This might seem like an age old question, but until someone answers it, I am going to keep asking it! Why work in a hospital if you hate people?? I understand that hospitals can be busy places and staff run off their feet, not to mention the constant flow of annoying drug seeking losers who seem to spend more time in hospital emergency rooms that they do with their own dealers. But sometimes (oftentimes) there is nastiness where it is uncalled for.
Allow me to provide you with one of my many unpleasant experiences (more unpleasantness here), which is just one of millions of similarly unpleasant experiences endured by honest patients in hospitals throughout the country.
Iris jumped off a low wall and crumbled to the floor in our local dog park. Unable to get up and with ankle swelling rapidly, I whisked her to our nearest emergency room. After grabbing the only available wheelchair in the parking lot (with no foot supports), we burst into the reception area. Thankfully, on this Tuesday morning the place was very quiet, with just two other patients waiting to be seen.
Whilst a woman behind a glass window took down Iris’s details, I dragged over a chair for her to rest the injured foot. “You can’t do that,” barked the woman.“Well there's no other wheelchair and she can’t just sit with her leg in the air,” I said.“You can’t block the area,” she snapped. “I’ll move it as soon as we move,” I pleaded. “You can’t block the area,” she repeated like a robot. So I ran around and eventually located a wheelchair with foot supports and painfully transferred Iris.
We were then directed through a door with another window and another administrative person asking all the same questions again, name, insurance card etc. Iris's ankle was now the size of her head and her toes so swollen that they made me think of little black sausages ready to burst out of their casings. Wincing, she mumbled, "may I please have some ice?" “Not until we're done here,” spat the man behind the glass window. At which Iris bursts into tears. In a most unusual reaction to someone crying, this nasty little man leaned forward, pressed his nose against the glass, such that he now had a clear view of Iris’s gangrenous foot and yelled, “hey why are you being so aggressive towards me?” Completely taken aback, I jumped in and yelled back, “she's crying! How is that the same as being aggressive? Is there something wrong with the way you process human behavior?” To which he slumped back down in a huff.
With Iris now bawling from pain, we were eventually shown to a bed, whereupon a nurse entered, took the history and then left. Ten minutes later another nurse appeared and asked for the history all over again. “We just gave it to a previous nurse,” I said.“Oh she's finished her shift,” was the reply. So, through pain and gritted teeth, Iris repeated her story. Ten minutes after that a third nurse approached requesting Iris’s history, apparently the second nurse had also just finished her shift.
Thinking this might last a while, I asked nurse number three if I might nip out and buy some lunch for my friend.“No food or drink,” she boomed.“How about just water?” I said. Perhaps this was not one of my smarter moments, and I certainly felt like a silly schoolgirl when she snapped back, “What do you think water is?” before storming out of the room. After what seemed like an eternity, Iris had her x-ray and met the doctor for an impressive total of twenty five seconds. The injury was set and stabilized in a boot and she was eventually discharged.“If I am ever injured, just leave me to die on the street,” I said as I drove her home. “It’s better than dealing with that lineup of pointless nastiness.”
Which brings me back to my burning question. Why choose a job that involves high people traffic if people are what you hate most in the world?
My new doctor required me to fill in a questionnaire, so her secretary called to ask for my mailing address. With just three days to go before my visit, I suggested she email me the questionnaire.
To which she confidently replied, “we don't use email here.” Call me judgmental if you like, but after I fell off my chair, pinched myself to ensure I wasn't asleep in a nightmare and waited for the blood to drain from my eyes, I replied, “this is 2010, everyone uses email."
The next thing I knew, I was on hold for 5 minutes, and thank goodness for that, as I was pretty certain I'd also just had a stroke.
Eventually a different secretary came on the phone and confirmed that not only did she use email, but the questionnaire itself was online and here was the URL.
I asked why I hadn't been told this by her colleague, but received no response, and can only hope that the other woman was someone's temporary charity case and not a paid employee.
I respect a person’s freedom to avoid email at home, but a secretary in 2010 who is unable to switch on a computer is like a secretary in 1980 who couldn’t use a typewriter. Unheard of!
Is it just me, or is something seriously wrong with this picture??
