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Foot in mouth disease
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Dear Miss Jeanne,
First, damn you for updating when I need to be finishing my
thesis! *sigh* But reading all the new stories did remind me of a new one to
submit... I'm guessing this would go under Everyday Etiquette, the Oops! Foot in
Mouth Disease section, but if you think it's better for another section, feel
free to put it where you want.
I was diagnosed in January 2004 with a rare (but, luckily,
very treatable) form of cancer, at the age of 24. Needless to say, this was a
shock to me and to all my family and friends. It's been interesting to see how
my various friends have dealt with it - I've gotten the most support from the
least expected places.
Soon after I was diagnosed, I was talking online to a close
friend from high school, B. I had just gotten my hair - my beautiful, thick,
to-the-middle-of-my-back hair - cut off to about 3 inches in preparation for it
falling out from chemo. To understand what he said, you need to know that one of
our friends, A, had shaved her head a few years previous during college, and
general consensus was that it looked a bit odd while growing out.
I was IMing B and showed him some photos I'd put online of my
new haircut. I hated it and was miserable about it, but I was trying to stay
positive and I certainly didn't want two-foot-long hairs falling out all over
the place (definitely the right choice!). After looking at the photos, B said
"Well, that doesn't look too bad, but I like your long hair better. Just
don't go shaving it all off like A did, that doesn't look good on any
girl!" I just sat there for a minute with my mouth hanging open. Had he
forgotten that I had CANCER, had cut it because I was about to start CHEMO, and
might be left with no hair with absolutely no choice in the matter?? I nearly
started crying, but ignored the comment and went on with the conversation.
I've since chalked it up to a peculiar form of denial some of
my friends seemed to experience... It was as though they'd completely forget I
had cancer and was going through these horrible treatments unless I mentioned it
specifically. I suppose that's just how some people cope, especially when
they're not around the patient very often.
(Btw, luckily I did not lose all my hair - only about 1/2-2/3
of it, and since it was so thick to begin with I didn't need to shave the rest
off. But now I have hair regrowing at several different lengths, which is odd
enough in and of itself.)
Ooops0407-05
I'm 21 years old and have been with my 45 year old boyfriend
for 2 years. We love each other to pieces and always make jokes about him owning
cars older than me. He's never really looked his age, and is mostly mistaken for
being in his late twenties or early thirties. It wasn't until recently after the
death of a loved one that he began to get wrinkles and gray hair.
For Valentine's Day, I had bought him a set of skin care
products from a particular department store, since he was always harping on how
bad his skin was. I'm part Filipino and part Spanish, but I mostly look Asian. I
look as if I was raised in Hawaii. He is Irish and has red, dry skin, so he
tries to fix it with cheap lotions. The products have worked really well and
he's beginning to look like his regular old (or younger) self.
He works in the entertainment and real estate worlds, and he
constantly drives between home and the next state over. He had wanted to buy
another set of skin care products for his other house in the other state, so we
went to the particular department store at the mall. We found the product line,
but couldn't find the exact same set. As we were browsing, his phone rang with
an important call, so he handed me his credit card and answered it. While I was
searching for the set, a friendly Asian sales associate approached me. She was
extremely personable, although not quite knowledgeable or helpful. When I asked
her for prices on some products, her face would cloud over, she'd take the
product, excuse herself for a five minutes, then come back with the price and a
cheerful smile. I tried to ask her what a particular serum was used for, and she
struggled to find the words to describe it. She looked Filipino, so I figured if
she spoke in her native language, it would be easier for her, so I asked,
"Are you Filipino?" She shook her head, and said, "A lot of
people think so." She took a closer look at me and asked, "Are
you?" I nodded and said, "Well, part-" She glanced at my
boyfriend, who was approaching us, pointed at him and interrupted me by saying,
"Oh, and part white!" I was about to respond, when I realized she
thought he was my father. I was too shocked to correct her, but when my
boyfriend reached us and put his arm around my waist, she immediately rung us up
and shoved a couple handfuls of cologne samples into the bag.
