like I walked over a hill.”

Associate: “I’m sorry, did you say ‘bridges’?”

Me: “No. No, I didn’t. I said ‘Hill’, H-I-L-L.”

Associate: “Well, that’s a weird last name. So, it’s B-H-I-L-L?”

Me: “No. It’s H as in ‘Hotel’, I-L-L. There is no B or O in my name.”

Associate: “You’ll have to forgive me; I’m not a part of this twentieth century. I’m kinda stuck in the nineteenth century.”

Me: *Mumbling* “We’re in the twenty-first century.”

Associate: “I think I got it! So, it’s L-X-X-X dot H-I-L-L at… What was the company name?”

Me: “Sir, we work at the same company, so it would be [Company].”

Associate: “Oh, that’s right. I just sent the email.”

Me: “Great! I’ll give it a second to show up in my inbox.”

Ten minutes later…

Me: “Did you ever send that picture? I still don’t see it.”

Associate: “No, I was waiting for you to tell me to send it.”

Me: *Deep breath* “Sir, please send me that picture. Without it, I won’t be much help.”

Associate: “Well, I can’t send it. I have no email.”

Me: *Pauses* “Sir, you have a company email, just like I do… You know what? Is there anyone else there that can send me the email?”

Associate: “I can check.” *Screaming* “ANYONE THERE?!”

This call went on for fifty-seven minutes. In the end, the picture that was finally sent to me wasn’t even of the same equipment type that I needed him to test.

He’s Projecting Something, But It’s Not What He Thinks It Is

, , , , , , | Right | March 15, 2024

A patron has been using one of our reference computers to find books on particular subjects, and he approaches me with a list. It should be noted that we get a lot of conspiracy theory nuts and hunters of the paranormal as they believe the information on the Internet is either fake or gets them put on some kind of government “watch list”.

Patron: “I’m looking for books on these subjects. I’m having trouble with the last one!”

The list contains your standard list on paranormal subjects, but the last one is written as “a$$tral projection.”

Me: “Sir, I think you’re having trouble with that last one because it’s misspelled.”

Patron: “No! I know what I wrote, and I’m looking for that!”

Me: “Sir, either that’s misspelled or it’s a type of book you wouldn’t find in a public library.”

Patron: “Why? Scared of educating the masses about what truths are really out there?”

Me: “Sir, just remove an S from this and you should find the computers a lot more helpful.”

The patron suddenly realizes their error, turns red, and slinks away. I tell my manager about it as he witnessed the encounter. 

Manager: “You were far too nice. I would have just sent him to YouTube and typed in ‘how to twerk’.”