"I didn't know you had diabetes," said my friend. "Tell me about it." "In a word, its type 2." "What's Type 2?" she asked, clearly curious to know more. "Type 2 is when you are insulin resistant which means..." And I began the explanation.
Less than a minute into it, she turned around, pointed to her annoying little cat, and said, "look how she just stretched, isn't she just the cutest?" So I turned my attention to the distraction and commented politely on it. Then I awkwardly returned to the explanation from which I was so obnoxiously cut off?
But a further minute into it, she distracted me again. "Oh what's that noise?" she said. Again I did the polite thing and helped her seek out the mysterious noise coming from outside, which turned out to be neighbors chatting in the street. Now I was certain that my conversation bored the girl so I did not return to it. Like most people, I don't wish to be boring, so will take the hint. But what do you do, when someone perpetually asks you questions, then consistently ignores and interrupts your answers? Not once, but every single time?! “Look at my dog.” “What's that noise?” “I think I know that couple at the next table.” “That guy has a mosquito on his back, flick it for him.” I'm sorry, I don't care if the guy at the next table is about to be swallowed whole by a mutant Venus Fly Trap, if you break eye contact with me to save him from imminent death, then you are indicating that I do not have your undivided attention. The way I was raised, that's as rude as being slapped in the face.
One thing for certain is that it’s a complete waste of time to entertain a conversation with such persons whilst driving a car!!"Look at those cows.” “Check out that cool van.” “Did you see that tree?” “Oh my God, that cloud looks like Santa Claus." If they even try to engage you in conversation, my advice is to feign car sickness, sleep or preferably death.
The funniest was when I found myself in a restaurant with one such bad listener and, deeply absorbed in telling me all about her vacation, she sent away the waitress, asking her to return only once the story was over. I wished this girl would show me even one tenth of the regard that she showed herself.
So what are we to do in such situations? My cowardly way to handle it has been to allow myself to be constantly sidetracked, and accept that I will never finish a sentence. Perhaps I’d be better off asking these self absorbed individuals to stop interrupting. Maybe I ought to ask whether I am boring them. Or even suggest to them that they are rude and uneducated.
But people don’t like being told off, it simply elicits a knee-jerk reaction of self justification, and before you know it, you're the bad guy. Perhaps there is no effective way to let someone know that their behavior is rude and offensive, and your only choices may be to suck it up or walk away.
Why do you ask me questions, if you don't care about my answers?
Can you really be happy for another person, even when their achievement strikes a blow at your own sense of self worth?
When I told my best friend I was happy for her because she was pregnant, that couldn't have been further from the truth. The truth was that her announcement ruined my day, my week and my self esteem. It added pressure to my already pressurized mid thirties brain and kept me awake at night with images of celebrating birthdays alone and bitter, while everyone else basked in the warmth and love of their self made families.
Some years later when it was my turn to be pregnant, I felt too guilty to announce it to my single friends. One night, as I finally plucked up the courage to pick up the phone and share the news, I said to my husband, "watch, as I ruin someone's day." He looked at me in utter confusion, "what are you talking about?" he said. "They're you're friends, they'll be happy for you." "There's no such thing as being happy for somebody else," I shrugged, and he looked at me like i had just announced that i was a psychopathic flesh eating robot.
So I began asking around to see whether others believed it was possible to be happy for another person, and was surprised to find just how many responded in the affirmative. Is everyone deluding themselves, too afraid to admit the socially unacceptable truth, or is it really possible to be happy for someone else, even when their achievement strikes a blow at your own sense of self worth?
From our first days in school when we compared our progress against our friends, to every milestone in life, we have no choice but to judge our successes based on that of our piers. And if our piers are faster, smarter and more popular, then we may experience feelings of inferiority. For example if you get 98% in a test and everyone else gets 99%, then you might say that you did well, but you are more likely to kick yourself for coming last.
If the friend's news is a goal that you too are striving for, like getting a promotion or buying a house, then news of their success will just stir the pot of your own frustrations. How can you possibly be happy for someone, whose actions have just made you feel like a failure? In fact is not a tiny (or perhaps not so tiny if you're really honest) part of you angry at that person for inflicting this added pressure on you? For example, when all your friends are single, there is no pressure to get married. But when, one by one, they start to pair off, well guess what, suddenly you've gone from carefree and popular to stressed, alone on a Saturday night and feeling horribly inadequate. All this because of actions taken by people who call themselves your friends.
