Holistic Medicine and the Western Medical Tradition

Flu Right Past The Diagnosis
HOSPITAL, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA, USA | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 20, 2017
(I am in so much pain that I have a friend drive me to the ER. Note: I commonly have stomach problems and this pain is certainly NOT in my stomach. I get seen fairly quickly and given pain medicine but am still in some pain in spite of it.)

Doctor: “Did you recently have the flu?”

Me: “Yes, but this isn’t the flu.”

Doctor: “Yes, it is; it is causing you more pain because you’ve gotten it two times in a row. The pain is in your colon.”

Me: “I’ve had issues like that before. This is not it. Digestive pain does not happen on one side. Check your tests again.”

(The doctor leaves. I continue to experience pain and walk around to try to relieve it as sitting down seems to make it worse. Finally a nurse comes and tells me they are taking me to get an ultrasound.)

Me: “So what happened? Did he finally believe me?”

Nurse: “Yes, your pee sample came back and you had blood in it. You probably have a kidney stone.”

(Guess what was confirmed by the ultrasound? Never have I wanted to punch a doctor so badly. The flu indeed!)

Bleeding Puns
HOSPITAL, IOWA, PUNNY, USA | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 20, 2017
(I’m in the ER with some potential heart issues. At one point, I get a very nice lady in to draw some blood, and she’s joined by a coworker who’s about to go off shift. My elbow veins aren’t cooperating, so I have to get blood drawn from the back of my hand as well. It goes faster after that, and soon, the lady who’s leaving heads out, then pokes her head back in the door.)

Phlebotomist: “Thanks for letting me stick around!”

(My mom and I couldn’t stop laughing. Definitely made the whole visit bearable!)

MRI = Milk Restrictive Invention
AUSTRALIA, HOSPITAL, NEW SOUTH WALES, SYDNEY | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 20, 2017
(It took my husband and me several years to conceive. I wasn’t overly impressed with my induced labour of 48 hours that resulted in emergency C-section, and I struggle with breastfeeding that can’t be resolved by any method. I am feeling pretty down about not being able to do anything unassisted and am not 100% happy about having to top up every meal with formula but I am determined to keep going with breastfeeding. I’ll admit this is probably out of stubbornness, but it means a lot to me. Meanwhile, I have to have an MRI that I had to reschedule while pregnant and when I make the appointment, I ask if it is safe while breastfeeding. I am assured it is and though I am dubious, I will admit that I don’t look into it further, assuming they know better than I do. The appointment comes up and I leave my six-week-old baby for the first time with my husband and drive myself (also for the first time since the operation) to the radiologist.)

Receptionist: “Yes?”

Me: “Hello, I have an appointment for an MRI. My name is [My Name].”

Receptionist: “Here.”

(She thrusts paperwork at me. I fill it out, listing my allergies and so on, and note that there’s a question asking if I might be pregnant or breastfeeding. I put a tick next to it and finish the form. Handing it back to the receptionist, I ask about the question. She says it’s fine and tells me to sit down. Since I am the last patient of the day, I am taken in before I have a chance to ask her more and I figure it’s better to ask the tech anyway. The radiologist technician glances briefly at my form and sprints off down the corridor with me struggling to keep up. He obviously wants to get out for the day because he’s saying all his introductory explanation spiel to me similar to the squirrel from Hoodwinked. When he comes up for air, I manage to talk.)

Me: “The form asked me if I am breastfeeding.”

Tech: *casually* “Yes, you can’t breastfeed.”

Me: *thinking over his poor choice of words*

Tech: “…are you breastfeeding?”

Me: “Yes, I am breastfeeding. I did ask about this when I booked the appointment. They said it’s fine.”

Tech: “We have to put the dye in you and it’s toxic so you can’t breastfeed for three days after the MRI.”

Me: “That doesn’t explain why they didn’t tell me this when I booked.”

Tech: *looks confused*

Me: “I asked reception today, too. She said it’s fine.”

Tech: “What would they know?”

Me: “Actually, I’d imagine they’d know who can and cannot come for an MRI since it’s their job to book and take appointments.”

Tech: “Oh, yeah, probably then. Well, I can’t answer for them but the dye is toxic. You can’t breastfeed for three days. So just don’t breastfeed and you’ll be all right.”

