Some are because they have to be, and we really don't mind.
Some are, but really don't mean to be, and we treat them just the same.
And some are, because they just don't know what else to be, and sometimes, despite my best efforts, they do my head in.
Remember this one, the one I complained about? This is the one about whom I regularly think that I'd be glad never to see them again. They'd never been violent or aggressive, but just difficult, obnoxious and regularly lied, and I always worried that they would catch me out with the "boy who cried wolf" syndrome.
Well, I hadn't seen them since, and I remembered musing at the time about the fact that they may not survive the winter, their stubbornness and reliance on alcohol being their major downfall. I happened to have a conversation with one of the receptionists at our local hospital, who also hadn't seen them for ages. There was another crew there at the time, from a different area.
"You talking about such and such? Looks like this, talks like that, smells like something else?"
"Yeah! That's them! You've met them too?"
"Yup. Took them into FarAway hospital only last week!"
I breathed a sigh of relief at the news that they're still alive.