(My boss calls me into a meeting room to tell me that they have a ‘problem’ with the medications I need to take in order to be able to work with my disabilities. He has particular issues with narcotic painkillers.)

Boss: “Right, I’ll keep this short. We’re going to need to see proof that your prescriptions are genuine and that you are not buying these off the streets.”

Me: “Ok, easy enough. I keep a copy of the repeat prescription with my doctor’s contact details with me in case of queries by police or anyone since they are controlled substances. I’ll happily show you that.”

Boss: “Um, no. You might have made that up.”

Me: “It’s got my doctor’s details right on it; you can give them a call, or I can call them and get them to do a letter or something?”

Boss: “How do I know they are an actual doctor?”

Me: “You can look up the surgery and call them direct from the number on their website to check they are there? They’ve been there for more years than I have. I can get a letter from them if you like with their registered doctor number?”

Boss: “Look, we’re going for a new client that is a religious school right? How do you think we’ll get that contract if they find out we’ve got a druggie on staff?”

Me: *starting to tear up* “I’m disabled and need medications to survive! I’m not a drug addict!”

Boss: “Well, if that was true then you wouldn’t be getting upset would you?”

Me: “What the f*** is your problem with me? I don’t see you hauling anyone else into meeting rooms for taking their inhalers or insulin injections or anything?”

Boss: “Nobody needs painkillers okay? Just don’t bring your drugs near the office.”

(My doctor was pretty incensed to hear that his decisions are being questioned by my manager and has written a fairly scathing letter to our HR department about how my medical history is not the business of my company and he doesn’t appreciate having his profession likened to a drug dealer nor his disabled patients being called ‘druggies’. We’re waiting to see what happens.)

(I’ve had an awful week altogether: a close relative’s battle with cancer is not going well, I sprained my ankle and it has been hurting for days, my tooth has been aching, I had to get a biopsy of a lump in my breast, my studies are not progressing as well as they should, due to our differing schedules I haven’t been able to talk to my best friend in few weeks… Pretty much nothing is going my way. Then I call my landlady.)

Me: “Hi! I just called to ask if it’s okay to lend the spare key to my friend? She has university’s entrance exams here in a few weeks, but I won’t be here during them because I’m going on a trip with another friend. She will just leave the keys here when she’s done.”

Landlady: “Oh, that’s fine. I’ll try not to visit then, so I won’t scare her. But how has it been going? We haven’t seen each other for a while.”

Me: “Well, I should be getting on with my studies, but I’m a bit behind the schedule. It’ll take me another year to graduate from [University].”

Landlady: “That’s not even slow. My daughter took ten years to graduate.”

Me: “Yeah, I guess six years is just fine. Well, in other news, I’ll be going home to work for the summer. I’ll still pay the rent for my room, though.”

Landlady: “I was meaning to say something about that. You and [Roommate] have been really good tenants, so I was wondering what you’d say about not paying rent for June?”

Me: “Oh, that sounds really good, but that’s… too much. I can’t ask for that.”

Landlady: “Well, you’ve lived there for many years, always paid your rent on time, and I don’t have to worry about the apartment, so I’d really like to do this. I know you don’t make too much money over the summer anyway. Can you tell this to [Roommate], too?”

Me: “Of course! Thanks. This is amazing.”

(My landlady had always been an awesome lady, but this left me almost crying from happiness after the horrible week I had been going though.)

(In Virginia, open containers of alcohol are not allowed in public area. However, if a restaurant has sidewalk/outdoor patio space, they can get a permit to serve alcohol there, as long as their seating area on the sidewalk is designated with some sort of physical indicator.)

Me: *in chained-off patio area, talking to woman across the patio* “Hey, Trish! Did you—”

(I realize it’s too noisy for her to hear me, so I walk around the patio, outside of the chain, and then talk to Trish. I’m still holding my bottle of beer.)

Waitress: “[My Name]! You can’t have your beer outside of our patio!”

(I look down, and see I’m still on the outside of the chain. I then step over the chain, but put my feet in the exact same place, but now the chain is behind my calves.)

Waitress: “That’s better.”

(I am a younger, female design engineer working for a helicopter manufacturing company, and it sometimes seems like my assessments aren’t taken seriously. An older senior project engineer storms in, in a tizzy, to get information on one of my projects after he has a meeting with someone higher up the corporate ladder.)

Project Engineer: “I need to know the weight of this part… this plastic mount for the wire ties!”

Me: “It’s negligible, and we are only using one in my kit.”

Project Engineer: “You don’t understand! [Higher-up] wants an EXACT weight, and I need it immediately so I can get this guy off my back!”

Me: “Ok, give me a couple of minutes to find it.”

Project Engineer: “Thanks, I’ll be back in a few.”

(He runs out the door. I finally find the info he wants after 10 minutes of searching.)

Project Engineer: “Did you find it?”

Me: “Yes. The weight is 40.37 grams per 100 of them.”

Project Engineer: “Ok, so how much is that in pounds?” *gets paper and pen to write it down*

Me: *after quick calculation* “Point zero eight nine per hundred. One of them weighs point zero zero zero eight nine pounds… or a little over fourteen one-hundredths of an ounce…”

Project Engineer: *starts writing and repeating to himself under his breath* “Point zero zero zero—” *stops short and looks up* “…hahaha!” *drops pen* “Okay, I’ll just tell him it’s negligible. Thanks!”

(I tend to be one of those workers who will come in despite being sick and will work until I almost pass out or become physically ill. This story happens on one of those days. I happen across a toy train car that’s meant for transporting sea creatures, but the plastic animals barely move with how small the tanks are.)

Me: “But- but the tanks are too small for the critters.”

Coworker: “What?”

Me: *turning and gesturing at them with the toy, getting more distressed* “The tanks are too small for the critters.”

Coworker: “They aren’t real, you know.”

Me: “I know, but the tanks are too small for the critters.”

Coworker: “How about you just… go see [Manager]? Let her know how you’re doing.”

(I go and relay what happened to my manager, who stares at me for a long moment afterwards.)

Manager: “Well, do you think you can hang in there until [Coworker] comes in? If you can make it until then you can go ahead home, hun. Get some rest and get better.”

Me: “What about the critters?”

Manager: “The critters will be fine, [My Name].”

Me: “But… the tanks are too small.”

Manager: “Go take your fifteen.”

(I managed to make it until my coworker made it in, and ended up going home early. After some cold/flu medicine and some rest, I was no longer worried about the plastic sea creatures having room in their tanks.)