A few years back I had had some medical problems. In a nutshell, my heart would flutter so to speak at different times. It got to the point where it would flutter often, especially at work. I decided to go to the doctor, just to have everything checked out.

When I got in the room, I was examined by one of the student doctors. She was very nice, and we joked throughout the appointment. She and the nurse hooked me up to this machine that measured my heart beats. After a few minutes, they took all the wires, bells, and whistles off of me and pulled the machine out of the room.

“I’m going to go read your test results,” the student doctor told me, “I’ll be back with them shortly.”

I was left there in the quiet room to wait. About five minutes into it, my mind started wandering. What if I had something really wrong with me? What if they come in a tell me something horrible? I hate those thoughts. They do no good and stress you out in the process. I pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the artwork on the walls.

I had almost convinced myself that I was perfectly fine, until the student walked back in. If there wasn’t anything wrong with my heart to begin with, there was now. It wasn’t so much the student that scared me, but what followed behind her. I was sitting there in the corner when the door opened. The student walked in, she never looked up, she just stared at her computer screen.

Behind her, the doctor she was working under. And then another doctor walked in behind her. And, another behind that one. They all entered quietly, almost solemn. NONE of them looked at me, it was almost as if they were trying to avoid eye contact. The last doctor slowly shut the door behind him and rested his hands together, all while staring at the carpet.

So, this is how I go?

I almost threw up. Would they start CPR now while I’m still conscious? I almost got up right then and left; I didn’t think I really wanted to know anymore. But the doctor seemed to be guarding that door.

“Well, Mrs. McCaskill,” the student doctor began, “I’ve been looking at your test results.”

I kid you not, all three doctors behind her looked straight at me then. I felt the color drain from my face. My stomach ran down to hide in my toes. The student took a deep breath and looked away from her screen at me.

“You’re fine.”

It took approximately ten seconds to process what she said. Was I hearing things wrong?

“What,” I asked, blinking away the last of the hysterical fog that was hovering over me.

“You’re fine,” she said again, “The test results showed nothing out of the ordinary.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Then what are all these people for,” I cried, flinging my arms towards the doctors.

“Oh, they’re just here to listen to my findings,” she told me as she glanced over at them.

They smiled back at her. Oh, NOW you smile? I didn’t want to be one of those people, but the words came out of my mouth before I could catch them.

“Are you kidding me? I thought I was dying!”

The student—actually, all of them, looked confused.

“You all walked in here, didn’t say a word, wouldn’t look at me—”

The looked at each other for a second and then nodded, even giggled a bit.

“Oh, wow, I guess it did look bad didn’t it,” the student giggled, “But you’re fine.”

She seemed happy with the way she gave her report. Are you kidding me--

“I’m not fine now,” I countered, “I just flat lined!”

​This is one of the reasons my eye twitches--

My father was a trickster. To say the least, he put a lot of people through a lot of things; but it was all in good fun. He put my poor husband through a lot when we first met. Even after we got married, they continued to keep this prank quarrel thing going. My father usually got his goat most of the time but there was one day; my husband won.

I was sitting at the kitchen table that day, talking to my father, while my husband worked behind me fixing himself a sandwich. I have no idea what I was talking to my father about but most of the conversation I had my head down working on something for him.

Unbeknownst to me, my father noticed that I had laid my cell phone down in the middle of the table. He quietly slipped it into his front shirt pocket without me noticing. I’m positive he was about to enter into a fun little game, where he sat back and watched me search for my phone while he smiled on quietly.

Unbeknownst to father, however, my husband had seen what he had done. So, while I continued on with my work and my father smiled like a Cheshire cat (thinking he had gotten away with it), my husband pulled out his cell phone and called my number.

My phone at the time was on silent. Something my father wasn’t familiar with. He was the type of person that would pull out his cell phone to take a photo of something and ended up taking 14 selfies.

My father was putting his coffee cup to his lips for a sip, when my phone went off in his shirt pocket. The next thing I knew, coffee is all over the table, his shirt, me--

He dropped the cup and grabbed his chest. At first, I thought he was having another heart attack.