Of course, when someone hits their milestones and succeeds in life, they aren't doing it to spite you. But it hurts nonetheless and it hurts because they did it and you didn't.
So next time you say "I'm happy for you," ask yourself, am I really? And if someone claims to be “happy for you”, be sensitive, don't boast about your successes and don't blame them if they would rather find new friends who don't make them feel so bad about themselves. Chances are, when they've hit the milestone too, they'll be back.
I had fertility problems, and suddenly it seemed like everyone around me was multiplying. My circle of barren friends was narrowing and pretty soon I would be the only one left. I felt horribly inadequate and began to get heart arrhythmias whenever a friend called or emailed. I began to avoid all friends older than thirty (which was all my friends) just in case more baby news came my way, and considered moving to a deserted island. I didn't even feel ready for my own baby, but I was beginning to feel like a failure. And all because of actions taken by my friends.
Of course we shouldn’t hold ourselves back just to please others, and we should always seek out our own happiness, I'm just saying that in so doing we will invariably create casualties.
It’s a sad fact of life but to quote Dale Carnegie, 'if you want enemies, excel your friends, but if you want friends, let your friends excel you.'
Eat s***t and be morally superior - The Tamale Lady of San Francisco
I don't know who is responsible for this one, perhaps it’s just another one of those many hippie, everybody's equal, San Francisco things.
Anyway I was enjoying my evening at a pub in the Haight District of San Francisco (Mad Dog in the fog), when I was interrupted by a stale smell. I turned my head and came nose to face with a vagrant in rags, complete with fingerless woollen gloves and straw for hair. Said vagrant pushed a cart carrying a tattered, duct taped cooler box. All in all it was an ugly and putrid image.
I glanced around expecting to see other customers recoil in disgust, followed by the management descending upon her to ask/ force her to leave before she spread leprosy around the entire venue. But nothing happened, no one seemed to see (or smell) her.
Then, when I thought things could not get more incomprehensibly vile, the table next to me summoned the vagrant over with a wave of dollar bills. In exchange for the money, she opened the cooler box, releasing a cloud of stale steam and whipped out two tamales which the customers hungrily consumed.
The management had to bear down on her now, for selling 'food' in their establishment, where they themselves already sold pretty decent food. Where I come from, it is normally frowned upon to set up shop in an establishment that is already paying the rent for the same service.
Imagine my surprise when still no one batted an eyelid.
“There's a health and safety situation,” I said to my friend, who was a local of the neighborhood. “Why isn't anyone stopping her?” "Its the tamale lady," my friend smiled, as if that was all the clarification that was needed. “Bully for her,” I said. “She stinks, why is she allowed to sell food in here?” “She's an institution,” my friend replied. And she wasn’t wrong, the Tamale Lady even has her own page on Yelp http://www.yelp.com/biz/the-tamale-lady-san-francisco, thick with rave reviews. I was completely flummoxed, especially as I had always understood health and safety to be a serious matter here in the USA. Clearly this does not apply to San Francisco. As I glanced around at the customers guzzling questionable tamales, wondering whether I should nip to CVS and purchase a round of antibiotics for the entire pub, it occurred to me that if people were stupid enough to consume merchandise that wasn’t even pretending to be sanitary, then, in all their festering stinkiness, the vagrants were smart for milking their opportunities. It explains why bums in general are so drawn to San Francisco, because if the liberal, tree-shagging hippies that keep San Francisco smelly are willing to ingest faeces just to prove whatever point it is that liberal hippie types constantly need to prove to themselves, then of course San Francisco is a haven for society’s parasites.
As I reached for my trusty bottle of hand sanitizer, I resigned myself to the craziness, happy in the knowledge that in less than three weeks I would be cashing in my one way ticket east to civilization. Until then, I can only hope that CVS sells organic, locally grown, sustainable, recyclable, compostable Imodium, or these morons will all be dead by morning.
You are insignificant, we are too important to acknowledge you
If you submit a piece of writing to a small website, chances are you’ll be thanked for your contribution. If you do the same to a major publication, you’ll either be ignored or sent the generic, “due to high volumes, we cannot respond individually…” message.
