soapboxdiner

Mrs. Falhalajawazahedariwanizawowskaranita

You never can tell about what's happening on the other side of the inter-human experience, can you? Funny about how true that is. I mean, you can be talking with someone, thinking everything is going positively swimmingly and that the two of you are getting on just great, but you never really know how the other person is really assessing the same experience and/or conversation - what they are thinking in their head that you aren't privy too.

Take, just as one example, my day - which (basically) began when my Great Co-Worker looked at me pleadingly across our cubicle wall, hoping I would take a phone call off her hands. You see, the woman on the other end of the phone must have been East Indian**, as I surmised from her 21572 letter-long (21562 of which were vowels) first name alone. That she was heavily accented and rather chatty did not help the matter one bit, as we are always balls-to-the-wall at work and time is our most preciously guarded commodity. But no matter how much of a bitch I am perceived to be in the face-to-face aspects at work (Great Co-Worker always says I taught her how being a bitch gets you what you want more than being nice does. Heh. Go figure that one.), I am still perceived to be the Patient, Gentle One in regard to patient relations.

So anyway, I took the call and eventually - through a plethora of stories regarding the purpose of the woman's call, what she wanted me to do for her, who she wanted me to work with to accomplish it, and what I needed from her to facilitate her request, as well as her detailing for me ad nauseum the importance of her need and its subsequent priority she wanted me to make it in my day - I at last won her trust with my assurance that I would, indeed, follow-through on her request with meticulous care to detail.

She then proceeded to tell me that the request she was making regarded sending her husband's cancer-laden biopsy to a physician on the east coast who happened to be her nephew and a PhD as well as an MD, as well as a professor, as well as chief of his department at his institution. Which was all just dandy, but by this time my in-box had swelled to mountainous heights before me and she had taken up 25 minutes of my time for a matter that can usually be just as professionally conducted in a mere two minutes. Remember, in our small office, we are conservators of time. We Were Not Impressed.

And as I sat on the phone waiting for a break in her steady stream of chatter, I screwed my ultra-sharpened pencil into my forehead right between my eyeballs. I looked over at Great Co-Worker with a "Help! Help! I'm trapped in the Never-Ending Phone Call!" look. Finally, I had to interrupt the woman with a promise to handle her request expediently, but I have to get off the phone - NOW.

And so she thanked me for another five minutes and hung up. I looked over at Great Co-Worker and said, "Well then; that was excruciating. Remind me to never do that again."

Phone call ended, I faxed the woman a release of information form for her husband to sign in order to officially authorize the transaction. Twenty minutes later, she called to inform me she did not get my fax. She also informed me that she had another nephew who worked here in town in the medical field.

She did this In Great Detail.

I noncommittally replied, "You must be so proud."

Big mistake. She gushed and gushed. And then, surprisingly, she gushed.

I replied, "Wow. Is he single?"

Another big mistake - but still humorous in that "It's a good thing I have nothing else to do with my day, because this woman is singlehandedly monopolizing my entire morning" kind of way. Insert more absent-minded pencil-screwing-into-forehead right __here__.

She proceeding to share that he was a great catch! He was, in fact, single! He was divorced twice! He had three children! But it wasn't his fault! Do you want his number?!?

I am positive that every single person who reads this throughout all times will at this point be nodding their respective heads and saying, "Uhhhh. Yeah. That was definitely a mistake there, SBD. Never Encourage Chatty Women Who Are Under Great Emotional Distress."

Meanwhile, I was gnashing my teeth and contemplating the merits of banging my head against my desk and/or whether or not taking my stapler to my cranium would be as painful as this extended exchange.

Again, I interrupted the lady with a promise to re-fax the release for her to have signed, which promptly ("promptly" being relative in this situation, of course) ended the phone call.

Fifteen minutes later, the lady called again. "Hahaha! I'm sorry, SBD, but it appears my fax was experiencing technical difficulties! Hahaha! Can you sent the fax again?"

Grrr. (Which was expressed by the following: "Hahaha! That's so funny! Isn't it funny when fax machines go on the blink? It happens to me all the time! I'll go ahead and fax this form for the THIRD GODDAMNED TIME! No problem!")

And you'd think that would be the end of our dealings, right? Oh, but you would be so woefully wrong. You see, there was still the matter of filling out the release for her re-transmittal.

"SBD - hi. Sorry, I fear I am making a nuisance of myself."

"Not at all! Please, allow me to assist you in the in and outs of Releases of Information!"

Insert another 15 agonizing minutes on the phone here detailing each box's purpose and what information should be provided for them all.

Shortly thereafter, a sixth phone call: "SBD, did you say that in the first box I'm supposed to just check the box naming your hospital as the materials owner?"

Yes, dear. ("Dear" because being forced to call you by your first and/or your last name would prove me to be inequal to such a task.) That's exactly what you need to insert in the first box.

"Did you say I could just check the space next to your hospital's name, or did you say I had to check the second box next to the blank, and then fill in your address?"