Me: “That’s okay. I will just reschedule.”

Tech: “Can’t you just stop for a few days?”

Me: *feeling pretty crappy* “I am sorry but I can’t just casually stop breastfeeding.”

Tech: “Just breastfeed more and store up milk for three days.”

Me: “…”

Tech: *cheerfully* “You know you can freeze it, right?”

Me: “It would take me at least a month to build up three days worth.”

Tech: “Okay, we’ll reschedule for a month. That will give you time.”

Me: “…”

Tech: *getting irritated* “Or, just go buy formula. It’s really not that bad.”

Me: “Of course formula isn’t bad, but that’s not the point. If I stop I might not be able to keep going at all.”

Tech: *getting angry* “Then go buy a pump and just throw it away for three days. But make sure you wash it properly because it’s toxic.”

(I am thinking this is not his business and I don’t want to talk about it, but also as I am now teetering on a cliff between furious and devastated, I go on.)

Me: “I need to physically feed her and I can’t just stop. Yes, I pump, but I need to do both. It’s not your business but I have been through too much to throw it away casually like you want me to. Forget the MRI. I am leaving.”

Tech: *cheerful as his workday has ended sooner than he expected* “No worries. We can book you in when you’re ready.”

Me: “Thanks, but I will go somewhere else, with properly trained staff who know what services they can and cannot provide and give proper information in an understanding way, when I am no longer breastfeeding.”

(I was temporarily impressed with my own ability to string more that three words together because I never stick up for myself and I was shaking like a leaf, and I made my way back down the maze-like corridors without getting lost. I also managed to get my referral back from the receptionist who talked to the tech in front of me about how I couldn’t get the MRI because I am breastfeeding, to which the receptionist asked “so when do you want to rebook?” and I responded “like h*** I will be,” before leaving and getting in my car. I cried in the car and they never knew it. For that, I was thankful.)

Oh The Eye-rony
CANADA, MARRIAGE & PARTNERS, ONTARIO, OPTOMETRIST/OPTICIAN, TORONTO | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 19, 2017
(I walk into my optometrist’s office and find a new secretary. I’m curious about what happened to “Jane,” the last one, especially since “Jane” and the doctor were married! I’m the only one in the office right now so I decide to be nosey

Me: *after the preliminary sign in conversation* “So, Jane is no longer here?”

New Secretary: “No, she’s gone.”

Me: “I’m surprised considering her relationship with the Doctor.”

New Secretary: “It was all very awkward, Jane needed to start wearing glasses but she refused to. The doctor had to fire her because she was giving out the wrong prescriptions to people and messing up things like that.”

Me: “Ooh, that’s not good. Wait, she was married to an optometrist and worked in an optometrist’s office and refused to wear glasses?”

New Secretary: “Yup. I shouldn’t say this but I believe it was a case of vanity gone wrong. They’re getting divorced now, too.”

Me: “Gee, I wonder why?”

Let’s Hope It Was A Clean Break
AUSTRALIA, HOME, IGNORING & INATTENTIVE, QUEENSLAND | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 18, 2017
(Our two storey house has a lot of windows, many of them quite high up, so we use a window cleaning service. We’ve used the same guy every time. One day, he brings a coworker with him. He introduces me to the coworker, who responds to my greeting by saying curtly

Coworker: “Yeah, hi. Where are your taps? We need to get started.”

(I’m working in my home office, which is upstairs. I see the ladder resting against the side of the house and our window cleaner ascending it. He gives me a friendly smile and wave and right then, the ladder wobbles and he falls. I race outside and he’s lying on the grass unconscious. I rush into the house for the phone and as I do, I pass the coworker.)

Me: “[Window Cleaner] has just fallen from his ladder; he’s out cold! I’m calling an ambulance!”

Coworker: “You do that.”

(He doesn’t make a move to check on his colleague; he just carries on cleaning. I call the ambulance and rush back outside.)

Me: “Didn’t you hear what I said? [Window Cleaner] has had a bad fall. Why aren’t you checking on him?”

Coworker: “You just said you’d called the ambulance. What do you want me to do about it? Do you want your windows cleaned or not?!”

