You know what job I want? Choosing the music that plays when you're on hold. It's like in 1983 a lover of soft jazz and funky piano riffs took complete control of all music tracks for phone "on hold" tunes. He probably owns all of Kenny G's records and really enjoys riding in department store elevators. The worst is when the hold music is trying to be semi up-to-date but it sounds like it's being streamed off a low-quality youtube video through a dial-up connection. If anyone has a mac or ipod or iphone and has tried calling the apple help line, you probably know what I'm talking about. (Side note - when I'm wanting to talk to someone because my Mac just blew up, it doesn't make me any happier when your automated voice on the hold line goes: "Sick of being on hold? Visit our website to solve your problem!" Okay. Do you think that I'd be holding on for an hour if my issue could be resolved by going onto your website and just restarting?!?!?! Alright, tangent over.)
Anyway, sometimes I'll have to call one of our sister offices and I'll be put on hold - ugh. No wonder our patients are so angry. First, the whole thing is just an advertisement the whole time about our offices. I'm sure that when our patients are put on hold for 15 minutes after we've already messed ups ending their chart somewhere or the wax in their ear is building up again or they've got some hardcore post-nasal drip going on, listening to an ad telling them how great we are probably doesn't help that. Also, my least favorite is when the soothing woman robot voice says "Now with evening and weekend hours for your added convenience!" Yes. For my convenience. Because I love coming in at 8 am and leaving at 7 pm. And being pushed to work Saturdays. I may as well set up a cot in the break room, or maybe right near the Medical Assistant station so I can dip into some of our prescription free samples late at night. Who wants whiskey when you could have unlimited Nasonex?
Showing posts with label Angry Patients. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Angry Patients. Show all posts
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Just Sign by the X and then We'll Be Taking Your Soul, Please
I seem to be in the general minority in that I'm one of the people who enjoys filling out paperwork. Not all paperwork, mind you - nothing resume-related that makes me regret that 3-month bender I did in college rather than volunteering or interning at the Pentagon or, you know, actually going to class. Also, the paperwork that asks you your income I am definitely not a fan of. I look fondly upon my under-18 days when I could put down my parents' income, checking off that salary box with zest and feeling smug, as if that were truly a reflection of my performance in the world. Now I usually just check the lowest box, or whatever is closest to "just shoot me in the face."
Anyway, aside from those exceptions, I very much enjoy filling out paperwork. It's something I always know the answer to, and who doesn't like saying their name in print? (No matter how pathetic and/or desperate that is.) However, as I mentioned previously, I seem to be in the minority with this. If there's one thing that I've learned so far in my job, above everything else, it's that patients loathe paperwork. My favorite is when a patient arrives 15+ minutes later, hasn't had an appointment with us since 2002 (or better yet, is a new patient all together), and starts off on their rant of "Wait, I have to fill out paperwork now?!?!?!"
No, sir or ma'am, you don't have to fill out any paperwork, I just really enjoy getting yelled at by strangers. In fact, these papers aren't even real! We all collaborated on them in the office one day, while drinking bum wine out of a yahtzee shaker and skipping around a bonfire lit by our patients' medical records. The best is when they come back, which they always do, and say something clever and super original like "What, am I signing my life over to you guys?" or "It's like I'm filling out a mortgage!" with resentment in their voices. Sir, how about next you say "What, do you want me to give you my first born child, too?" because I've definitely never heard that one. But no, sir, you can keep your snotty brat, the 10 minutes it spends in the office is more than enough for me, thanks.
Though really, even more than I enjoy filling out paperwork, I love love love reading the paperwork. After all, it is I who enters it into our ridiculous EMR (electronic medical records) system. I mean these are patients' medical histories we're talking about, so while I'm entering them into the computer I get to read every misspelled medication they're taking, how many cigarettes they smoke a day (while surmising about the real amount - seriously, 1-15 or 20 is not an acceptable range for daily cigarettes smoked), and whatever case of bad gas they might have had. My favorite is when a patient brings in the typed 20page list of all the medications they're on, half of which bring up a warning message in our computer reading CONFLICT! with the other half. I also love the painstakingly clear omissions - like filling out everything else but the "do you drink?" question and the "if yes, how much?" If they do fill it out, you can spot the alchys right away. "Socially" is a dead giveaway. "A few beers" is another. I still haven't figured out why the forms ask you when your last drink was, probably to make you feel instantly guilty and like a raging alcoholic. I'm still waiting for someone to put something in the range of "10 hours ago."
Anyway, aside from those exceptions, I very much enjoy filling out paperwork. It's something I always know the answer to, and who doesn't like saying their name in print? (No matter how pathetic and/or desperate that is.) However, as I mentioned previously, I seem to be in the minority with this. If there's one thing that I've learned so far in my job, above everything else, it's that patients loathe paperwork. My favorite is when a patient arrives 15+ minutes later, hasn't had an appointment with us since 2002 (or better yet, is a new patient all together), and starts off on their rant of "Wait, I have to fill out paperwork now?!?!?!"
No, sir or ma'am, you don't have to fill out any paperwork, I just really enjoy getting yelled at by strangers. In fact, these papers aren't even real! We all collaborated on them in the office one day, while drinking bum wine out of a yahtzee shaker and skipping around a bonfire lit by our patients' medical records. The best is when they come back, which they always do, and say something clever and super original like "What, am I signing my life over to you guys?" or "It's like I'm filling out a mortgage!" with resentment in their voices. Sir, how about next you say "What, do you want me to give you my first born child, too?" because I've definitely never heard that one. But no, sir, you can keep your snotty brat, the 10 minutes it spends in the office is more than enough for me, thanks.