***
A similar story happened at the grocery store. I was in line
to pay for my items, and a cute family was ahead of me. A cute 30-ish Latina
mother and an older Asian man were paying for their items. He was holding their
obviously mixed baby girl and they had a little boy jumping around. The woman
said to her husband, "Baby, can you hold this?" and chased down their
son. The cashier, a teenager, asked, "Your daughter looks too young to have
a son!" The man said, "That's my wife." You would have thought
the girl would be embarrassed but she just made it even more awkward by saying,
"Oh, I thought she called you 'Daddy.' You don't look like you'd be her
husband."
Ooops0505-05
I work with a person that could provide scads of material in
many categories for Etiquette Hell. For the purpose of this story, I will call
this person Walter. For the most part I ignore Walter's cheesy comments and
goofy remarks--this sometimes becomes difficult because Walter stops by my
office on a daily basis. Walter always has a dorky comment or useless opinion. I
had actually been feeling sorry for Walter these past few months because of his
chronic case of foot-in-mouth-disease.
Last week Walter came by and asked me if I knew where he could
purchase a good used computer for a cousin. He also wanted to know if I knew of
anyone that could fix his little brother's computer. Feeling some pity for
Walter, I suggested that my brother, a computer whiz, might be able to fix the
computer and maybe knew where Walter could get a used laptop. Walter seemed
really excited by this news and demanded that I talk to my brother and get an
answer for him by 3PM. Still trying to be positive, I said, "Sure, I'll
try."
Walter turned to leave my office. I got up to follow him out.
At the door Walter turned around and said, "I remember your brother. I went
to high school with him. When he was in high school, your brother was our Steve
Urkel."
Geez. What do you say to that? Needless to say, I never
mentioned the computer to my brother. ...AND I no longer feel sorry for cheap
Walter. I have no doubts that his case of foot-in-mouth-disease will prove to be
fatal.
Ooops0605-05
When I was 8 months pregnant with my second child, I had the
opportunity to switch from the midnight shift to the day shift. Because my
fingers had been swollen since the fourth month of the pregnancy, I had taken to
wearing my wedding and engagement ring on a chain around my neck. Since
necklaces weren’t part of the dress code, I had to have the chain tucked into
my uniform.
During my first shift on days, I had a conversation with
co-worker about my pregnancy. Since this was my second time down this road, I
thought that I had heard it all. I was used to questions on the pregnancy, and
realize that people are just curious about pregnancy, it’s like they feel a
connection with a pregnancy woman. He asked all of the typical questions- when I
was due, if I knew what we were having, if this was my first, and so on. Then he
dropped a bombshell.
‘Is the father going to stick around?’ Ok, not really any
of his business, but I answered him anyway. I told him that I was pretty sure
that he’d stick around- after all, he stuck around after I was pregnant with
our first child.
‘Oh, so they’ll have the same father?’ Again- not any of
his business. I must have had a shocked look on my face- because he then
apologized and said that I didn’t have to answer, he was just making
conversation. I did answer him- by telling him that yes, my two children have
the same father… my husband.
Ooops0619-05
A submission from another reader regarding a conversation of
some length with a wrong number before realizing it was a wrong number reminded
me of my own mistaken identity conversation. Although I don’t believe
the situation could really be considered an etiquette faux pas, it was rather
bizarre.
To get on with the story, I was in a rather new relationship,
and placed a call to my beau. A man answered the phone, and if I committed
any etiquette blunders, it was in my greeting, which was a simple, “John?”
[not the man’s real name]. A nice polite, “This is Jane, Is John there
please?” or “This is Jane. Is this John speaking?”, would have
avoided what was to follow, but alas, my phone manners were not what they could
have been. In any event, the person on the other end of the line said yes,
I identified myself, and we began chatting. At first, our conversation
proceeded normally, we were even discussing matters of some personal conviction,
not simple small talk. Eventually, though, little things that he was
saying were not making entire sense to me, and likewise he was becoming a
bit confused by some of my statements. Finally, one of us said something
that the other just could not make out, leading to a mishmash of “What?”
“Wait, who is this?” “This is Jane, who is this?” “This is
“Tom” [John’s son]”. Then, in unison, “OH, I want to speak to
John!” and “OH, you were calling for John!”
