How I decided geriatric psychiatry wasn't for me:
During my psychiatry clerkship, I noticed that most of the patient population was pretty young. But there were a few older patients as well.
I don't remember what Mr. Smith's diagnosis was, but he was one of our few geriatric patients and he managed to annoy me beyond belief, despite not even being my patient. I guess he didn't mean to, but he spoke so slowly and always had so many complaints, I felt like I want to shoot myself while we were rounding on him.
One day, we came to his room and he held up a brown paper bag filled with crackers (where this came from, I have no idea) and complained that he "can't eat crackers because I'm a diabetic." I have no idea why he felt that as a diabetic he couldn't eat crackers, but the attending promised he'd look into a special diet for Mr. Smith (who seemed very agitated about these crackers).
We continued rounds and a minute later, Mr. Smith opened the door to his room and asked me if he could speak to the doctor. I said, "Just a minute, we're doing rounds."
He nodded like he understood, but then he held out the bag of crackers to me and said, "Take these crackers."
I said to him, "Just leave your crackers in your room. We'll come get them later."
That wasn't a satisfactory answer. Mr. Smith insisted again that I take the crackers with me, but I told him again to just leave them in the room. I tried to close the door, but as I was closing it, Mr. Smith slipped the crackers through the door just before it closed in an Indiana Jones-esque move.
So I was stuck with those goddamn crackers. I mean, he wasn't even my patient.