I understand that popularity increases demand, what I don’t understand is why that suddenly reduces the importance of people in the eyes of the popular.
Have you ever tried sending a piece to the New York Times, the Readers Digest or the Huffington Post? We’ll if you didn’t think you were worthless and uninteresting beforehand, they will quickly teach you the valuable lesson that that’s exactly what you are. You will be ignored or sent the generic, “due to high volume…” response. Never mind that you have a great ‘scammed’ story or a pertinent angle on Obama, they’ll never know, because chances are they won’t bother to read it.
So, as writers, how do we rise out of the dark and establish a name for ourselves? One sure fire way is to do something incredibly and publicly stupid, like flight attendant, Steve Slater, who insulted a plane full of passengers before loading up on beer, pulling the emergency slide and leaping off the plane. He certainly won’t have trouble finding an agent to publish his memoir. Never mind that your memoir may be way more interesting, you can expect Steve Slater’s agent to dump you in the agent slush pile and send the generic, “due to high volume… get lost” response.
The bottom line is that publishers tend to be very frugal when promoting first time authors who have yet to prove themselves as a lucrative commodity, because the publishing industry has little to do with good literature and everything to do with money. I certainly wouldn’t blame you for going postal with a sawn off shotgun, just for the privilege of writing your memoir in jail and knowing it will be published. Check out some great jailbird memoirs here on Amazonhttp://www.amazon.com/Criminals-Specific-Groups-Books/b?ie=UTF8&node=2438. Be careful though, where you commit your crimes, as the UK is currently considering placing a ban on such sordid, yet lucrative, literature http://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/samleith/3563901/Government-plan-to-ban-criminal-memoirs-is-moronic.html
I’m not saying that infamy is the only way forward, of course you could go the honest route, spend a fortune entering and trying to win short story contests, spend a fortune on writing courses, spend a fortune establishing an online presence using web designers, learning SEO and submitting your site to honest or dishonest directories claiming to increase traffic, but who will instead spam you into the next universe. You might also wear yourself out using the traditional route of trying to get your articles published in reputable papers, only to receive the generic “due to high volume…you are so worthless you might as well jump off a bridge” response. Or better still you could get bent over and properly shafted by the vanity publishing industry.
It’s a sad fact that less than 1% of writers ever get published by a reputable publisher. Not because less than 1% of writers can write, but because, in today’s world, due to high volume of demand, your value as a human being has decreased to pretty much zero.
Sure there are terrible writers out there, but due to high volume, you have no way of finding out where you stand. Which is sad because, if a piece of work is of good quality, then it is worthy of recognition whether it is the only one of its kind or there are millions just like it. Quality is quality!
One great thing about the internet though is that it allows everyone the opportunity to be judged by the world, without having to beg an arrogant, uncaring jerk for that opportunity first. Just publish your stuff online (Triond, Broowaha, Ezine Articles, Helium etc) and if it’s good it will be read and if not, at least you'll know with certainty that you need to keep your day job.
And failing all of that, aim a gun at someone famous and don’t forget to ask for pencils in jail…
How to protect yourself from the cell phone insurance scams
When you upgrade your cell phone, many cell phone companies will offer you a sum (normally about $20) in exchange for your old phone. This is a ploy so that you’ll have to buy insurance, which actually gives you very little for your money.
Insurance is not a bad thing if it actually covers you, but when you insure your phone with a company such as Asurion, you pay $4 to $7 per month, yet if your phone becomes lost, stolen or damaged, you'll still have to pay a $100 deductible for a replacement smartphone or $50 deductible for a replacement regular phone. This comes to about two thirds of the price you paid for the phone when you originally purchased it, regardless of the fact that you've been paying Asurion to the tune of several dollars a month for up to several years.
To add further insult, the ‘new’ phone will not even be new, but a refurbished old phone, probably broken by some previous customer sucker. That wouldn’t be a problem if the insurance covered the cost of the replacement phone, and for $4 to $7 per month plus $100 deductible, you have more than likely covered the cost of a brand new phone.