No, Honey. ("Honey" being her New Name.) Just go ahead and check the box next to our name. I know you want us to release information originating from our office. No need to fill in any additional information. Can I clarify anything else while I have you on the phone?

"No, no. I have it now. Thank you so much for your help."

Feel free to envision me rolling my eyes in a "body language only" expression of my irritation in the form of My good God in Heaven, but is this woman over analyzing into redundancy the simple task of filling in a few blanks that should be self-explanatory.

And then the phone rang AGAIN.

"Hi SBD. What do I put in the "Send To" box?"

Um, why don't to put the address of the receiving instution there? I think that would be good.

"Oh. Okay. Should I put their address there?"

Yes. Put their address there.

"Okay. Now, when you say put their address there, do you mean I should put their address there?"

Yes, dear. All you need to put in that box is the name, address, and telephone number of where you want me to send your husband's materials.

"Okay. I will do that. Now when it says here, 'Sign'... what do I put there?"

Mrs. Falhalajawazahedariwanizawowskaranita, that is the space where I need your husband's signature.

"Oh. Alright. I will tell him to sign right there. Thank you again, SBD. You have been most helpful."

No problem, Mrs. Falhalajawazahedariwanizawowskaranita. It has been my pleasure entirely.

And at this point, Good Co-Worker and the Boss are pointing and laughing at me.

So, the woman at last completes the Release and calls to inform me that the fax is on it's way. Three pages, SBD. I am sending you three pages.

Okay, Honey. I'll keep my eyes open for it, Dear.

This is where I hang up the phone and say, "I Swear to God, if I have to talk with this woman one more time..."

And Funny Doc, who has been standing by the phone observing the transaction, says, "My, SBD. You sounded so professional on the phone. You mean...?"

Yes, Doc. I've been faking. I'm a great faker, no?

Enter the blinking fax transmittal light.

I should be up for an Oscar, don't you think? I've been acting the whole time.

Enter, again, only a single page transmission.

This is where I go to Great Co-Worker and the Boss with, "Are you guys pulling a fast one on me? You are, aren't you?!? You think this is funny! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! Give me the other two pages of her fax! NOW, DAMMIT! No joke. Give them to me. I WILL be forced to hurt you severely and mortally if you are pulling my leg."

No, no! We didn't do anything. We swear.

Fucking A. Fine. Just Fucking Fine. I will God Damn call Mrs. Falhalajawazahedariwanizawowskaranita AGAIN and tell her that her fax was ALL FUCKED UP.

Hello? Mrs. Falhalajawazahedariwanizawowskaranita? Hi. It's SBD from My Hospital? Hi. I'm sorry to call you again, but your fax was All Fucked Up. Can you resend it?

"Are you telling me that my fax was All Fuck Up, SBD?"

Yes, Dear. All fucked up. That's right.

"Well, since it was all fucked up, do you want me to send it again?"

That's a splendid idea. Why don't you send it again?

"Okay. I'll send it again. It's 11:50 right now, isn't it? You said you take your lunch break at noon? I will send it now so you have it before you go to lunch."

Thank, Mrs. Falhalajawazahedariwanizawowskaranita. I would greatly appreciate that. Good bye, now.

Did I mention it was now FUCKING GODDAMN NOON, and I have been dealing with this woman for THREE damn hours? Yes, three hours over a procedure that can normal transpire in two minutes.

So she sends the rest of her fax, which frees me up to finally send her husband's materials out. Only then, I read in her fax that she wants me to GOD DAMN CALL HER when it's done and then send her a confirmation fax with the Fed Ex tracking number!

Hi, Mrs. Falhalajawazahedariwanizawowskaranita? It's SBD again. I've just faxed you the tracking number. Have you recieved it? Oh good. Is there anything else I can do for you before I let you go?

"No, SBD. But thank you. You have been most helpful and a blessing to me and my husband. We cannot thank you enough. We have had 33 years of history with your hospital and you are definitely a wonderful asset to your company. Can I give you a blessing? On your heart I lay a lifetime of health. There is no greater blessing in life than health, you know. I bless you with a lifetime of health. Thank you, SBD. Thank you again."

And this is where I get all mushy. The woman has been the bane to my whole damn day, causing me to fall so hopelessly far behind on my duties that I fear it will take me two days to catch up. I have bled from my eyes, cursed her as stupid, and driven sharp objects into my flesh from the simple act of dealing with her. And yet, in the end, she was pacified, mullified, and put at ease with the care she was shown. She blessed me with what she considered to be the highest blessing one human can bestow upon another.

And all the time was worth it. Damn it.

I guess it's true. You can never know what another person is thinking. But it always pays... in a great and intangible way... to go out of your way to help another person who lays in your hands the care of their very persons.

I fucking rock.

** Not intended to sound racially prejudiced and/or flat out racist. However, I am sure that throughout the world, everyone can relate to how ESL challenges (and/or other native-languages-of-choice) and thick accents can create time-consuming difficulties in communication.

10:18 pm - 02.27.04
previous | next

Home | Archives | Profile | Notes | DiaryLand | Random Entry