Remember when we had to read fanfiction on our desktops… Not even laptops. having to get get plopped down in the family computer room to pull up your naruto and yugioh self insert stories on lunaescence archives and fanfiction dot net with god & everyone watching you.
How most people with invisible illnesses are treated by health care “professionals”
The Golden Girls didn’t fuck around
pls watch
honestly i really appreciated this scene when I first saw it bc it took me like two years to get a diagnosis for what’s wrong with me
Dorothy: Dr. Budd?
Dr. Budd: Yes?
Dorothy: You probably don’t remember me, but you told me I wasn’t sick. Do you remember? You told me I was just getting old.
Dr. Budd: I’m sorry, I really don’t–
Dorothy: Remember. Maybe you’re getting old. That’s a little joke. Well, I tell you, Dr. Budd, I really am sick. I have chronic fatigue syndrome. That is a real illness. You can check with the Center for Disease Control.
Dr. Budd: Huh. Well, I’m sorry about that.
Dorothy: Well, I’m glad! At least I know I have something.
Dr. Budd: I’m sure. Well, nice seeing you.
Dorothy: Not so fast. There are some things I have to say. There are a lot of things that I have to say. Words can’t express what I have to say. [tearing up] What I went through, what you put me through—I can’t do this in a restaurant.
Dr. Budd: Good!
Dorothy: But I will!
Dr. Budd’s date: Louis, who is this person?
Dr. Budd: Look, Miss–
Dorothy: Sit. I sat for you long enough. Dr. Budd, I came to you sick—sick and scared—and you dismissed me. You didn’t have the answer, and instead of saying “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” you made me feel crazy, like I had made it all up. You dismissed me! You made me feel like a child, a fool, a neurotic who was wasting your precious time. Is that your caring profession? Is that healing? No one deserves that kind of treatment, Dr. Budd, no one. I suspect had I been a man, I might have been taken a bit more seriously, and not told to go to a hairdresser.
Dr. Budd: Look, I am not going to sit here anymore–
Dr. Budd’s date: Shut up, Louis.
Dorothy: I don’t know where you doctors lose your humanity, but you lose it. You know, if all of you, at the beginning of your careers, could get very sick and very scared for a while, you’d probably learn more from that than anything else. You’d better start listening to your patients. They need to be heard. They need caring. They need compassion. They need attending to. You know, someday, Dr. Budd, you’re gonna be on the other side of the table, and as angry as I am, and as angry as I always will be, I still wish you a better doctor than you were to me.
Reblogging for any of my mutuals who’ve ever dealt with Dr. Budd.
I can’t do justice to one of the weirdest camp stories I know. My friend tells it so well, and I can offer only a pale shadow of his story.
Last summer, he was working with one of the younger units comprised of ten year old boys. They had spent the night camping on another beach and were just readying themselves to depart. “Make sure you have all your things!” called my friend. “Don’t leave anything behind!”
One small boy came up, dragging a massive tangle of decomposing seaweed behind him. “But… what about me boy?” he asked, lip trembling.
“…what is ‘me boy’?”
The child held up the stinking wad of bull kelp. “This is him. This is Me Boy.”
“Me Boy is not coming back with us,” said his counselor. “You’re going to leave Me Boy behind on the beach where he belongs.”
The campers loudly mourned the loss of Me Boy. They insisted on giving him a Viking burial at sea, which just consisted of pushing him solemnly off the back of the rowboat into the water and watching him drift away in the surf.
That was only the beginning. Me Boy would be back.
The campers, in true camp fashion, possessed some kind of cultic hive-mind and a predisposition for bizarre memes. Me Boy would not be forgotten. They started telling each other stories about Me Boy and how he would one day rise again. There were warring factions with contradicting dogmas about Me Boy. Only when the gardener allowed them to take home a zucchini she had harvested did they find their god, born anew.
Me Boy, The Zucchini That Was A God, became the whole unit’s mascot. The kids would bicker over who got to carry him. They built nests and carriers for Me Boy and brought him to different activities, fiercely defending him from those that would do him harm. One child appointed himself the Voice of Me Boy and would translate the zucchini’s divine wishes into human speech.
It got out of hand. Me Boy had become a distraction, a fixation, a violent controversy. Something had to be done.
My friend, their counselor, took it upon himself to kill Me Boy. The children wailed in despair as he chopped their God into refreshing slices. With this sudden turn of fortune, followers of Me Boy turned to theophagy. “We must eat him to preserve his power!” they cried. Boys who would otherwise never have touched a vegetable ate greedily of this sacrament, eager to let Me Boy live on within them.
For a time, it seemed that peace and order had been restored, and the religion had already faded into its silver age. But only for a time.
