(My mom is an x-ray tech at a world-renowned children’s hospital. Patient welfare is the top priority, so they try to minimize tests and procedures as much as possible.)

Mom: *walks into the break room to see two doctors and an x-ray tech — all male — looking at a series of films*

Doctor #1: “Obviously, we need to operate, cancerous or not. So, I say we just skip the biopsy and go straight in. We don’t want to put her under twice for no reason!”

Doctor #2: “I agree, but these tumors are very unique. I’ve never seen anything quite like them, and with them being so close to both her heart and her lungs, I’m worried about what will happen if we do take them out. We don’t know how firmly they’re attached or entrenched in either of those organs.”

Mom: *curious* “Do you mind if I have a look at the films? If you haven’t seen a tumor like this before, it must be very rare.”

Doctor #2: “By all means.”

([Doctor #2] hands over the films, and then continues to debate with his colleague about how quickly they can schedule the surgery, while Mom spends a few minutes looking closely at the x-rays.)

Mom: “Um, guys? We’ve got a problem here, but I don’t think it’s the problem you think it is.”

Tech: “What do you mean?”

Mom: “I don’t think that’s a tumor.”

Doctor #1: “Of course it’s a tumor! What else could it be?”

Mom: “A hair tie.”

All: “WHAT?!”

Mom: “You know, those little round hair ties? The elastic kind with a pair of balls on the ends that little girls like?”

Doctor #2: “Yes, my daughter uses those. But what makes you think…”

Mom: “These tumors are perfectly round, they’re both exactly the same size, they slightly overlap, and if you look really closely, this one even has a hole through it… exactly where the elastic would be.”

All: *looks like she just hit them in the face with a board*

Tech: “You can’t be serious!”

Mom: “Do you want me to retake the film, just in case? I mean, I don’t want to expose her to more radiation, but better a single film than opening her rib cage! And if I’m wrong, then fine. But we wouldn’t want to operate on a child without being certain.”

Doctor #2: “Do it. Fast! She’s in room [number].”

Mom: “On it!”

(She runs up to the girl’s room:)

Mom: “Hi! I’m [Mom], one of the x-ray techs here at [Hospital]. There was a little problem with one of your daughter’s x-rays, so we need to retake it really fast. No need to worry!”

Girl: “I wiggled, didn’t I?”

Mom: “Don’t worry, sweetie. You just need to hold still for one last picture, I promise!”

(Mom, the girl, and her mother all head down to Radiology. When then get to the door, Mom asks the girl to take off her hair tie — yes, one of the kind with the little plastic balls! — from the end of the braid hanging down her back.)

Girl: “Do I have to? The other guy didn’t make me, and I don’t want my braid coming out!”

Mom: “Here. Let me see if I can find you an elastic. We just can’t have the little baubles; they might confuse the doctors when they’re reading your x-ray.” *goes to her purse and digs out an elastic of her own* “Here you go! Your mom can help you change that, and then she can wait right outside the door. We’ll only be a minute.”

(After helping the girl wrap a protective apron around her waist and hips, Mom took the film, and then the girl went back to her room. Mom immediately developed the film, and, as predicted, there were no tumors. The little girl was treated for her pneumonia and was sent home, healthy and happy, a week later. It became hospital policy after that to check for hair ties, barrettes, bobby pins, etc., before taking any x-rays.)

(I am engrossed in my phone while riding the public ground tram when I hear the announcement that my stop is the next stop. I am sitting in a seat in the not-handicapped segment, and I gather my things to prepare for my exit. After I stand up, a lady standing nearby suddenly snaps.)

Woman: “I’m not pregnant!”

(I turned and looked and saw her glaring right at me.)

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Woman: “I don’t need a seat, so stop trying to offer one!”

Me: “I was just preparing for my stop.”

(She then reached out as if trying to grab at me, so I ducked back away, and the movement of the tram caused her to stumble, which allowed me to slip past. I might have offered help to keep her balance, but did not want more confrontation. When she stood again, she stood in front of the seat, blocking a few others, and glared at me until I exited at my stop.)

(I work at a grocery store deli. A customer orders a corndog from our hot case. Everything in the case is deep-fried. A few minutes later, she comes back and holds out her half-eaten corndog to me.)

Customer: “This is greasy.”

Me: “Yes, it’s fried.”

Customer: “Well, could I get something else?”

Me: “Yes, but everything in that case is fried; it’s all going to be greasy. Do you want to try a salad from our cold case instead?”

Customer: *handing me a half-eaten corndog* “Okay, can I trade this in for a salad?”

Me: *speechless*

(I don’t know if she thought I could put it back in the case and resell it with bites taken out of it.)

(I am a freshman at a university in Utah. My university’s library has three floors. Even though it is a college library, students who are parents still bring their kids along with them. A lot of the time, these parents can’t control their kids or just don’t care to. Normally, though, the top floor is supposed to be kid-free, so I go there. It’s midterms, and I am trying my best to finish a six-page paper, when suddenly a mother brings in three of her kids, sits down, and starts working. After around ten minutes her kids start running around, making fart noises, and screaming. I try my best to focus and ignore them; I even get up and move to the opposite side of the library. The kids continue to run around, wreaking complete havoc, for thirty minutes. When I’m finally done, I walk over to the mother at the table where she’s just typing away at her laptop with her headphones in. I tap on her shoulder.)

Me: “Miss, are these your kids?”

Woman: “Yes.”

Me: “You realize the third floor is supposed to be kid-free, right?”

Woman: “Yeah.”

Me: “And?”

Woman: “I don’t care. The only spot I could find downstairs didn’t have a place for me to charge my laptop.”

(I manage to glance at her battery, and she’s full.)

Me: “Well, I know you have headphones in so you can’t tell, but your kids have been running around creating a lot of noise and just being distracting.”

Woman: “Well, I didn’t manage to get a sitter.”

Me: “So, you just thought, ‘Let’s bring them to a university library and distract everyone else during one of the most stressful times of the semester.’?”

Woman: “I have to study.”

Me: “Yeah. And the twenty other people up here also have to. I get that being a parent and going to school is rough, but this floor is supposed to be child-free. I’m sorry you want to keep your laptop plugged in even when it’s fully charged, but please be courteous and think about those of us who came here to get away from children.”

Woman: *now looking pissed off* “You have no idea what I am going through!”

Me: “I have three nieces that live with me at home that produce a lot of noise. I come here to get away from that and focus. I would never be so selfish as to bring them here. Please, be courteous and go to one of the other two floors.”

Woman: *rolls her eyes* “Whatever. You’re not in charge.”

Me: “Fine. I’ll go talk to one of the librarians who will tell you to leave.”

Woman: “Fine.”

(She left, but before she did, she screamed out, “F*** you, bitch!” I just laughed and said, “What a great example you are for your kids.”)

(The phone rings.)

Customer: “Hi. I would like to order some potato salad.”

Me: “Okay, how much?”

Customer: “I don’t know. How much do I need?”

Me: “Well, we suggest about a third of a pound per person. How many people are you feeding?”

Customer: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Okay, well, do you have an estimate?”

Customer: “We invited sixty people, but we don’t expect them all to show up.”

Me: “So, for sixty people, you’ll need around twenty pounds.”

Customer: “But we don’t expect to have that many guests.”

Me: “How many do you expect to have?”

Customer: “I don’t know! Just tell me how much potato salad to buy!”

Me: “…”

(The conversation went on in this vein until I eventually just told her to get fifteen pounds. When she balked at the price, I told her to get ten, instead, which appeared to satisfy her.)