So here’s how you can outsmart the insurance company by 'insuring' yourself: 1) When you purchase a new phone, ignore the sales rep and REFUSE to purchase insurance. Instead go home with both your new and old phones, and store the old phone somewhere safe. 2) If your new phone is ever lost, stolen or damaged, dust off your old phone, take it to your nearest cell phone store and ask them to reactivate it. 3) You now have no backup phone at home. Therefore log onto ebay and purchase a replacement phone. This will normally cost you no more than the fifty to one hundred dollars that you'd be expected to pay at your local cell phone store. Do not be put off that the phones sold on ebay are second hand, because the phone you would purchase at your local cell phone store would also be second hand. The ebay purchased phone is now your insurance phone. Keep it somewhere safe.
This system worked very nicely for me when I broke my new Blackberry. I reactivated my old Blackberry, then used ebay to purchase a used Blackberry for $100. The ebay Blackberry then replaced my old Blackberry as my insurance and it all worked out cheaper than lining the pockets of Asurion every month.
Perhaps, if, after several years, you find that you have accumulated old phones, then why not give your provider your oldest, most useless phone for the $20 and teach them a lesson about being suckered. Whatever you do though, always keep the phone from which you have just upgraded, as that old phone is your insurance.
The tracker ball on my husband’s Blackberry stopped working. He was insured, but Sprint claimed they couldn’t fix it, so they made him buy a new phone and then gave him $20 in exchange for his 'unfixable' old phone. Suckered !!!
The Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology that is mean to pregnant women
So you think that because you’re a pregnant woman going to a pregnancy department full of other pregnant women that the employees of that department will possess a minimum level of sensitivity and professionalism. Well you are wrong !
Generally the world is kind to you during those few months where your belly precedes you; people give up their seat on the bus, let you use their staff-only toilets, and step in to help if you’re carrying too much. The husband knows not to take it personally when you burst into tears because you ran out of milk and even your mother knows better than to come between you and that chocolate chip double fudge brownie.
Yes you are pregnant and the whole world smiles at you. Well, everyone that is, except for the hospital's Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology. When you waddle up to their front desk you are greeted by a halfwit who thrusts a sign-in sheet at you, without so much as taking her eyes off her computer screen. Then you sit and wait. And you wait.
The place wasn’t even all that crowded when I arrived at 9am on a Monday morning. After sitting for nearly one hour, I asked the receptionist how much longer would it be? She said she didn’t know. I responded that I don’t mind how long I have to wait, but please just let me know for how long. Again, without so much as a glance in my direction, she said she couldn’t do that. I asked if perhaps she could find out, she said she couldn’t do that either.
So I informed her that I was leaving, she looked me up and down and said, "well that’s your choice". As I got up to leave, she turned to the whiteboard above her desk and wrote Dr W delayed one hour. I swung around, burst into uncontrollable sobbing, and asked why she couldn’t have told me that in the first place. She just stared back meanly, and I walked out.
As I stood sobbing in the hall, trying to understand this unwarranted spite, my husband, bless his heart, used his calm and un-hormonal charms to try to persuade the receptionist to give us an idea of what was going on. Fortunately it was at that moment that a nurse walked in and gave him an exact estimate of 15 minutes more to wait. When I returned to the waiting room the receptionist never once looked me in the eye and she certainly didn’t apologize.
Delays are unavoidable, but even the San Francisco Muni tells you how long you have to wait for the notoriously late N-train. Most people don’t mind waiting, so long as they are told for how long. Allowing someone to wait with no endpoint is cruel, and a Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology is certainly not the place to employ the sadistic and mean-spirited.
Why Facebook punishes you for making too many friends
A few weeks ago Facebook blocked me for several days for adding too many friends too quickly, saying that I was abusing the system. I didn’t understand how friend requesting people who were free to turn me down at the click of a mouse would be a crime, so I e-mailed Facebook and received the following response:
You received a warning because Facebook's security system detected that your friend requests were being ignored at a high rate and volume. Unwanted contact with strangers is not allowed on Facebook because it makes other people feel unsafe. Facebook is a place to interact with people you know in the real world.
Along with this warning, you may have received a block from sending friend requests. If you are unable to send friend requests, please note that these blocks can last anywhere from a few hours to a few days. For security reasons, we are unable to provide additional information about this system.
Going forward, do not send friend requests or messages to people you don't know. Doing so may result in your account being permanently banned from Facebook.
