Coworker: “Did you know [Other Coworker] has an artificial leg?!”

Me: “Yeah, I knew that.”

Coworker: “Do you know why?”

Me: “Because he was missing one?”

(Recently my contact at my company’s stationery supplier has left, and I’ve been dealing with her colleague. My new contact isn’t half as competent. The stationery delivery comes in, and I go to sort it out. Amongst the boxes is one that read “Budweiser.”)

Me: “What… the… f***.”

Coworker: “[My Name], what have you been buying?!”

(I opened it and it turned out to be the washing up liquid I had ordered. Needless to say, I immediately got a marker and wrote what had ACTUALLY been in the box on it. No way was I walking through the office carrying an empty beer box!)

This happened when I was 13. I was a country girl, to explain the next part. I am at a friend’s place for the day and she is going out in the tractor. I went along, and somehow manage to crush my hand quite badly between mechanical parts. Things get a bit fuzzy at that point, so I only remember that it hurt like hell and her mum drove me home asap. My dad takes one look at me, curses her out for not taking me to the ER, and drives me there himself. When we get there we we’re told to sit and wait.

We wait for several hours. I pass out a few times and have worked myself into hysteria. Dad is trying to get the staff to get me in quicker, at least so I can get some painkillers. A sweet guy in the waiting room with a sprained foot is called before us, and insists that the little girl (aka me) get treatment first.

I am admitted and a doctor comes by to check out my swollen and discoloured hand. What happened next still gives me nightmares.

He prods at it, and cheerfully tells me and my dad that they’ll probably have to amputate it.

Now, I was already hysterical. Being told that I am going to lose my hand did NOT help things. Things get fuzzy here, but dad later told me I had a panic attack and that a nurse had to administer a mild sedative, and that they finally gave me some heavy duty painkillers.

I remember being very impressed with the shiny elevator on the way up to x-ray and much less impressed with the technician when they had to straighten out my fingers for the x-rays.

And guess what the x-rays showed? No breaks. A slight hairline fracture to one finger, but nothing that needed a cast. Definitely not amputation material. Some nerve damage, but all in all it wasn’t that bad. Dad cried, and I cried. The nurses were shocked when they heard why and what the doctor had told a terrified teenager in pain. A supervisor was called, and the doctor came slinking back to apologize for his mistake, and to this day I’m sort of shocked my dad refrained from hitting him.

(Our library is scheduled to be closed for a day while we do some renovations — moving shelves and furniture and doing some painting to prepare a new area. This renovations day happens to fall on my day off.)

Coworker: “Are you sad that you won’t be here to help us with stuff?”

Me: “Haha… no.”

Coworker: “I bet you have big plans for your day off, huh?”

Me: “Oh, yes. I’m going to buy me a big Slushie and come to the library, and stare through the window and watch you all work while I slowly drink it in front of you.”

Coworker: “…I hate you.”

(I have been called to the office of a recently appointed manager. She has been with the department for about a month.)

Manager: “This is a disciplinary for the downright unacceptable behaviour witnessed on your last shift.”

Me: “What unacceptable behaviour?”

Manager: “Regarding [Coworker].”

Me: “Well, he hasn’t told me!”

Manager: “I can understand why. Homophobia will not be tolerated in this organisation. Openly humiliating him in front of everyone for his sexual preference. I expected more from you.”

Me: “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’d rather talk to [Coworker].”

Manager: “I have made arrangements that you and he will no longer be working together.”

Me: “Whatever. I’ll speak to him after work.”

Manager: “Then I will make arrangements for his husband to pick him up directly. I know him personally.”

Me: “You mean my husband’s husband?”

Manager: “Yes, your husband’s… husband?”

Me: “Yes, [Coworker] is my husband.”

Manager: “But, he’s bisexual!”

Me: “True.”

Manager: “But, you’re a woman!”

Me: “Equally true.”

Manager: “But he’s gay!”

Me: “I thought we just agreed he was bisexual.”

Manager: “But, bisexuals aren’t real. They’re just pretending to be more normal.”

Me: *standing up and heading for the door* “Well, I can assure you they are real, and my husband is one!”

(I called HR about the whole thing and the manager actually confirmed it. She was sent on equal opportunity training but it hasn’t done a single bit of difference. In fact, it seems to have inspired her to out my husband as gay. Every time she’s caught meddling she’s either sent for more training or put on probation. I don’t think she is going to last much longer.)