It was quite bizarre, and should be noted that my boyfriend
(we have now been together for nearly 4 years), his son, and I all have quite
unusual names. My boyfriend’s name sounds nothing like his son’s name,
so I don’t know how the son misheard who I was asking for. My name is
apparently quite similar to that of a girl that the son had been communicating
with though, which is apparently how that came to pass. And the father and
son sound JUST alike. Right up until the son moved away 2 or 3 years
later, I often had to confirm I was talking with who I thought I was.
Ooops0623-05
Dear Ms. Jeanne, My sister-in-law is a dear woman,
and I like her a lot, but she tends to be rather outspoken and can come off as
rude or uncouth at times because English is not her first language- her
choice of vocabulary is often interesting. She was born and raised in
Germany, and attended different schools in London, Switzerland, and Egypt (among
others). She moved to the US and was attending college, and, while working
on a presentation (due that day), found herself in need of a large gum eraser.
She frantically drove to the closest store, which happened to be a drugstore
with the kind of "convenience" store setup. She ran to the clerk
at the front and frantically exclaimed, "I need a rubber! Where are
the rubbers!" The bewildered clerk stared at her silently, while my
sister-in-law wondered what the hiring standards for this particular store
were. "A rubber?" she repeated, more patiently. The clerk
silently pointed her down an aisle. My SIL dashed down the aisle, only to
return a few seconds later, crying, "I need a rubber! There's nothing
down there but condoms!" Thanks for all the laughs- I think
with my husband's family alone I could keep you supplied for years. I
recently found out I am expecting my first child and have been diligently
reading all of the baby shower stories you have. I'll be reading!
Ooops0526-05
My sister and I were adopted as babies from South Korea--and
our adoptive parents are Caucasian. Once, my mom and sister (around 1-2 at the
time) were at the airport, and some guy came up to them and asked where my
sister was from. My mom said Korea. The guy for some reason must have thought
that being from a country makes you permanently unable to understand other
languages, because he then replied, "How will you be able to understand
her?"
Ooops0507-05
I work with the public on a daily basis, and see many of the
same families at my checkout station regularly. I once made an unfortunate
comment to a mother about her young son's facepaint. I should
have taken a closer look first. The little guy has a rare condition that
causes hair growth over a part of his face. I apologized, and his mother
said it was all right. Then yesterday an older guy was behind this
family in the line and made a similar, if louder, comment. The mother
just gave him a nasty look and left. I guess she was having a bad
day. I ended up explaining to the surprised fellow, quietly, what the
issue was.
Ooops0530-05
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 1999, and ADD in
2004. I should mention that these mental illnesses didn't just "pop
up" out of the blue - looking back, I can see where I showed the symptoms
all my life. But since bipolar has only been focused on for the past few years
and ADD is still being toted as some "fake" disease, I wasn't
diagnosed until adulthood.
I should mention that I have no health insurance - 45 days
after I turned 22, my parents' insurance cut me off, even though I was a
full-time college student! So no more medication, which (obviously) threw my
body and my mind into a serious spiral. M yparents lost their jobs six weeks
apart that same year, so just shelling out money for very expensive meds was out
of the question. And being a single woman with no children, I am NOT qualified
for Medicare. Because I was still in school (and doing rather well),
my parents agreed to pay for my rent as long as I swung my electric, food and
car insurance. (Thank heaven for eBay!) One day, my friend's boyfriend asked me
how I was able to swing rent while not holding a job. (How he knew I didn't have
a job, I still don't know. I blame my chatty friend.) Being a very vocal
advocate of counseling and mental illness support at my university, it's no
secret that I'm bipolar, so I explained how it was very hard for me to find work
because being bipolar/ADD, I could not just buy health insurance (they treat it
like a pre-existing condition), which makes it virtually impossible for me to
find and hold a job. (Aside from the fact that it takes me so long to catch onto
things, no boss wants to hear this his/her employee suffered a breakdown and is
in the hospital getting her wrists stitched up.) On the flip side, I'd have to
hold a job for a full year before I could get health insurance to pay for
medication - which I can't do because of the bipolar...it's the circle of life!
So what does this guy say to me? "Wow - you are so
LUCKY!" Try spending 24 hours in my mind, son, and tell me
who's the lucky one, you jerk!
Ooops0510-05
I love your site. I have a pretty incredible story to submit.
