They finally caught up to me.
It feels like months ago that I learned that the ADHD doc who was supposed to see me in July died. At least a month ago. I wondered back when I heard the news whether I would show up on the scheduled date, only to be met at the door by a clerk, dabbing her tearful eyes as she informed me the doctor was OUT and would, barring a miraculous resurrection, never quite be back in.
It was with some surprise that I picked up the ringing phone today to hear the subdued voice of that same clerk, who was finally getting around to letting me know the good doctor had joined the howling chorus of angels. That he had shuffled off his uncaring mortal coil, and that he had slithered into eternity with his bright aviator sunglasses on. That he had pondered his last thought, and had instead pushed his soul past the clamouring ants and worms, on his way to the Ultimate Zenith.
“Well, we have another doctor who might be able to see you. Would it be OK if we got back to you before the end of the month with an appointment?”
Such a weird question. Would it be all right?
All right….. what? All right that they would get back to me?
Or all right that I had to wait until the end of the month?
How the FUCK does any office run that way? Where they have to consult with each other to figure out an appointment time? Or figure out if they really want to see you at all?
What office do you know takes the time to call up prospective clients or patients, to ask them if it’s OK that they get back to you later on this century with an appointment time? They took the time to call you this time – why not save on time and make the appointment right now?
I don’t get it.
Maybe it’s an elaborate screening process. Maybe you gotta REALLY want an appointment. Maybe only the whiners will get to see the good doctor. Maybe the nice ones will get left out, deemed “not really in need” by virtue of their kind niceness.
You know what?
I made a mistake.
I said “sure”.
I should have said “FUCK NO! It’s not all right! I’ve been waiting for months to see someone, and now you’re taking the time to give me a fucking phone call asking me if it’s fucking ok for me to get a call from you later? What the FUCK is this? Romper Room? Do you see me through your magic tennis racket?”
Yeah. I know.
I didn’t want to be “that guy”. You know the one – makes everyone uncomfortable with his anger and his disgustingly bad language.
Well…..this time I was nice.
I’ll give them two weeks and when I call back……
I won’t even remember what “nice” feels like. And neither will they.