In mid-January I came down with a bout of tonsillitis, for which I was prescribed antibiotics. The pain initially went away, but it came back and kept getting worse and worse.

By the third Saturday I was in agony, barely able to swallow, or speak, or even move my head without pain. I was also salivating excessively, which was making the pain worse. Eventually I found myself sitting in A&E, bent over a succession of cardboard vomit bowls into which I was aiming my drool, with a cannula in my arm to make things easier. What I had not had, at that time, was any pain relief as all the front desk could offer was tablets containing codeine: even if I was able to swallow them, I was already miserable enough without adding codeine sensitivity to the mix.

Shortly after I sat back down after having bloods taken, a woman sat at the other end of the row of seats. After a few minutes she shot me a rather nasty look.

Grumpy Woman: Is that necessary?

Me: *inquisitive grunt/squeak*

GW: Do you *have* to drool like that?

Me: *grunts again*

GW: It’s absolutely disgusting.

Me: Can’t swallow.

GW: Well, it’s still gross.

After she went through to triage she returned to the same seat, despite her objections to my bodily fluids. The pain had been getting worse and worse, and I was literally crying by that point. Not noisily, but I was rocking backwards and forwards, trying to distract myself from how much it hurt. The nurse on the desk wasn’t able to see me where I was sitting, and I couldn’t speak loud enough to get her attention.

GW: You’re just a big baby, aren’t you?

Me: Hurts.

GW: Stop crying. Whatever is wrong with you, it can’t hurt *that* much.

Luckily one of the triage nurses came out of the triage room at that point, and I managed to grab her attention when she looked my way. I didn’t even need to say anything to get her to understand how much pain I was in, and she quickly had me moved to a different waiting area where I was put on IV paracetamol for some relief while I waited for the ENT specialist to arrive.

I’ve just finished my break and am heading back out to the front of the store. I see [Dairy Manager], [Frozen Manager], and [HBC Manager] all hanging outside the dairy fridge chatting. [Store Manager] comes up from behind me and joking says, “I was wondering why the milk wasn’t packed out, why the ice cream wasn’t packed out.” Without missing a beat [Dairy Manager] replies, “It’s [Produce Manager]’s fault.”

My husband and I, both white, take my petite black coworker out to lunch one day. She and I are about eleven years apart. As we wait to be seated, she looks back and forth between us.

Coworker: “I feel like your child, standing between you.”
Me: *dreamily* “I was a young mother…”

We spend a while at the restaurant, and walk out to our cars together.

Coworker: “See you at work!”
Me: “Goodbye, my ethnically different child.”

We have a healthy, young fluffy male cat who we have had for almost three years. One evening, my husband and I have the following conversation:

Husband: “I think [cat] has a lump!”
Me: “Seriously?! Where?”
Husband: “I’ll show you. It’s like a scar or something.”

Confused, I ordered my husband to bring our cat over. He plops [cat] on his back on my lap and ruffles through his soft belly fur and reveals … a nipple. Initially worried that my beloved pet had a tumor or something, I immediately burst into laughter.

Me: “[Husband], that is a nipple.”
Husband: “But [Cat] is a boy!”
Me: “Male cats have nipples.”
Husband: “But what are they for?”
Me: “I don’t know. But you’re a male and have nipples!”

He still wasn’t completely convinced until I googled it and showed him pictures of short-haired male cats with their nipples showing. I laughed for the rest of the week whenever I thought about how my husband was nearly 30 years old when he learned that many male creatures have nipples!

At the time of the story, I was supporting library patrons via chat. In addition to local resources, the state had a collection that anyone in the state could use, but the password changed daily and easily half our chats were someone asking for the password.

Since we had no way of telling for 100% certain that someone was in-state, we weren’t really supposed to ever say “no”, even if we suspected the person wasn’t in-state. (Yes, their technology has improved since then, and people have to sign in with their library card number now.)

Then I got this chat…

Patron: (something like…) “Salut. J’ai besoin du mot de passe.”
(Guessing that was French, I desperately tried to remember how to say “I don’t speak French”.)
Me: “J’ne parle pa Frances.” I figured even if I mis-spelled it, (which I did), it would get the message across.

While they replied, I booted up an online translator. The remainder of this coversation was them saying something in French, me translating it, then translating my reply, and sending it.

Patron: “LOL No sh-t. So what’s the password?”
Me: (All sympathy draining away) “I’m sorry, this service is only for residents of North Carolina.”
Patron: “Yeah, I’m an exchange student.”
Me: “You’re an exchange student from France, in North Carolina?”
Patron: “Yeah! So give me the password.”
Me: “Your IP address says you’re in France.”
Patron: “I mean I’m on exchange to France.”
(At this point I decide that I’m bored enough to have some fun with it, and start looking up statistics.)
Me: “So you’re an exchange student… from North Carolina… where 90% of the population speaks English as a primary language, and less than one third of 1% speaks French…where basically all schools are taught in English…and you don’t speak English at all?”

They hung up.