We apologize for any inconvenience, and appreciate your cooperation going forward. Thanks for your understanding, User Operations Facebook I’m sorry but I call BS on all of that...
Firstly Facebook is a networking site, meaning that it is absolutely acceptable to make friends with strangers who share similar interests to you. According the Merriam Webster dictionary, the term ‘networking’ means ‘the exchange of information or services among individuals, groups, or institutions; specifically: the cultivation of productive relationships for employment or business’.
I am not trying to sell anything, but like most people I have my passions and interests, so I have joined groups that reflect those interests. I have a Facebook page and I have a blog, both of which deal with mental health issues. The many people who accept my friend requests have their own pages and blogs too, and guess what? We help one another by joining each other’s groups, liking each others pages, reading and commenting on each other posts and even clicking on each other’s links. No one gets hurt and networking is an activity that benefits all involved.
Secondly, those who do not wish to be friended by a stranger are free to ignore our requests, end the friendship and even block us if they so choose.
Thirdly, the part about being ignored at a high rate is simply a bare faced lie, because I checked and most of the twenty people I friend requested that night, just moments prior to being banned, actually accepted my friend request.
So here’s my theory as to why Facebook doesn’t like us to make too many friends too quickly: The greedy bastards want us to pay for their advertising, rather than doing our own networking ourselves. It's pure and simple good, old-fashioned GREED!
After several days my ban was lifted, but with a warning that if caught transgressing again I may have my account blocked indefinitely. Well, I have put a lot of work into my profile and fan page, and if they disable my account I will be destroyed.
Facebook is already successful, it is not fair that they are trying to keep everyone else down. Facebook is successful because of people like you and me, and they need to show us the respect that we deserve.
If anyone has any suggestions as to how to effectively convince Facebook to amend their greedy and improper practices, then please, we all need to hear from you !!!
Facebook's warning, the first time they determine that you are just too darned popular for their own good
Laser hair removal salon charged me thousands of $$$ over three years and hair not only grew back but sprouted in new places too...
Doesn’t it just sound amazing, a few dollars, a few appointments, a touch of pain and you are hair free forever. Well if you are dark haired and ethnic like myself then you’ve probably spent your youth suffering through creams, waxes, shaving, tweezing and despair.
And now science has brought you a miracle. Well, you know the saying, if it sounds too good to be true, then it is too good to be true. This laser ‘technology’ is exploiting the desperation of thousands of women. As if it weren't painful enough going through life hairier than most of the men we date, now we get the added bonus of being robbed.
Here’s my experience with one laser clinic in San Francisco, named City Skin and Laser Clinic (111 Maiden Lane, San Francisco, CA 94108): Full legs costs $420 per visit, full arms costs $225 per visit, lip and chin costs $85 per visit. According to the clinic, no more than six to eight appointments are required and then you are released from your hairy prison for life.
So, from August 2007 until August 2010, I went every six weeks. It was sheer agony (even with the topical lidocaine that they use to numb the area), but it was going to eliminate embarrassment and self hatred from my life… right?
Three years and SIXTEEN appointments later the results are as follows: The leg hair seems to have weakened somewhat. However the arm and facial hair has not only thickened, but hair has begun to sprout in areas that were previously hair free! The upper arm, which previously had barely a wisp of fine hairs is now a carpet of thick black pubes, my knuckles are hairier than some of the dates I’ve rejected because of their hairy knuckles, and I have started to grow hair on my neck !!!
So, what does my sweet therapist at City Skin and Laser clinic have to say? “Honey, it’s all in your head.”
No, it’s on my arms, hands and face, and the only thing that is in my head is how I have spent a ton of money, endured unbelievable pain and wasted hours of time for something that has not only failed but has made matters worse.
Girls (and guys), don’t waste your time or money on laser hair removal. If you are descended from a rug, then… actually I don’t know how to finish that sentence. How do we live with our aesthetic disadvantage? Anyone who is successfully living a hairy life, please feel free to contact me and let me know how it is you get through life without sinking into a deep, suicidal depression ?
All suggestions, words of encouragement or just effective techniques for killing oneself welcome.
The results of thousands of dollars wasted, excruciating pain endured and time spent on hair removal at City Skin and Laser Clinic in San Francisco
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