(I’m not about to stand there arguing with him and I rush round the house to open the gate for the paramedics and to stay with my window cleaner until they arrive. As they are assessing him he starts to come round, but is later revealed to have a broken ankle, a broken collarbone, and a concussion. After the paramedics have taken him away, I go back to the coworker.)

Me: “I think he’ll be okay. They’ve taken him to [Hospital]. Shouldn’t you follow the ambulance or let his wife know or SOMETHING?”

Coworker: *after a long pause in which he just stares at me* “That’ll be $160.00.”

Using His Outdoor Voice Inside
AUSTRALIA, MEDICAL OFFICE | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 17, 2017
(I am opening the clinic, getting to work at 8:30 am when we open at 9:00 am. I am an avid believer of keeping the shutters closed and main lights off until I am completely ready to accept people. I leave the back-door unlocked for the remainder of staff to come in, as not everyone has a key. The back door has a ‘Staff Only’ sign. Walking around the department in the dark, paper-like bed sheets in my arms, I hear a strange yelling sound. Outside it is incredibly windy and the back door is unlocked so I assume it has something to do with that. While replacing toilet paper in the bathrooms, there is another yell. This time I poke my head out the back door and see nothing. I am finally behind the desk logging into the systems when a loud slamming sound makes me jump and in full view of the back room across the hall I see an unhappy older man march in. The lights are still off. The shutters out front are closed. There are no escape doors for me. The setting made it seem terrifying, but I really only stood there in shock. It is 8:40 am.)

Patient: *yelling as he walks up* “Your doors are closed! I have an appointment at nine!”

Me: “Y-Yes. We don’t open for another twenty minutes, sir.”

Patient: “I have an appointment! Do you expect me to wait outside in the cold? I’m not waiting outside!”

(I am still genuinely scared and consider calling the police because he is being very aggressive and I fear for my safety. Then I think, why is he not waiting in his car? Did he expect everyone to open twenty minutes early just because he was there?)

Me: “I’m not prepared to take anyone yet. That’s why everything is still closed. My computer hasn’t finished signing in.”

Patient: “FINE! I’ll wait here! I’m not waiting outside!”

(Still scared, but somewhat mad now, I left the desk and made myself busy. Then I went to the tea room and waited until 8:50. Meanwhile, the techs had come in with strange looks, wanting to know what the man’s situation was. After that, I returned, turned on the lights, and opened the shutters. His car was parked outside. Point of the story: patients genuinely scare staff when they get like this. When it comes to people’s health, they are capable of anything. I thought he was going to hit me!)

It’s Our Morning Period
ARIZONA, MEDICAL OFFICE, PHOENIX, USA | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 17, 2017
(Our office is only open a half-day on Friday. This takes place at about 11:00 am.)

Patient: “So, today is your half-day, right?”

Me: “Right; we’re only open half the day on Fridays.”

Patient: “Are you open in the morning or the afternoon?”

Me: *looks around at the waiting room full of patients, including her* “Uh… Morning.”

Patient: “Oh, that would make sense.”

Vets Need To Vet Their Pharmacists
NEW YORK, PHARMACY, USA, VET | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 17, 2017
(I take my sick dog to the vet and they don’t have the medicine he needs, so they send me to a store to pick it up from their pharmacy.)

Me: “Hi, I’m here to pick up medicine for my dog.”

Rep: “What’s the name?”

Me: “Well, my name is [My Name], but my dog is named Austin.”

Rep: “The medicine is for Austin? What’s Austin’s date of birth?”

Me: “I honestly don’t know what they would have for that; he is a rescue.”

Rep: “Do you have a phone number for Austin?”

Me: “My number is [number].”

Rep: “I don’t need your number. I need the patient’s number.”

Me: “He’s a golden retriever. He doesn’t have a number.”

Rep: “Look, I need information or I can’t give you anything. I can’t even find the prescription.”

Me: “It was called in by [Vet Hospital, with ‘Veterinary’ in the name].”

(The rep yells to the people behind him

Rep: “Did we get a call from a [Vet Hospital, but without the word ‘Veterinary’]?”

(I try to correct him, but he brushes me off and the other employees tell him no.)

Rep: “Look, try talking to someone at the drop off window. Right now, you can’t prove you even have a prescription.”

Me: “I don’t have a prescription, but my dog, Austin, does from his veterinarian.”