“What is wrong with you?” I managed.

My father produced my cell phone out of his pocket (to my surprise) and looked at it. When he saw who the caller was, he looked over me towards my husband, who was now bent over crying by the stove because he was laughing so hard. I glanced back at him (still confused as to what was happening) and then back at my father.

“You—”

I can’t finish what my father called my husband, it’s just not appropriate.

He tossed my cell phone back onto the table and stood up to wipe his shirt off. I flung the last of the coffee off of my hand while my husband continued to gasp for air; all the while, my father glared at him. It wasn’t until later that I found out what had happened. To this day, if you mention it, my husband will tear up.

Before my father passed away, when someone mentioned the story, he would shake his head and call my husband a name.

​I dealt with overgrown children.

I was in the turning lane, waiting to pull into the bank parking lot, when it all unfolded. I needed to make a deposit into my bank that particular day, the drive there had been uneventful. I was behind a car that was also pulling into the bank, the four-lane road we were on had heavy traffic for that time of day; it wasn’t even lunch time yet. I was in no hurry; my errand was almost done and I could continue on with my day.

I was staring at the back of this car when I noticed this van pull up in the slow lane and stopped right beside it. Thinking that was odd, I glanced up at the van. The man in the van popped his head out of his driver’s side window and began screaming. The type of screaming where your whole face turns red and the veins in your forehead pop out. He wasn’t just screaming, he was cursing; words that ought not to be said not only that early in the day but at any time of the day.

Whatever the car in front of me did, it must have been bad. When I glanced at him, I thought he would fall right out of his window. It was then I realized, he wasn’t yelling at the car in front of me; but at me.

Great.

He yelled at me for quite some time before he sped off. The thought did cross my mind to roll my window down and ask what was wrong, what had I done to make him so mad; because I didn’t have a clue, I had never even seen this man before. But in the end, I didn’t. I probably wouldn’t have gotten a word in edge wise anyway, the way he was screaming and carrying on.

I pulled into the bank, a little startled. I had never had someone yell at me like that. I was trying to play out in my head what I could have done to this man, when things escalated—quickly. My car was already turned off when I heard this man screaming again. I looked up to see him and his van the next road over from the bank, headed towards a little subdivision. He had stopped his car completely and now had his head sticking out of the passenger side window, screaming. I was called a lot of names and threatened. But he never once told me what I had done.

I was still a teen, I was short, small, and basically defenseless. I thought about driving away but I was afraid he’d follow me. So, my next logical option was to run into the bank and ask for help.

Just to clarify, I didn’t go running into the bank, screaming for help. That felt like a bad idea too. I shot across the parking lot and bolted into the bank as fast as I could without looking suspicious. Some of the people in the bank knew me from over the years.

I went to the first teller I could find and blurted out, “I need to make a deposit and I need a security guard.”

Apparently making that deposit was more important than my safety.

The teller’s eyebrows furrowed, “Why do you need a security guard?”

“There’s a man outside yelling at me,” I told her, “I don’t know what I did but he’s really mad.”

I’m here to tell you right now, banks don’t play when it comes to security or threats; at least this bank didn’t.

“We don’t have a security guard,” the teller began.

I felt my heart sink, I was going to have to go outside and face this guy by myself. I saw her look over me then.

“But it’s okay,” she told me, “Tonya’s husband is here. He’ll walk you out.”

She pointed me to Tonya’s office, motioning me to go there. I followed her direction, all while in the back of my mind I was thinking, that’s not going to help me! I need a guard with a gun or mace!

“Tonya,” the teller yelled over me, “Send Jim out, some guys outside yelling at this girl.”

I wanted to throw up. A security guard was my last hope, or at least that’s what I thought, until Jim stood up. I stopped dead in my tracks.

The best way I could describe Jim, was ‘a good ol’ boy.” If you’re from the south, you know what I mean. He was a large fellow, the kind that would hold the door open for a lady and knock the front teeth out of a man that dared raise a hand to one. Six foot something, easily 250-300 pounds, full beard, and an air about him that said, someone just screwed up—royally.

