(I’m at an optometrist to get new glasses. As my last measurement was some years ago, I do a new one. For the lucky ones without glasses: You basically look through some optical machinery and read letters while telling the technician if you see better or worse with specific optics.)

Technician: “Ok, can you still read the last line?”
Me: “Kind of. I can pattern-match the letters, but it is partly guessing.”
Technician: *switches lens* “Is it better now?”
Me: “No, it was nearly perfect before. It’s the resolution that keeps me from clearly reading it, not the sharpness. It is perfectly sharp.”
Technician: “Uhm. What do you mean?”
Me: “Well, you know, it is too small to read, but the edges are sharp. Think of a camera.”
Technician: *not convinced* “Ok.”
(It’s not a complicated concept, is it?)

(Some time later, I have to decide which of a pair of lenses works better. A simple “one or two” decision. The technician switches two lenses rather fast and then asks “the first or the second?”)
Me: “Uhm, could I see the first one again, please? Yes, the first is better.”
(I do this two or three times)
Technician: “Try to answer more intuitively!”

(You know, I’m buying 400€ glasses that I intend to wear for four years or more. I like to think about this, if you don’t mind. In the end, the glasses luckily were perfect, but wow. She wasn’t new either, only experienced employees do these tests. And no, the store was mostly empty and had several other employees available.)

My University has self scheduled exams, unproctored, based off a honor code.

I’m taking a chem exam. In the testing room are several other people who were there when I entered the room, indicating they started their tests before I started mine, including one of my friends in the class.

Me to friend: can I borrow your calculator? I forgot to bring one.

Friend: now?

Me: No, when you finish your exam.

Friend: Sure

I’m hoping that they started their exam a half hour or more before mine, meaning I’d have that time at the end. I work on my test as best I can with long multiplication and the non math components, but logarithms aren’t exactly mental math.

Another girl in the room finishes while I have about 45 minutes left of my exam.
Girl: you needed a calculator, right?

Me: yes, thank you so much!

Girl turns in her test while I do my calculator necessary calculations as far as I can. She takes her time packing up, and stops by one more time.
Girl: I’m going now, but you can keep using it, just get in touch afterwards.
She gives me a note with her name and number while I thank her effusively. Thanks to her I was able to not only calculate all the logarithms but check my mental math too, and she probably turned my failing test into an A! (And good thing, too- turned out my friend had only arrived ten or so minutes before me, so I would have only had that long to work.)

(I’m twenty at the time of this story. For the past few months I’ve been getting experience in my major field by working long hours in a lab counting out microscopic worms on petri dishes. It’s not difficult or too taxing, but I’ve noticed lately that the way I have to sit to reach the scopes has triggered some lower back pain, around the center of my hips. I try to ignore for about three weeks, as my father just laughs when I mention it and I’m worried my doctor, the pediatrician I’ve seen since birth, would do the same because of my young age and lack of strenuous activity.

It gets to the point that I can barely walk and every few seconds a shooting pain jumps down from my back to the front of my knee. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever felt, before or since. The spasms keep me at night, and when I wake up one morning to discover that I can’t lean forward or backward more than a few millimeters, I finally go in to see the doctor. As my main doctor isn’t in that day, I’m paired with a new doctor in the practice I’ve never met before. She’s much younger than the others I’ve seen, and is incredibly pleasant.)

Doc: So I’ve heard you’ve been having back spasms?

Me: Yeah. I know, I know, I’m too young to have a back problem. I haven’t had any big jolts to the system or anything, nothing more stressful than sitting in a lab all day, but no matter what I do I can’t shake this. I didn’t want to bother you guys during the flu season with what’s probably just a stupid pulled muscle but I haven’t slept for two nights now. Laying down or sitting up seems to make it worse, and the over the counter painkillers don’t put a dent in it.

Doc: Hey, it’s no problem at all! In fact, I wish you had come in a bit sooner! Back spasms can be really serious, so let’s see if we can figure this out.

*The doctor chats with me about what I’ve done so far to ease the pain, what showed any improvement or made it worse, and puts me through some simple range of movement exercises*

Doc: Okay, I’m going to do a few little tests that should confirm my suspicions about this. I’m going to be putting my thumbs at those little dimples you get at your lower back, okay? Just tell me if it hurts, and which side hurts most.

Me: *Feeling something akin to a nail being driven into the area she’s touching* Holy moth– Left! Left side! Haha, owch doc.

Doc: Sorry! Sorry, just one more. Pop up there, lay down, and cross your right ankle over your left knee.

*When I lay down my entire pelvis should be an inch closer to the ground than they are, and I mention it to her.*

Doc: That’s normal if this last one gives us a positive sign. When I push down on your right knee here, is there–

Me: PAIN?! Yes, yes there is.

Doc: Positive sign! With how long you’ve let this go it may be too tight for me to fix this here without you doing some home stretches first, but I’ll give it a shot if you’d like?

Me: Please, yes. Anything. Feed me to a lion if it would make this stop hurting so much.