(The rep glares at me and points to the drop off window. I go over.)

Me: “Hi, I’m here to pick up medicine for my dog, Austin, that my veterinarian called in.”

Drop-Off Pharmacist: “I have that here. What’s your phone number so I can verify?” *I provide it* “Okay, our customer service rep at the main register will check you out.”

(I get back in the first line with the same rep.)

Rep: “What’s this? They found it? Well, I still need you to verify Austin’s information, or call him to get it.”

Me: “Again, Austin is a dog. See? The medicine is listed for veterinary; there’s even a picture of a dog on the package.”

Rep: “Okay, you need to talk to the pharmacist.”

(He puts the medicine on the back counter. I wait five minutes and the pharmacist comes out.)

Pharmacist: “What questions do you have?”

Me: “None, actually. The vet said just to give him a pill twice a day.”

Pharmacist: “Okay. [Rep], why did you call me up?”

Rep: “Is it even legal to give this to her? She doesn’t have the patient’s information.”

Pharmacist: “The patient is a dog. It’s fine.”

Rep: “A dog? Who needs medicine for a dog? Whatever, here.”

(He hands me the bag with the medication.)

Me: “I haven’t paid.”

Rep: “Yeah, you did; I rang you out.”

Me: “No.”

Pharmacist: “This wasn’t paid for. Let me personally ring you out over here. I’m going to write down my information and the name of the other employee who helped you. If you have any questions, comments, or complaints, please send them to this email address. Please send them. We need to have a certain number of complaints before we can let an employee go.”

Screaming For A New Nurse
HOSPITAL, MISSISSIPPI, USA | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 16, 2017
(This occurs when I am 19 years old, and in the hospital giving birth. I am a fairly tiny person, my baby is pretty huge, and I’m in my 23rd hour of labor, so you can see how I might be stressed out. The first time I let out a pained scream…)

Nurse: *disgustedly* “You know the screaming doesn’t actually help, right?”

(My mom and boyfriend gawk at her.)

Boyfriend: “Are you kidding? Did you seriously just say that?”

Nurse: *defensively* “Look, I’m just saying that it’s 3:00 am; people are trying to sleep. She’s being really loud.”

Mom: “GET THE F*** OUT OF HERE!”

(She huffed and walked out of the room without a word, leaving another nurse to scramble in to help. I saw her a few more times during my stay, and thankfully she kept her mouth shut.)

Cold-Blooded Humor
ALBERTA, CANADA, HOSPITAL | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 16, 2017
(I received a call from my doctor after having some blood work done, telling me to get to the ER immediately for a blood transfusion, as my hemoglobin levels were critically low. A friend of mine takes me and stays with me for support. She likes to try and lighten the mood with a sarcastic sense of humor. This occurs when the nurse brings in the first bag of blood and hooks it up to my IV…)

Me: “Oh, wow… that’s a strange sensation!”

Nurse: “What? It’s not burning is it? Does it hurt?”

Me: “Not at all… It’s just really cold! I’ve never felt cold inside my body before.”

Friend: “Cold? Geez, Nurse! Can’t ya warm it up a little for her?”

Nurse: “…umm.”

Friend: “Just throw it in the microwave for a few minutes! My friend says it’s too cold here!”

Nurse: *mouth agape with a look of horror*

Me: “[Friend]… I don’t think she knows you’re joking.”

Friend: “Oh… Oh, my god! I’m totally joking! Just trying to lighten the mood!”

Nurse: “Oh, thank goodness! I mean, whatever you want to do on your own time, sure… but I’m not wasting precious O negative in this hospital for your little experiment here!”

(We had a good laugh after that. And after two bags of the red stuff my hemoglobin levels were back up to normal!)

Addicted To Death
ALBERTA, CANADA, HOSPITAL | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 16, 2017
(I am eleven years old. My mother works in the kitchen of the local hospital and sometimes her duties involve delivering food trays to the patients. I remember her talking about the times on one floor where she would hear people moaning and crying, begging for morphine, as they lay painfully dying from whatever cancer was taking them from this world. One day, when I am out front of the hospital, I begin talking with a nurse who is waiting for the bus. We touch on a few topics until I remember my mother’s worlds about the terminally ill patients.)