That’ll do sir, that will do.

“What’s going on,” Jim asked.

The teller filled him in while Tonya looked out the front door.

“I just need someone to walk me to my car,” I pleaded.

I didn’t actually want anyone to fight, that gave me anxiety just thinking about it.

“Alright honey, let’s go,” he told me.

“I don’t know if he’s still out there or not,” I warned him.

“That’s alright, if he is, we’ll take him to breakfast.”

We? I suddenly wasn’t that hungry.

Besides, this is your kitchen dude, not mine. Fair warning, when it comes time to cook this ‘breakfast’ I won’t be much help in this particular kitchen. The best I can do is scream for Tonya.

He walked out first, I followed behind him. He looked to the right and then the left.

“I don’t see him,” he said, he almost sounded disappointed.

I glanced around the parking lot and to my pleasant surprise, he was gone.

“I don’t see him either.”

Jim made a disappointed clicking sound with his mouth, resting his hands on his hips, scanning the parking lot again. I suppose he thought his morning was about to pick up.

“Well, go ahead and get in your car. I don’t see him.”

“Thank you,” I called as I dove into my car and started it up.

​Now, I’m not sure if that man left right after I went into the bank or left when he saw Jim coming; maybe he was hiding in the bushes and then thought better of it when Jim walked me to my car. I don’t know. All I can say is, I thank God for Jim and his ability to whip up a mean breakfast if needed.

I had only been working at the pharmacy for a couple years, I was fresh out of high school and learning the ropes. It wasn’t unheard of for the owner to ask me to take his car down the road to another pharmacy for a pickup. That day was no different. I cruised down the road to a closed-door pharmacy, where I was given the code to get in the building and pickup the medication that had been ordered.

When I got there, I parked the car in the empty parking lot. There was only one other car besides mine, I parked right beside it and ran inside. When I came back out, the parking lot was still deserted. I looked around the empty lot, which was connected to a restaurant, it seemed kind of spooky with no cars. I decided to get in the car before something got me (I’ve seen that movie). The boss’s car was old school, I had to physically unlock the door with the key. I pushed the key in and turned the lock, glancing behind me.

When I pulled on the handle, it didn’t open. I almost fell backwards. I stuck the key in again and jiggled the lock. Nothing. What in the world? I yanked on the handle two or three times before slamming my fist against the window in frustration. Glad this wasn’t a horror movie, I’d been gone. I walked to the passenger’s side door and tried the lock. I pushed the key in and turned it. Nothing. I yanked on that door a few times before huffing. Am I going to have to call the boss and tell him I can’t get in his car? How do I explain that?

I looked around the parking lot, there was no one to help me. On the upside, there was no one to get me either. I try to see the silver lining in things. I walked back to the driver’s side door and tried the key one more time. I sat the bag of medicine on the hood so I could use both my hands. It still didn’t work. I yanked on the handle one last time before I spun around and leaned on the car door. Great, this is just great. I could just hear my boss’s voice now, “What do you mean you can’t get in my car?”

I folded my arms across my chest and thought about quitting. My job that is. I glanced at the car I had parked beside, it looked a lot like my boss’s car. In fact, it was weird, the more I looked inside, the more I recognized things. The map on the dash looked just like the one in--

OH MY GOSH! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That was my boss’s car! I spun around and look inside the car I was leaning on. IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE’S.

I grabbed the medication off the hood and ran to the passenger door on the other car. I pushed the key in and twisted, the door opened without a hitch. I jumped inside and cranked the car, glancing around me to see if anyone had seen this ridiculous display I had just put on. There was still no one there. God, in His wisdom, had kept the car alarm from going off on the other car; I am convinced! Why? Because He knows me, He knew this would be something I’d do.

As I was driving back, I stopped at a red light. While I waited for it to turn, the thought crossed my mind that the other pharmacy probably had camera’s in their parking lot. I rested my head on the wheel, someone in there probably had a bag of popcorn open, with their feet propped up on the desk, laughing at me while I struggled to open a car that wasn’t mine.