One year ago, I was diagnosed with second stage breast cancer. My doctor
informed me that due to the type of genetic cancer that I had, a double
mastectomy was my best bet for long term survival. (I'm only in my early 40's.)
A few friends knew about the surgery, and apparently word got out.
A few weeks after the double mastectomy, I decided to go out
and buy myself a pretty pair of earrings. (My therapy to myself.) I was very
self-conscience about going out in public, and it was my first time out alone. I
was standing at the jewelry counter in the mall trying on earrings and laughing
with the sales woman and really feeling good for the first time in a while, when
a distant friend yelled out across the store in a very "jovial"
manner, "Hey, I hear you lost a couple of things!" I was so shocked I
just politely nodded, and fled the store. The whole way home I felt sick to my
stomach.
Then, a few weeks later, the wife of one of my husband's
friends, not someone I know well at all, called me at home to "offer her
condolences". She rambled on for a while and then broke into tears as she
sobbed through a long story about her sister dying a horrible death from
metastatic breast cancer of the bone two years after she thought she had
recovered from breast cancer.
The only thing that made these things bearable were the
wonderful family and friends who cooked meals for me and delivered them to my
house through my recovery, stayed with me after surgery, helped me wash my hair,
hugged me and told me they were sorry and that yes, this was unfair. The many
cards and flowers were also nice. Oh yes, and the night before my mastectomy, my
two dearest friends came to my house with a beautifully decorated cake that
said, "Good bye" and had a good bye party with me for my breasts. One
good thing about being diagnosed with a terrible illness, you quickly learn
which friends care, and who has good etiquette!
Ooops0507-05
Back in high school a good friend of mine worked at a grocery
store in a near by city. He was an outgoing guy who made a lot of friends, but apparently
didn't know much about these friends. One day at work one such friend told him
she was going to be gone for a while visiting Utah. He responded "Well,
don't go Mormon on me!". She looked at him and said... "I am."
Ooops0503-05
I'm sure you've heard countless versions of this story, but
this one happened to me, and I found it very funny (luckily for the
foot-in-mouthee). I used to be the "social register"
photographer (i.e.: the chick who takes pictures of well-to-do people enjoying
cocktails at charity events) for a local newspaper. I was doing my last gig,
because a few months before, I had been hired to be the publicist for a
non-profit organization and had decided to quit the snapshot biz. I
walk into a swanky theater event, and photograph anyone who's standing still.
Eventually, I see "Cool News Anchor Chick". Let's call her
Brianna". I'd liked Brianna ever since I started the PR
gig. She was always very kind. For example, she was a lot taller than me, so
when I had to sit next to her on the news set during interviews, she always
lowered her chair so I wouldn't look like such a shrimp next to her
Amazonian-ness. That's nice, isn't it?
At any rate, she sees me from across the room and says,
"Oh my God, it's you! Come here!" I walk over, and she's
surrounded by admirers (remember, she's nice AND she's on TV...people love
this). I walk over, she gives me a big hug and, screams,
"Congratulations!" Now... ...maybe I should
back up. I was in a hurry that evening, so I threw on a not-very-flattering
floor-length dress. I was also carrying a heavy camera bag that forced me into
major swayback mode. Add five holiday pounds onto the situation, and it leads
her to scream... "You're pregnant! Um...right?"
Everybody surrounding her backs up, because it's obvious if you haven't had four
glasses of Merlot that I'm not pregnant. Luckily, I'm in PR, so I blew it off as
cleanly as I could, not wanting to embarrass her. I gave her another
big hug, and said, as kindly as I could, "No, hon, I'm just
fat!" She then, of course, dropped her drink, which then
splashed my dress like a "Pulp Fiction" blood splatter. I just kept
laughing and helped her clean up. I actually really felt bad for her!
The kicker comes the next day, when she was polite enough to
call me at work and apologize. I was really gracious, saying that the incident
was actually the funniest thing that had happened to me all month (really, I
mean, who came off looking silly? Me?), and that all was well. Then, my
public relations instincts kicked in, and I said: "Oh, by the
way, my interview segments just got more frequent, and 20% longer,
right?" We had a good laugh, and then she agreed.
Ooops0226-05
Page Last Updated May 15, 2007
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