I volunteer at a local hospital in the Volunteer Administrative Office. I do a lot of filing and clerical work with prospective volunteers, creating files, organizing paperwork, and making sure everything is in order so the Administrative Manager can get them on board.

Part of becoming a volunteer is to complete two Tuberculosis Skin Tests (TSTs) or have proof of having them within the last year from your doctor.

We have a prospective volunteer who has completed almost everything except the TST test. I call him up to see if he’s still interested. The man answers.

Me: “Hello, my name is [My Name], and I’m calling on behalf of the [Hospital] Volunteer Services.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “Are you still interested in volunteering?”

Man: “Yes, ma’am. I had my interview and orientation nearly a month ago, but I haven’t heard from the hospital since.”

Me: “Okay, well, it looks like the only thing missing is your TST test.”

Man: “My what?”

Me: “I’m sorry, your Tuberculosis Skin Test.”

Man: “What’s that?”

Me: “A test you have to have in order to volunteer.”

Man: “Where do I go to get one?”

Me: “You need to complete two. We gave you a sheet of paper in your interview packet—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—that has the hours that Employee Health—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—that has the hours that Employee Health is open to give you free skin tests.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “You need to go there and get both of your tests—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—before you can volunteer.”

I’m beginning to see the pattern here. He talks over the top of me, says the same thing, and doesn’t appear to really be listening or understanding what I’m trying to tell him.

Man: “So, I cannot volunteer without these tests?”

Me: “No, sir, we cannot move forward—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—until you are cleared.”

Man: “Oh, uh, I’ve already had those tests.”

I highly doubt that!

Me: “Oh, good. Then all you have to do is go to your doctor and—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—ask them to print out a sheet. It takes only a few seconds and doesn’t cost anything.”

Man: “He’s in Pakistan. I can’t get those papers.”

Me: “Then you’ll have to retake the tests.”

Man: “I have to retake the tests?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Man: “Why didn’t the lady call me to tell me this?”

Me: “She told you this in the interview and the orientation—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—sir. After that, it’s up to you to—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—get the shots done and get us the paperwork.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

My eye is twitching by now, and I’m normally very patient, but his interruptions are getting on my last nerve.

Me: “So, get those tests to us, and we’ll get you started volunteering.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am. So, I cannot volunteer unless I get these shots?”

Me: “They’re not shots, sir—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “They are skin tests.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “And no. You can’t volunteer until you complete them.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “Have a good day, sir.”

I hung up during his final “Yes, ma’am” and facepalmed into both hands with a sigh nearly deep enough to throw out my back.

He never completed his tests and thus never volunteered.

I am a volunteer, campaigning for a political party near a busy market.

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you know who you’re voting for?”

Woman: “Of course! [Political Party]! Why, who are you voting for?!”

Me: “Well, I am campaigning for [Other Political Party]. May I ask why you’re making that vote?”

Woman: “I don’t like the other guy. He wants to help too many people.”

Me: “Helping people is bad?”

Woman: “I don’t vote to help people! They never did anything for me!”

Me: “Don’t you think that sounds a bit selfish?”

Woman: “You, too? Why does everyone keep asking me that?!”

I was volunteering at a food pantry once and someone came in to do an inspection of sorts. Since the manager was gone, I had to show this fellow around.

One item we gave away was these bags of rice from an organization called “Kids Against Hunger.” However, I had just come in after playing an online game of “Cards Against Humanity” that morning, so naturally, I told this gentleman:

Me: “We always give out a bag of rice with every package. They’re from Kids Against Humanity.“

The look on his face was one of pure shock, but he didn’t question it at all.

Every year, my dad volunteers at our church’s annual summer camp for kids. On the last day of camp, they always have a big party with snow cones. Dad always volunteers to run the snow cone table.

One of the kids’ mothers is also a volunteer, and a real Helicopter Mom. Her young daughter is a little bit hyperactive and excitable. Since Helicopter Mom seems to get most of her medical advice from blogs instead of pediatricians, she’s decided that certain food additives and sweeteners are the cause of her daughter’s high energy. All camp, she’s been bringing in special snacks for her daughter, which isn’t a problem at all. Before the traditional snow cone party, Helicopter Mom announces that she is going to bring in a special syrup for her daughter since all of the snow cone flavors have artificial colors in them.

On the day of the party, Helicopter Mom shows up with a milk jug half-full of some weird homemade concoction made of corn syrup, water, and some combination of “all-natural” flavors. It’s viscous and thick, with chalky streaks of light yellow and green. Gross, but, no problem, thinks Dad; he can keep the kid’s special syrup in a little squirt bottle and set it off to the side.

Nope! Helicopter Mom doesn’t want her daughter’s special snow cone flavor in a separate bottle lest she feel singled out and discriminated! She instead takes a nearly-full jug of root beer flavor and dumps it all down the sink. She fills the pump jug with her homemade syrup and gives it to Dad. 

Later, during the party, the kids are lining up for their snow cones and telling the Dad what flavors they want. Dad’s been struggling about what to call the Mystery Syrup until he gets an inspiration:

Kid: “What flavors do you have?”

Dad: “Well, we have cherry, grape, blue raspberry…”

Kid: *Pointing at the homemade syrup* “What’s that one?”

Dad: “Uh… that’s… um… ELEPHANT SNOT!”

Kid: “EEEEEEEWWWWW!”

Dad then pumps an amount onto his gloved hand. It shoots a big, gooey glop out with a coughing sound. He squeezes it out of his fingers, and it drips out in long, sticky strings. The kids are delighted!

Dad: “EEEEEEW!

Multiple Kids: *Laughing and shrieking* “EWWWWWWW!”

Kid: “I want elephant snot!”

Dad gleefully pumps the homemade syrup onto the snow cone. The syrup spreads over the top and oozes over the ice.

Dad: “Here you go! One elephant snot snow cone!”

All The Kids: “EWWWWWWW!”

Dad had a hit! About every tenth kid asked for the elephant snot flavor, and each time, he cried out, “Elephant snot?! Ewwwwwww!” as he pumped it out. The kids who ordered it were loving all the attention they were getting from their grossed-out friends as they gleefully ate their “elephant snot” snow cones.

Everything was going great until Helicopter Mom’s group showed up with her daughter in tow. She was FURIOUS when she heard Dad call her homemade syrup “Elephant Snot.” She stormed off to complain to the pastor as dad served the kids (including a snow cone for the daughter) but Dad didn’t hear the conversation. Later, the pastor pulled Dad aside. Luckily, he had a great sense of humor about the whole debacle, but he respectfully asked Dad not to refer to the syrup as the mucus of a large mammal. Dad laughingly agreed.

Later, the Helicopter Mom was able to get her daughter some medical treatment for her daughter’s undiagnosed ADHD and loosened up quite a bit about her daughter’s snacks. We’ve not had a summer camp at the church since, but I’m wondering if elephant snot will be offered at the next snow cone party!

I was hanging clothes, and a very nice regular came up and asked me about whether a place we had formerly lived was more or less racist than here. It was a perfectly nice discussion, mind you.

Me: “People choose different groups to be racist about in different places.”

Another customer broke into the conversation.

Customer: *Proudly* “You’re right! My people absolutely hate Mexicans!”

She went on and on. I started to walk away and she complained about that, so I stopped.

Me: “I’m a volunteer. I don’t have to listen to your racist crap just to keep my job. They’d rather have me here than you.”

We didn’t have to throw her out. She stomped out, all pissed that we weren’t a captive audience like paid workers who need their jobs.