Worker: *rudely* “What do you want?”

Me: “Hi, I’d like a cheese pizza and a six-inch veggie on wheat please.”

Worker: “You don’t need that much food.”

Me: “…Excuse me?”

Worker: “You’re too small to need that much. I’m not gonna sell you pizza just so you can barf it back up. Just stick with your veggies.”

Me: “Let me speak to your manager.”

Worker: “No way, I’m not going to go get my manager just because you want to pretend you eat.”

(Before I can reply, the cashier, who has overheard everything, hurries over and hip checks the rude worker out of the way.)

Cashier: “Ma’am, I am very sorry. We’ll get what you asked for, and I’ll get the manager up here for you immediately.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Worker: “No way! I’m not going to let you stick up for this anorexic b****!”

(At this point, there is a small line behind me and the elderly woman behind me speaks up.)

Elderly Woman: *to the worker* “You say one more word and I will haul your butt over this counter and tan it like your mother should have, you disrespectful little turd!”

(The others in line laugh. The manager shows up then, and I relate the story. The worker denies it, even though the cashier and other customers back me up.)

Manager: “Well, we’ll just get that ready for you, and consider this matter resolved.”

Elderly Woman: “So, you’re just going to allow him to speak to your customers that way? Excuse me for a moment while I make a call.”

(She calls someone and says a name that makes both the manager and the worker’s faces go sheet white.)

Elderly Woman: “Okay…” *her phone towards the manager* “My husband would like to speak with you.”

(The manager and worker vanish into the back, making denials about what happened over the phone. The woman smiles)

Elderly Woman: “My husband owns this particular franchise. I’ve been in here enough that you’d think those turds would know it. [Cashier], please put this lovely young woman’s order, as well as these patiently waiting people’s orders, on the house.”

Me: “Thank you, but you really don’t have to do that.”

Elderly Woman: “No, I don’t, but what the h***. You look great, by the way!”

Me: “Thank you, for everything you did.”

Elderly Woman: “Hey, it livens up my day!”

(After I ate and was leaving, I saw an elderly man—the elderly woman’s husband and store owner—enter the store and berate the manager and worker. Both of them were in tears as he fired them both.)

(I’m at the dentist getting fillings. Note that one side of my mouth has been numbed.)

Assistant: “Has your medical history changed since your last visit?”

Me: *feeling numb* “I know I’m on different medicathons than the lasth time I wath here.”

Assistant: “I don’t seem to have the update form here. I’ll go grab a copy.”

(The assistant leaves, and the dentist comes in.)

Dentist: “Where’d she go?”

Me: “She had to gwab a form.”

(The assistant comes back with the form and a clipboard.)

Assistant: “Okay, what are you taking now? And do you remember the doses?”

Me: *getting number* “I’m on [5-syllable med] at 5mg and [7-syllable med] at 50mg.”

Assistant & Dentist: “Uh…”

Me: “How’s about I justh wite it down?”

(I take the clipboard and fill out the info, and sign it.)

Dentist: “I never would’ve spelled that right.”

(Note: My coworker and I work in the garden center.)

Me: “Ugh, we have too many begonias!”

Coworker: “You know what I wish?”

Me: “That they’d be… gone… yeah?”

(I look up to see him stifling laughter while trying to give me a death glare.)

Coworker: “You stole that from me. You’re so impatiens!”

(I burst out laughing, struggling to come up with a new pun.)

Coworker: “Well, you don’t have to be so hosta about it.”

(I’m ordering lunch at a drive-thru.)

Staff: “Hi, welcome to [restaurant]. Please place your order when you’re ready.”

Me: “Could I please just get a medium chips?”

Staff: “We only do small, regular or large.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Staff: “We only do small, regular or large.”

Me: “…Regular, then.”

(I go to our general practitioner after coughing up quite some blood. He calls me later that afternoon, telling me to pick up a form there and then head to first aid ASAP. Slightly panicking, I jump on my bike and race towards the doctor’s office, where I hear I might have a pulmonary embolism. Then I race to the hospital. My mother and brother are with me.)

First Aid Nurse: “How can I help you?”

Me: “My doctor just told me i had to get here ASAP, and this is a form I needed to bring. I have no idea what’s wrong though.”

(After waiting an hour, in an examination room, the doctor takes my blood pressure, puts the cuff on my arm, and leaves. Not sure what to do, I leave it there as it squeezes my arm every three minutes to the verge of pain. Another doctor comes, I reexplain what is going on, and he leaves after taking some tests. After another hour, a third doctor shows up.)

Doctor: “Well, it seems you indeed have a pulmonary embolism. Meaning you have to take shots every day from now on.”

(Without warning, the doctor grabs my shirt, exposing my belly, and JABS a needle in it, making me squeak in pain.)

Doctor: “Don’t be a wuss! That didn’t hurt! Well, now we need to keep you here for about three days, just for monitoring. You can’t do anything physically intensive though. The blood cloth that’s stuck in your lungs now might shoot to your heart or brain otherwise, so we need to bring you to your room in a wheelchair.”

Me: “So… you’re telling me I could be dead already? Do you have any idea how fast I raced on my bike to get here?”

Doctor: “Oh, but didn’t your general practitioner tell you that any form of exercise could kill you at this point? ”

Me: “No, he didn’t.”

(Looks like I escaped from death that day by an inch, just because I was poorly informed. After taking blood thinning medication for almost a year, I’m fully recovered.)