The Lady Behind the Counter

Arriving exactly on time for my 2:45 appointment, I was presented with two sets of nearly identical doors.  One had hours posted on the glass and the other was plain.  I entered through the door with office hours, assuming the other was the staff entrance.

I entered a fairly standard medical foyer, with the receptionist slightly apart from the waiting area.  I approached the no nonsense lady behind the counter only to be told, without eye contact, “Have a seat.”

She was on the phone, with an insurance company so I sat down and flipped through a magazine while thoroughly enjoying her phone call.  I began to think that if I ever had problems with my insurance carrier I would love having her around to handle the details.  She didn’t take no for an answer, was firm, and persistent.  While she handled that she was also working on payment arrangements with a man I could not see from my position.  In between demands to speak with a supervisor I heard the man make a good natured, if half-hearted joke about the aggravation involved with something or other.

In a bossy, yet somewhat genteel Southern manner she snapped “It’s good for you” and the burly man left as though he had been chastised by his granny, fumbling with his paperwork, cell phone, and sunglasses.

Several minutes later I was summoned, “Miss Lewis.”

“I’m not Miss Lewis.”

“You’re in the wrong building.”

Having been on time, I was now more than ten minutes late; blushing furiously I entered the unmarked door.  The lady behind this counter greeted me and I  sheepishly mentioned that I had been on time.  Without glancing up she replied, “She told you to have a seat didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not the first.  How long were you waiting? We’ve had patients sit there for forty-five minutes before discovering they were in the wrong office.”

At least I wasn’t the first.

For what it’s worth that temperamental gall bladder is coming out.  I just have to set a date.