In the last few days of camp, the religion of Me Boy splintered into several denominations. Every meal yielded new vegetable matter said to be a reincarnation of Me Boy, only for opposing groups to dismiss these as false prophets. Some believed that Me Boy was gone. Others believed his spirit lived on, intangible, omnipresent. Some believed he had found a new vessel inside a carrot, a pear, a slice of cantaloupe… even inside a child. There was chaos, and strife, and heartbreak without the guidance of Me Boy.
I told this week’s campers the story of Me Boy. Big mistake. They were absolutely delighted by it and started running around shouting and bringing me various items to examine to determine if they were, in fact, vessels of Me Boy. They had me tell the story four or five times over, and, when I refused to repeat it again, they’d tell it themselves.
We went to the garden on Thursday and the kids spent the whole time collecting vegetable offerings for a zucchini they deemed an appropriate Me Boy proxy. On Friday, we had to come up with an impromptu skit to perform in front of a hundred or so people, and my campers forced me to narrate the story on stage while they acted it out behind me.
today a dude slammed my finger on accident because he was closing a metal drawer i had my fingers in and i was on drive through and i literally screamed into the headset and the lady just kept ordering her drink as i was trying to hush down three different LOUD MEN SAYING “OH MY GOD WHAT DID HE DO TO YOUR HAND”
she just kept going
i screamed into a headset and she just kept going
working in customer service
One time I was either coming down with or getting over a bad sinus infection and suddenly had a coughing fit while helping a patron at the front desk.
And I mean, my face was red, I was practically choking trying to stop, doubled over, nearly on the floor, my coworker was asking if I was alright.
And the patron just kept talking like nothing was happening. Just kept describing their mundane problem/request while peering over the desk and down at me on the floor gagging.
One time while I was still working in a bakery, I was putting a loaf of a customer’s bread through the slicer. (Thankfully this was a fairly automatic process.) And I just up and passed out. Fell right over, blacked out for a second. I didn’t really know how I got on the floor. But the slicer was still going and no one has noticed. So I just finished the guy’s bread and gave it back to him. Then I calmly walked into the back of the bakery to tell my co-workers I passed out. They got me to go sit down, drink some orange juice and take a break. Then it was right back to work. So then I was taking this lady’s cake order and my one co-worker looks at me and asks if I’m okay. I can feel the faint coming on though so I look at the customer, say “Excuse me,” and collapse on the floor right next to the counter.
Seriously, read the notes on this post. Customer service is a special brand of hell.
We once had a patron drop down dead of a heart attack on the restaurant floor, and while my co-worker was trying to administer CPR, another patron tapped her on the shoulder to say she hadn’t gotten her cake yet. And then when she didn’t get it, complained. Like that is some evil villain bullshit right there, and that’s not even the worst of my stories from working in customer care.
Yoooooo, omg that’s a good point my friend. Never considered that possibility.
Mind officially blown.
yo I guess that’s at least partly why he chose shitty to come out to
What if this is like, a thing at Samwell.
Lots of a people know who Larissa is, she’s got lots of angsty art major friends.
But what if there are just as many people who don’t know Lardo? They hear the nickname, they hear stories, but they’ve never laid eyes on her, so they don’t know that Lardo=Larissa.
So, when people hear rumors about Shitty and his big ol’ crush on the hockey team’s manager, and they think the manager is a dude, they assume he’s gay.
Which is why so many people come out to Shitty before the comic starts and Bitty comes to Samwell
youre right, bitty can’t have been the only one who thought the nickname lardo + hockey manager + great at beer pong = guy
The only acceptable reason for this is if this character is actually a demon who seduces men and then eats them. [source]
who wrote this, expose him
my breasts are nicely separated. Completely divided, every year they move apart by half an inch.
My breasts are nicely separated though they still fight for custody of the children.
I,,a woman,,,am WiDeR LOweR dOwN
That was difficult to read.
So ugly
My name is Ebony D’arkness Dementia Raven Way, and my breasts are nicely separated
OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT AND HOW ON EARTH DID IT GET PUBLISHED
You can always tell when it’s a man writing a description because they focus oddly on the breasts. There will always be something about breasts and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read historical or fantasy fiction and they talk about “her breasts hanging freely under her tunic” or what the fuck ever and it’s like…women don’t do that? We don’t describe ourselves by saying “I have blonde hair and blue eyes and my breasts hang freely under my tunic”. I kind of feel like we should counter by awkwardly mentioning all male character’s balls in their description. It’s kind of in the same vein.
“I have auburn hair and hazel eyes and my copious nicely separated balls hangs freely under my breeches”
G E T W I D E R L O W E R D O W N
“To get back to my body”
seriously tho what is the source of the original text….we have to drag him
i wish i could call up toby fox on the phone right now and grab him by the shoulders and look into his eyes with my voice and ask him my deeply serious single question, which is: are most of the names in undertale just repurposed names of his fantrolls
just moving along like everyone else 