Though really, even more than I enjoy filling out paperwork, I love love love reading the paperwork. After all, it is I who enters it into our ridiculous EMR (electronic medical records) system. I mean these are patients' medical histories we're talking about, so while I'm entering them into the computer I get to read every misspelled medication they're taking, how many cigarettes they smoke a day (while surmising about the real amount - seriously, 1-15 or 20 is not an acceptable range for daily cigarettes smoked), and whatever case of bad gas they might have had. My favorite is when a patient brings in the typed 20page list of all the medications they're on, half of which bring up a warning message in our computer reading CONFLICT! with the other half. I also love the painstakingly clear omissions - like filling out everything else but the "do you drink?" question and the "if yes, how much?" If they do fill it out, you can spot the alchys right away. "Socially" is a dead giveaway. "A few beers" is another. I still haven't figured out why the forms ask you when your last drink was, probably to make you feel instantly guilty and like a raging alcoholic. I'm still waiting for someone to put something in the range of "10 hours ago."
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Always arrive early. Unless nobody's there.
Everyday on my way to work I pass a White Castle. Being from California, I have never been to a White Castle. However, being a huge Harold & Kumar fan, I feel that it is my civic duty (okay not civic, maybe stoner duty) to go to one. In fact, last night I even had a dream that I had a copy of Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle on VHS (wtf right?), and the tape got caught in the VCR and got all unwound. Oh, technology of the 90s. Anyway, I cried to my boyfriend "Oh no! Now we'll never get to go to White Castle!!!!" and stomped my foot and did something immature and pouty. Clearly, this means that I desperately need a hobby, or at least something that does not involve my work.
Speaking of work.. I left a bit earlier to get there today and so I arrived at 8:20 (I allegedly start at 8:30), only to wait outside the locked door because nobody had arrived yet. I do not have a key. As I'm waiting patiently and fiddling around on my phone, a couple of 9:00 patients show up early, and of course begin to complain about the office not being open.
Patient #1: Are you a patient or do you work here?
Me: I work here.
Patient #1: Then open the door! Come on!
Me: Actually, I just feel like standing here. I could let you in, but I'm enjoying standing out here in this cold drafty corridor, standing with people I've never met and probably wouldn't like anyway.
..Okay no I didn't say that, but I wanted to. What I really said was
Me: I don't have a key.
Patient #2: What's up with you guys not being open yet? I got here at 8:30 and I want to be inside at 8:30.
Me: You and me both. I don't have a key. I'm sorry.
Patient #2: My daughter has to diarrhea!
Wouldn't it be great to be a 2 year-old, getting to demand that what you want happen right now because your diarrhea is about to hit you squarely in the back of your pink stretchy pants, and you're not so great at walking yet so you might just fall flat down on it and spread it all over down your legs? Man, that'd be the life. I guess in another 60 years or so I'll get to again enter that stage of living. Can't wait.
The patients then began to discuss about how great doctors have it, getting to work short hours and earning the big bucks and abusing their patients, or whatever they were talking about, while throwing loathing looks at me all the while. Yes. Because I need reminding how much more money the doctors make than I do. And how they get to take mid-week trips to Aspen. And leave at 5:00 on the nose. Also, according to these patients, I get to join in on reaping all these same benefits.
Today our fax machine, printer, and scanner all stopped working at once. We were all too busy to really dig in and see what happened, but our manager sauntered out of her office, after putting down her cup o' noodle and dramatically tossing her sheer leopard scarf around her shoulders, to take a look. Apparently all it took was a restarting and/or unplugging or two, but for the next hour she kept telling everyone who crossed her pleather boots that she deserved a raise for fixing them all.
Speaking of work.. I left a bit earlier to get there today and so I arrived at 8:20 (I allegedly start at 8:30), only to wait outside the locked door because nobody had arrived yet. I do not have a key. As I'm waiting patiently and fiddling around on my phone, a couple of 9:00 patients show up early, and of course begin to complain about the office not being open.
Patient #1: Are you a patient or do you work here?
Me: I work here.
Patient #1: Then open the door! Come on!
Me: Actually, I just feel like standing here. I could let you in, but I'm enjoying standing out here in this cold drafty corridor, standing with people I've never met and probably wouldn't like anyway.
..Okay no I didn't say that, but I wanted to. What I really said was
Me: I don't have a key.
Patient #2: What's up with you guys not being open yet? I got here at 8:30 and I want to be inside at 8:30.
Me: You and me both. I don't have a key. I'm sorry.
Patient #2: My daughter has to diarrhea!
Wouldn't it be great to be a 2 year-old, getting to demand that what you want happen right now because your diarrhea is about to hit you squarely in the back of your pink stretchy pants, and you're not so great at walking yet so you might just fall flat down on it and spread it all over down your legs? Man, that'd be the life. I guess in another 60 years or so I'll get to again enter that stage of living. Can't wait.
The patients then began to discuss about how great doctors have it, getting to work short hours and earning the big bucks and abusing their patients, or whatever they were talking about, while throwing loathing looks at me all the while. Yes. Because I need reminding how much more money the doctors make than I do. And how they get to take mid-week trips to Aspen. And leave at 5:00 on the nose. Also, according to these patients, I get to join in on reaping all these same benefits.
Today our fax machine, printer, and scanner all stopped working at once. We were all too busy to really dig in and see what happened, but our manager sauntered out of her office, after putting down her cup o' noodle and dramatically tossing her sheer leopard scarf around her shoulders, to take a look. Apparently all it took was a restarting and/or unplugging or two, but for the next hour she kept telling everyone who crossed her pleather boots that she deserved a raise for fixing them all.
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