Me: “My mother works in the kitchen and delivers food trays. She has told me about the dying people begging for morphine. Why don’t you give them what they need?”

Nurse: “Because they could become addicted, of course!”

Me: *I pondered her words for a few moments then replied* “Well, why don’t you give them the morphine they need, and then when they die, cut them off?”

Nurse: *giving me the stink-eye* “Little smart-a**!” *walks away in a huff*

Too Bad You Can’t Transfuse Out Racism
BIGOTRY, HOSPITAL, USA | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 16, 2017
(This happened to one of my professors in the 1970s while they were working in a hospital’s blood bank dispensary. It wasn’t uncommon at that time for people to be somewhat fixated on the concept of receiving blood from their own race only. Some people falsely believed that “black blood” would “turn you black,” and all sorts of other ridiculous racist things. A patient who has recently received a blood transfusion somehow gets their number.)

Caller: “What color was the blood you gave me?”

Professor: *knowing what they’re asking, but refusing to play* “Red.”

Caller: “No. Where did it come from?”

Professor: “From someone’s veins, out of the goodness of their hearts.”

Caller: “No, I mean, what type of person did it come from?”

Professor: “A generous, kind, and loving one. Look, I don’t know their race, and it doesn’t matter anyway, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did know.”

Caller: “F*** you!”

Leaving You High And Dry
AWESOME, ENGLAND, HOSPITAL, INSPIRATIONAL, KIND STRANGERS, LONDON, UK | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 15, 2017
(I’ve gone to the hospital for an ultrasound scan. On my way to the hospital, I am caught in a flash rainstorm and have no umbrella, so I am completely soaked through by the time I arrive.)

Doctor: “Ms. [Surname]?

Me: “Hi.”

Doctor: “Oh, you poor thing; you’re soaked though.”

Me: “Yeah, it was raining really hard out there.”

(We enter the ultrasound room.)

Sonographer: “Hi. I’m [Sonographer], and I’ll be doing your scan today. If I could ask you to lie on the bench…”

Me: “Sure. Uh, I’m sorry; I’m going to make it a little damp, I think.”

Doctor: “Don’t apologise; we’re just sorry you’re so wet. Wait, hold on. We have spare hospital gowns somewhere.”

Sonographer: “In the waiting room. I’ll grab one. Hopefully your clothes can dry a little when we do the scan.”

(She goes out.)

Doctor: “Right. Let’s see if I can switch the air-conditioner off in here, or get it to run hot.”

Me: “Thanks!”

Doctor: “Not a problem.”

(The sonographer comes back with a hospital gown, so I get changed. After the scan is done…)

Doctor: “All done. Do you have to be anywhere? Otherwise, maybe we could see if there’s somewhere for you to sit so your clothes can dry.”

Me: “That’s very kind, but I have to go back home and carry on working.”

Doctor: “Hmm, I wonder if we can get you a hairdryer for a quick solution, then.”

Sonographer: “Let me think…” *pause* “I’m pretty sure we don’t have any we can use, but if you take the first left, there are some toilets with a pretty good hand-dryer, which you might be able to stand under.”

(I ended up having to rush back, but I was extremely grateful to the doctor and sonographer for trying to find a way to dry me off!)

Will Come Down With Swine Flu
MEDICAL OFFICE, MONTANA, USA | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 15, 2017
(I work at a small clinic which has a break room right next to my desk, so I smell everyone’s reheated lunch. I don’t eat pork.)

Me: “Do you have to eat that at my desk? It smells awful!”

Coworker: “Oh, you’ll be fine. Your hot cop is coming in today.”

(I have a regular patient who is a cop.)

Me: “He’s not ‘my hot cop.’ He’s twice my age.”

Coworker: “Whatever.” *walks away, taking her rancid lunch with her*

Me: *yelling* “Oh, sick! NOW IT SMELLS LIKE BACON IN HERE! I FREAKING HATE PIGS!”

(Right then my “hot cop patient” walked around the corner, and if looks could kill… Needless to say, when he came in for follow-up, I just happened to come down with the flu that day.)

Take (Medi)Care To Stay Alive
GRANDPARENTS, HOME, RHODE ISLAND, USA | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 15, 2017
(I am with my grandmother, who gets tons of sales calls, which everyone in the house finds obnoxious. One day, I answer the phone for her.)

