Friday, October 10, 2008

Rules and Niceness

I love rules - most of them anyway. Some, though, just make no sense. For instance, I refuse to speed in a school zone, but who cares if I drive 10 over the speed limit on empty Canyon Golf Road in the middle of the afternoon?

One rule I firmly believe in is waiting your turn. As a kid, I must have been shoved out of line or passed up, because as a grown up, I will tell other grown ups to wait their turn.

Case in point - last week, I stopped by the meat counter to pick up some steaks. I waited for several minutes before someone finally came over to help. Well, he asked the guy who just walked up if he needed help. I spoke up and politely said that I had been waiting for several minutes and that I'd like to select some steaks. The other man huffed at first but then admitted that he had just walked up.

Last week, I lamented about making an appointment for getting the boys' hair cut. I believe that the reason we make appointments is because we have other things to do than wait around for the next available whatever.

This morning, I had to take Noah in for another blood draw. So, yesterday, I went online and booked the appointment then took a few minutes to fill out the top of the paperwork.

I get to the lab this morning, and it's filled to the max with people waiting. I sign in and notice that two people with scheduled appointments before mine hadn't been helped yet.

There was a woman waiting who is one of my favorite characters in any situation - the one who tells everyone that she's so busy and can't believe she has to wait and gets up every few minutes to ask who's in front of her on the list because she really needs to leave because she's going out of town this weekend and still needs to get home to pack and meet a friend for lunch and now she's going to be late because she has to wait. (Have you ever not had to wait at a blood lab?!)

After I signed in, I peeked into the back and noticed that they were short-staffed, so I quietly asked the lady behind the counter if they were honoring scheduled appointments due to the back-up. The phlebotomist turned intake nurse said yes and that they were just running a few minutes behind.

That Woman - the one above - jumps up and starts complaining that she has somewhere else to be. At that point, the phlebotomist told her, "You know, we're really backed up here, and it's just me and one other girl. So, the longer I have to stand here and listen to your complaining, the longer you're going to have to wait because there are three scheduled appointments and two walk-ins before you. I suggest you go sit down so I can get to them and then get to you."

I wanted to applaud!

As That Woman stormed back to her seat, she started asking everyone else if they knew they could book an appointment and that it just wasn't fair that some of you knew but no one told her.

I wanted to laugh! It's on the top of the form she was given by her doctor! (I noticed it on mine so I casually looked at hers.)

Just a minute or two later, we were called back. I apologized to the phlebotomist that some of the people were being so rude and lamented that I don't know how they do it all day - listen to the complaining and all. She gave me a half-hug and thanked me! She said no one ever takes their side. "Then again," she says, "you scheduled an appointment, so you must be nice."

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Yeah, there is nothing that annoys me more than people who feel entitled like that. And why are blood test places always so crowded, anyway? Every time I've ever gone to one, it's been like that.

Mary Anna said...

It's gotten better at the blood lab since they moved all of the pre-employment screening to one location. Now there aren't so many weirdos waiting. Now if they could locate a "specimine drop off" area outside the waiting room ...

The Stiletto Mom said...

I'm totally with you on this one. BTW, if you are going to any type of medical appointment it's wise not to have a tight schedule. Someone should give that woman a clue for the holidays this year.