I know an outreach worker who can diagnose Trichomonas vaginalis by smell alone. She calls it her party piece, though I’m not sure how that works.
Everyone remembers Steve, the nurse with a hangman’s rope dangling from his office door. You tell someone they’ve got AIDS, while they’re sitting under a noose. The punters loved him. One did his hair.
Then there were the customers, like the guy that stuck his knob down the vacuum:
‘Nothing sucks like an Electrolux.’
The result: severe trauma of the aforementioned trouser snake.
Steve took a picture of that one. For his personal album.