Salesperson: “Hello, this is Medicare. Can I speak to [Grandmother]?”

Me: “She’s dead.”

Salesperson: “Okay, I’ll make a note of that on her file. Goodbye.”

(He hangs up. My grandmother is staring at me in shock.)

Grandma: “DID YOU JUST TELL MEDICARE THAT I DIED?! I’LL LOSE MY INSURANCE!”

(Naturally, I freak out. I’m near hysterical as I call the company and tell them what I had done.)

Medicare Person: “Did someone call the house? Because Medicare only calls if you have made an appointment in advance. We still have her alive on here.”

(So luckily they were scammers. However, I will never do that again. Ever.)

Allergic To Common Sense, Part 12
HEALTH & BODY, RESTAURANT, USA, WASHINGTON DC | HEALTHY | NOVEMBER 15, 2017
(I’m a manager for a popular casual restaurant. I receive a phone call from an upset customer.)

Caller: “Why don’t you offer allergy menus? My daughter almost died from eating calamari! Why would you serve her something that she is allergic to, and she’s pregnant!”

Me: “I do apologize for your daughter’s condition and we do offer a dozen different types of menus which do include an allergen menu, nutritional menus, large print menus, etc.”

Caller: “How am I supposed to know you have these menus?!”

Me: “Did you ask? Also, if your daughter knew she was allergic to calamari, why would she order it?”

Caller: “She didn’t know she was allergic to it! That’s why I was asking about the allergen menu!”

Me: “Okay, so, if she doesn’t know that she is allergic to calamari, how are we supposed to know?”

Caller: *realizes the paradox* “Well, she’s pregnant and I am really scared.”

(I’m a mom of two.)

Me: “I understand you are scared and when a person is pregnant their body goes through a lot of changes; consult with the doctor and I hope she will be okay.”

(I never got a call back I wonder if she still thinks we should automatically know if someone is allergic to something.)

Allergic To Common Sense, Part 11
RESTAURANT | RIGHT | FEBRUARY 22, 2017
(I work in a southwestern-themed restaurant, and many of our recipes include similar spices, just in different amounts. Onion is one of the most prominent ingredients in our recipes, and we sometimes get a request for ‘no onion’ in certain items. We can make some things, but it’d be pretty much just lettuce, cheese, and any number of fresh chopped vegetables that aren’t onion or mixed with anything that has onion in it. As such, I get this man in line.)

Customer: “I’d like a burrito.”

Me: “Okay, would you like that with or without guacamole today?”

Customer: “With.”

(The guacamole has onion in it.)

Me: “What kind of meat on your burrito?”

Customer: “Chicken.”

(The chicken has onion in the seasoning.)

Me: “Any rice or beans?”

Customer: “Sure, I’ll take [rice with onion in it], and [beans with onion in them].”

Me: “Any grilled vegetables?”

Customer: “Ooh, no, thank you. I’m allergic to onion.”

Me: “Sir… if you’re allergic to onions then I highly suggest you don’t eat this burrito. There is a load of onion in it already.”

Customer: “Oh, no, I’m only allergic to onion that I can see.”

(Eight years of culinary experience, and this is the first time I’ve heard that excuse. I made him his burrito – leaving off anything with visible onion – and he went on his way. No complaints yet.)

Allergic To Common Sense, Part 10
RESTAURANT | RIGHT | SEPTEMBER 27, 2016
(I am a cashier at a restaurant. We are a small business and the owners are still working on the perfect way to run the business. A couple walks in and orders at the counter as usual. After finding a table, the woman returns to the counter.)

Customer: “Excuse me; do you have any larger chairs? My husband is too large to fit in these.”

(I know we don’t have any, but I go in the back to ask the owner for advice anyway. I return to the counter with no real solution.)

Me: *”No, ma’am. We don’t have any larger chairs; I’m sorry for your husband’s discomfort.”

Customer: “Okay, thanks anyway.”

(She goes back to her table, visibly upset. The husband returns to fill his drink, and I notice he is wearing an adult bib. They eat all their food with seemingly no complaints. They talk for a few minutes, and then the wife returns to the counter.)

Customer: “Excuse me, I’m having an allergic reaction. Is the manager around?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Let me go grab the owner for you.”

