My mother told me about an experience one of her coworkers had.

The coworker had diabetes before she got pregnant. Her doctor considered her case high-risk, and sent her to another office in the city for some blood work. She had a referral, and all of the necessary info was sent to the office so that these blood tests could be performed. It was supposed to be an in-and-out procedure.

When she got there, the main doctor of this practice was quite curt with her, almost rude. At first she just chalked it up to him being in a bad mood, or needing to learn better bedside manners. Then, he told her, “You know, people like you shouldn’t be getting pregnant.”

She immediately asked what he meant by that. He went on to explain that people with certain health conditions, such as her diabetes, should not be reproducing. She responded that she was there for blood work, and then she was leaving; if he had any personal concerns, she wasn’t interested in hearing them.

The doctor waved her off and told her that she needed to sign some paperwork. She asked what paperwork, as her regular office should have sent her information over. He wouldn’t answer her and just kept pushing the papers at her, telling her to sign. Finally, she took the paperwork and started reading it.

The doctor was trying to force her into signing off for an abortion.

She immediately called her regular doctor and told him what was going on. Her doctor told her to drop everything, and get out of there. Just get up, and walk out, right now. She did.

Her regular doctor apologized profusely and told her he had no idea what the other doctor was up to. He told her he was going to report the practice, and asked if she wanted to lodge a complaint. She did.

The next day, the other doctor’s practice was shut down, and he lost his license. Apparently he had been doing this to other women, and he was taking it upon himself to decide who was — or was not — “worthy” to reproduce or get pregnant.

(I have worked at my store for close to three years while in college to help pay for my degree. This lady comes in to the drive-thru, and I am at the first window taking cash. I notice she has three ten-piece nuggets on her order, at four dollars each, and the twenty-piece we have is on special for five. I decide to try to explain it to her. I genuinely want to make it more affordable for her.)

Me: “Ma’am, are you interested in our twenty-piece nuggets? It’s three dollars cheaper to do that instead of the three ten-piece—”

Customer: *interrupts me* “They are going to different places.”

Me: “The twenty-piece comes in two ten-piece boxes, so the only difference is—”

Customer: *cuts over me again* “Look, I already said I wanted three ten-pieces.”

Me: “It’s going to be so much cheaper; are you sure?”

Customer: “Ring me up or get a manager.”

(At this point, the manager shows up anyway.)

Manager: “Is everything okay?”

Me: “Yes.” *takes the customers money*

Customer: *addressing manager* “This dumb high school dropout can’t even take money correctly. Is she slow? Like, in her brain?”

Me: *addressing manager* “I just told her about our twenty-piece promotion. She said she wants three ten-pieces in separate boxes, so she wouldn’t let me change it.”

Manager: *trying not to laugh, gets the nugget boxes from the grill and holds them up, and shows the customer* “Two ten-piece nuggets.”

(She holds them far apart. Then she brings them together.)

Manager: “One twenty-piece nugget. It’s three dollars cheaper. This girl is not a high school dropout; she is six credits away from her Associate’s, is on the dean’s list, and is majoring in engineering. What was your degree in?”

(My eyes were wide. I mutely handed the customer her change with her receipt. She glanced at it and asked why I didn’t change the price. My manager stepped around me and closed the window. She was easily the most difficult customer I have ever worked with.)

(I work at a sandwich shop that’s on the way to a national park. We get some pretty interesting orders and we have some good laughs, but this one takes the cake.)

Customer: “Hello, I would like a veggie delight.”

Me: “Okay, would you like any cheese on that?”

Customer: “Yes, pepperjack, please.”

Me: “And would you like that toasted?”

Customer: “No, thank you.”

Me: “Okay, let’s move on to the veggies.”

Customer: “Oh, I wanted turkey on that.”

Me: “So, would you like a turkey sandwich, instead?”

Customer: “No, I want a veggie delight.”

Me: “Sir, if you order a turkey sandwich, it comes with veggies. If you order a veggie delight and add turkey, I will have to charge you extra.”

Customer: “Okay.”

Me: “So, would you like me to make it a turkey sandwich?”

Customer: “No, I want a ham.”

(My coworkers were dying in the backroom. We had never had anyone change their sandwich three times within one order.)

(I’m in the IT department. We’ve recently switched to a new, notoriously incompetent ISP as a result of some ridiculous bureaucracy, and the first day of being switched over has resulted in a county-wide Internet outage. The staff has access to an emergency Internet connection to continue working, but the entire lab — the library’s most widely-used feature — is out of commission. When I arrive at work that morning, right as the library is opening, there is a sign stating this on the front door. There is also a sign on all the stairwell doors, and one in the elevator as I ride up.)

Supervisor: “Hey, [My Name], the Internet—”

Me: “Yep, saw the signs.”

Supervisor: “Yeah. Come on down to the reference desk so we can get them on the emergency network, at least.”

Me: “You got it.”

(The reference desk is where patrons can check out computers in the lab. We head down through the staff elevator. There’s another sign announcing the lab’s closure on a stand near the main elevator, and two more posted on both doors leading to the lab. The self-checkout station also has a sign posted on it.)

Me: *jokingly* “Wonder how many people are going to ask if the lab’s open today.”

Supervisor: “What? We’ve got like thirty signs posted.”

Me: “Mm, well…”

(We quickly get the reference librarians back online. As I’m standing up from where I’ve been kneeling under the desk, a notepad catches my eye, and I crack up.)

Me: “[Supervisor], check this out.”

(The page has the title, “People who ignored the signs,” with a running tally below it.)

Supervisor: “You must be kidding me. How many are on there?”

Me: “Upwards of fifteen.”

(We hadn’t even been open a full hour yet.)

(It is summer break and I am in middle school. I am laying on the floor reading a book and eating shredded wheat cereal. My brother, unbeknownst to me, is on the couch reading a horror book about a vampire. I am getting to the bottom of my bowl and decide to drink up the milk by sucking on one of the squares, making a very wet slurping sound. Apparently, he has just gotten to the point where a vampire is feeding just as I start slurping my milk, and looks up from his book to see if he can pinpoint the sound right when I stop. Just as he settles back into his book and starts to reread up to that point, I start again, repeating the cycle a few times before he verbally freaks out.)

Brother: “Did you hear that?”

Me: “Hear what?”

Brother: “That wet, slurping sound?”

Me: “You mean this?”

(I proceed to suck milk through my cereal again.)

Brother: “That! That! What is it?”

Me: “I’m just drinking my milk through my cereal. Why?”

(He explains what has been going on, and I just start laughing my a** off.)

Brother: “I don’t need sound effects for my books; my imagination does just fine!”