Doc: *moves my left leg off the table to hang down the side and shifts my body so my hip also hangs off and instructs me to push up against her downward force on my left knee.*

Pelvic area: *ungodly loud cracking sound that could probably have been heard in the lobby as it feels like my entire pelvis drops down that missing inch.*

Me: *Fully expecting extreme pain* AAAGH– Oh, hang on. *Sits up without difficulty* Holy crap. It’s a little sore but holy crap, you’re a miracle worker! What did you do?! I could kiss you right now!

Doc: *laughing* I put your sacroiliac joint back in alignment. It’s common for women to have problems with it, though it’s usually after childbirth or an impact accident like a car crash.

Me: Yeesh, no chance of that here, and I’ve never been in a wreck.

Doc: Well, it’s unusual, but long periods of sitting in some positions can stress the ligaments and allow the joint to move out of alignment bit by bit. Please, if it ever starts to flare up again, don’t wait so long to come in! It should be manageable with targeted stretching exercises, and I’ll grab you our print out of the ones that should help, but don’t let it get this out of control next time!

*The next day, after a very good nights sleep, I wrote two letters, one to the head of the clinic commending the doctor for her quick diagnosis and solution and another to the doctor herself thanking her profusely for taking me seriously right off the bat and being so delightfully friendly during the whole appointment despite it being a last minute walk in. I delivered them with snacks and chocolates for the staff and thoroughly enjoyed showing them how I could once again move without pain. I had to leave their practice once I aged out earlier this year, but I’ve never had a better experience with any other doctor.)

In 2009 I went through police academy training. I was only one of three females in the class. When it came time to practice firearms, I thought it would be fun. My father had taught me how to use and shoot a gun when I was younger. He was a believer in “stopping power” so I only ever learned how to shoot .45 or larger. I had no experience with shotguns. For the academy you had to buy your own gun and select the caliber from 9mm, .40 or .45. Given my past, I bought a Sig Sauer .45. Once on the shooting range, I quickly learned that I was going to suffer from “big gun, little girl” syndrome. The other two women bought 9mm. So my uphill battle began.

First the so called instructors, couldn’t figure out that I was cross-eyed dominant (meaning I shoot right handed but sight with my left). Luckily, I knew law enforcement training instructors I could talk to and they immediately knew what the problem was. I couldn’t stand in a normal position but rather had to “square up” to the target given my sight. Now I’m a little girl with a big gun and a different stance.

The pressure from the crap instructors and my own inner frustration resulted in a mixed bag of scores. It wasn’t my best work but I owned up and kept pushing forward. Even my fellow cadets were arse****s. A rather short male once claimed I pointed my muzzle at him when all I had done was shifted the gun, still pointing down range, to accommodate my smaller hands to eject a magazine. In practice, I was often told to repeat drills far more times than my fellow cadets even if the scores were passing or better.

However, I got vindication when it came to speed shooting. Here there was no time for instructors or my own head to mess with me. Instead it was pure action. I destroyed most of the class hitting nearly every target that popped up.

I was on a roll until shotguns. I had no previous training here but remember that I’m cross-eye dominant. I knew from my friends in law enforcement I would have to shoot left handed. The instructors tried to force me to shoot right handed but I refused upon learning that I couldn’t see the target this way. I knew, if you can’t see dear god don’t shoot! Eventually they “allowed” me to shoot with my left. The next problem was the given my size the standard stock of a shotgun is too long. I could manage it, but for safety I preferred the adjustable stock. I learned on this gun and practiced with it. When it came time for testing I asked if I could use this gun instead of the standard. I was told “ok”.

The final target in this drill is a “bad guy” you are supposed to hit with a slug. (In shotguns, you can have either pellets which produce a bunch of tiny projectiles often called bird/buck shot or one massive slug.) No one but me hit this target.

After this portion of training wraps up I get my performance review. It isn’t great. I see a discipline note where I “refused” to use the standard stock shotgun. Not only was it not true but this looks bad for possible recruitment. I go to speak to the academy lead, a woman. I explain that I preferred the adjustable and was training exclusively on it. So in testing I naturally preferred it. I would have used the standard if no such option existed. She tells me that this was the least of the notes on my firearm performance and if I argue this one it would only get worse for me. Basically I’d have to accept it.

And I did.

I was never happy about it. There was a lot in academy training that showed me how misogynistic law enforcement could be. It soured me quite a bit but the friends I had in law enforcement reminded why I put myself through it.

(My mother is a German teacher and keeps in contact with the people she met while doing a Fulbright scholarship. While visiting Germany, they invite us to a party. I speak German well, but am prone to dumb mistakes. This is compounded by the fact that I am tired and everyone keeps trying to give me more food).

Colleague: And would you like some of this cake? What about that one? Or this drink?

Me: *searching for German words, speaking loudly over the music* No, thank you…

Colleague: Really?

Me: Yes, I am full and don’t want to eat.

(As I loudly said this, the music stopped and my mother looked very embarrassed).

Mom: Honey! No! Wrong word…she’s not, guys, don’t worry, she’s too young…

(My mom later explained that the word “full” is a false cognate. By using that word instead of the German word for full, satt, I had basically shouted “I am DRUNK and don’t want to eat!”)