Owner: “What’s wrong, ma’am ?”

Customer: “My throat is itchy. I’m allergic to something in your food. Could you name the ingredients for me?”

Owner: *names every ingredient in the food she and her husband has eaten*

Customer: “I’m not allergic to any of that.”

Owner: “I’m sorry, ma’am, then you didn’t have an allergic reaction here.”

Customer: *becoming more angry by the second* “I said my throat is itchy and I’m having an allergic reaction! Don’t you care at all about your customers?”

Owner: “Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

Customer: “No! I’m fine! We were just leaving!”

(She pulled her husband out the door. He seemed indifferent to her “allergic reaction.” He even waved to us on the way out.)

Allergic To Common Sense, Part 10
RESTAURANT | RIGHT | SEPTEMBER 27, 2016
(I am a cashier at a restaurant. We are a small business and the owners are still working on the perfect way to run the business. A couple walks in and orders at the counter as usual. After finding a table, the woman returns to the counter.)

Customer: “Excuse me; do you have any larger chairs? My husband is too large to fit in these.”

(I know we don’t have any, but I go in the back to ask the owner for advice anyway. I return to the counter with no real solution.)

Me: *”No, ma’am. We don’t have any larger chairs; I’m sorry for your husband’s discomfort.”

Customer: “Okay, thanks anyway.”

(She goes back to her table, visibly upset. The husband returns to fill his drink, and I notice he is wearing an adult bib. They eat all their food with seemingly no complaints. They talk for a few minutes, and then the wife returns to the counter.)

Customer: “Excuse me, I’m having an allergic reaction. Is the manager around?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Let me go grab the owner for you.”

Owner: “What’s wrong, ma’am ?”

Customer: “My throat is itchy. I’m allergic to something in your food. Could you name the ingredients for me?”

Owner: *names every ingredient in the food she and her husband has eaten*

Customer: “I’m not allergic to any of that.”

Owner: “I’m sorry, ma’am, then you didn’t have an allergic reaction here.”

Customer: *becoming more angry by the second* “I said my throat is itchy and I’m having an allergic reaction! Don’t you care at all about your customers?”

Owner: “Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

Customer: “No! I’m fine! We were just leaving!”

(She pulled her husband out the door. He seemed indifferent to her “allergic reaction.” He even waved to us on the way out.)

Allergic To Common Sense, Part 9
SANDWICH SHOP | RIGHT | JUNE 24, 2016
(I work in a busy sandwich shop in a retail centre. It’s relatively quiet when a man and his two sons enter. They are regulars, but are usually rude. The father ignores us and plays with his phone while the kids order.)

Me: “And what salad would you like?”

Son #1 : *reels off salads* “…and onions. And [burger sauce].”

Me: *wraps his sandwich for him and hands it over before moving on*

(A few minutes after the father has paid, he storms back to the counter with Son #1 ’s sandwich.)

Father: “There are onions in here. He cannot eat onions. He is allergic!”

Me: *worried about the allergy* “I’m so sorry! Do you need me to call emergency services?!

Father: “What? No. He’s just allergic!”

Me: *I’m confused, but relieved more than anything* “Okay, I’m very sorry! I’ll make you a new one straight away.”

(I make the new sandwich as before, and ask the boy over to tell me his salad items again.)

Son #1 : *reels off his salads* “And onion.”

Me: *hesitates* “I’m sorry, but your father asked me not to add onions.”

Father: *from other side of restaurant* “NO ONIONS!”

Son #1 : *sighs* “Fine. But I want the [burger sauce]!”

Me: “I’m afraid that sauce has onions—”

Father: “NO ONION!”

Me: “—is there anything else I can offer you?”

Son #1 : “I just want the d*** [burger sauce]!”

Father: *storms up to counter* “He can have the sauce!”

Me: “The [burger sauce] contains onions so I’m not comf—”

Father: “Just give him the sauce!”

Me: *shrugs and puts the sauce on, adding extra when asked before wrapping the sandwich up*

Father: *snatches sandwich before I can bag it* “No onion! Was that so hard to understand?” *storms off again*

(They spent the rest of their meal glaring at me while I worked and left their mess all over the table, including the original sandwich they rejected. When I went to clean up, I find all of the onion had been removed from the sandwich and was nowhere to be seen.)