1. If you / your SO / your family want to speak to me after the end of my shift I will pretend I am not there. The nurses will call me and I will not answer. I also have a private life and I also need to sleep/eat/shower. I stay there after the end of the shift to do the Bureaucracy.

2. If you are fat, you will get substandard care. I cannot perform a good ultrasound. I cannot place a venous line, I will most likely give you weaker oral medications than the IV that you need. I can not examine you from all the fat.

3. I know you when you are my patient, I know every single detail about your disease. I might even know your whole family. But when I meet you on the street or you come after a couple of days again, I will have to reread my previous letter before I can remember anything about you. I can not keep every single detail about 12-20 patients every single moment of time.

4. If you are not nice, if you think that you can behave like a jerk, you will get substandard care. I am sorry but a good relationship between us works 2 ways.

5. If you are an alcoholic I will assume you are lying about everything. You will also come second after all the really sick patients.

6. If you were an alcoholic who is recovering and trying to put your life in order, you will get 120% of care from me. You will get all the social and medical help I can offer.

7. Young come before old. I am sorry but your 95 Y/O grandma wont get the same standard of care as a sick 20 year old. She is also not going to be the first to get the CT/colonoscopy/ultrasound or anything other.

Well since even vet techs are chiming in I guess I'll have my say:

I perform ultrasound imaging. We're known in the medical community as diagnostic medical sonographers. Or ultrasound techs. We don't just scan babies, as most people seem to think. Heart? Check. Liver, kidneys, breasts, testicles, spleen, pancreas, vasculature, you name it, check!

What can't we tell you? The number one issue I have with patients is obesity. After that, hygiene. Your images suck? That's because you have too much fat for the beam to travel through. Chicken wing falling out of your fat roll? I'm gonna hurl as soon as I leave the room. I am simply disgusted by the vast majority of you. There, I said it.

As a gynecologist, I don't want you to know that the real reason the nurse is in the room helping me with the procedure is that she's there to cover me in case you try to accuse me of anything. You would never do that? Neither would 99.99999% of women. But even the accusation could be career ending, so it's worth paying somebody to stand there just to make it that much less likely.

I moved to a new city in 1st grade. At the time, I was ahead of the curve, reading-wise. I learned to read early and was really good for my age at that point. Reading was my favorite thing to do. So you know quiet reading time was my jam. Except the kid sitting behind me, we'll call him D, was annoying as hell and did his best to distract any and everyone around him during silent reading time. I didn't understand why he couldn't just shut the hell up and let me enjoy my book...and honestly, I started to really hate him. Also, having just moved, he was the first black person I had ever met in my life, and I might have been brought up to be a little bit racist (a flaw I have worked to correct since I realized it).

ANYWAY, eventually, after a few months of close surveillance, I solved the mystery of why D had to be so goddamned annoying during my favorite part of the day: he was bored to tears because **he couldn't read.** And I mean he literally could not read, he could sound out some easy words but he was pretty much lost for the most part. And the teachers weren't really doing anything about it...

So I taught him. Before school, during recess (on days when when couldn't play outside of course - we were little kids, not college students), during reading time, waiting for the bus. We practiced and practiced. I brought him my phonics flashcards from kindergarten. My mom sent me to school with two sets of whatever supplies we needed that day - one pack of markers/notebook/pair of scissors for me, one for D.

I got to know him better, and learned about his home life. His mom had two jobs and didn't get home until after most kids are in bed. He took care of feeding and bathing his younger brother. His dad was in jail. He had a rough life. Hearing about his made me closely examine my own. This was my first real lesson in racism as well. My teachers always seemed exasperated with him, like it was his fault he couldn't read and not a reflection of their performance as a teacher. They seemed to leap at the opportunity to give him a demerit or send him on a trip to see the principal even for minor infractions, like "not paying attention" (read: looking out the window because the public school system had failed him so badly he couldn't even begin to keep up with the material). I noticed they treated several other kids this way, all of whom were black. There were troublemakers of all races and backgrounds, but I remember noticing, at an early age, that the rich white ones never seemed to get in half as much trouble as D always did.

By the end of the year, D's grades had soared - and not just in English. It turns out, with the right support system and school supplies, anyone can learn anything. He finished the first grade with an A in English nothing below a C+ in the other subjects. I remember him hugging me tight and saying "I've never gotten an A before!" But most importantly, he could read. He had joined the world of the literate. He was just so excited. All he needed was a little attention and some help getting school supplies.

So that's probably not what you were expecting, Reddit, but my story of misbehaving-kid-gets-karmic-justice is just a little bit different than the other ones. Life dealt D a bad hand and he succeeded anyway. He got "what he deserved" - a fair chance at an education.

Hope you're still out there reading, D. Wherever you are.