I wrote this post yesterday whilst trying to keep my cool and not create an “incident”. I did quite well.
Kerry has got to be the worst doctors receptionist in the Eastern Suburbs of Sydney. I am sitting here with two children stewing. On arrival she told me it wouldn’t be long. What part of almost a fucking hour does she think is not long? 50 minutes and counting, there’s a patient with the doctor and one waiting to go in before me. Clearly some people have more time on their hands than others.
In addition, you would think maybe at this point that Kerry might be calling patients who are due to see the doctor in the next two hours (or the rest of the fucking day) to tell them about the delay, but not. She is holding her ground behind the desk and not answering the phone. Did I mention that it rings incessantly and she’s only answering on average every fourth call?
The woman sitting next to me also can’t go without a special mention. She is chewing her gum for the whole waiting room to hear whilst texting on her mobile phone. WITH THOSE TIC TIC sounds. My slapping hand is itching something shocking.
The children have abandoned hope at this point and have relocated to the passage where I assume they are behaving themselves. I too have lost hope of ever getting out of here and don’t care if they empty the fire extinguishers to amuse themselves.
An old lady with a Russian accent has just walked in and advised Kerry that she doesn’t have her referral and has left her handbag in her car. She doesn’t appear to have keys so I’m kind of wondering about that. Kerry is now very cross as obviously the old lady cannot pay the account on departure. Kerry is huffing and puffing that there is still a good hour before the woman’s appointment (yeah right Kerry – like we don’t know that) and I think is suggesting she goes and retrieves her bag and purse from her car. Did I mention that the old lady has one of those walking frame things? I’m sure she’d like nothing more. Perhaps Kerry could hike to the car (if it actually exists) and leave the old lady to answer the phone – it can’t get any worse. Seriously. I’m expecting some sport at this stage but unfortunately not. The old lady ignores Kerry, sits down and reads a magazine. Kerry goes back to not answering the phone.
Having lost track of time (as well as hope) I eventually had the privilege of visiting with the kind doctor. And then it was back to Kerry to pay the account.
It turns out that in addition to Kerry not being so good with time and the telephone, she is crap at Medicare. So she is nervous to put it through for me as she admits she is likely to fuck it up (my words not hers) and then the Medicare people will call and shout at her. What I didn’t say is that I will call and shout at her too. Good luck to both of us if we’re hoping she actually answers the phone. I smiled sweetly and told her not to worry at all and that I would sort it out on my own time. I am certain that a trip to Medicare will be less challenging than this experience.
Yes, be proud people that I took my adult self with me yesterday. Not a snort, not a sigh, not a rolled eye. Just a blog post. Growing up clearly.
Love and light