Seriously, if you don’t like people, don’t work with the public.

I’ve had several jobs in which I worked closely with people at large, and I can safely say that I was never an asshole, not even when I was premenstrual or pregnant, not even when I was dealing with the kind of people who make one’s ears bleed and one’s teeth ache, not even when I was in my early twenties and was frequently hung over and really just wanted to be at home, asleep, in bed.

Why? Because I generally like people, and because my momma taught me not to be an asshole.

This week I have been treated like shit by two different people that work in public service, and both instances pissed me off so badly I am considering Writing Angry Letters. (OOH, I know! I’m so tough!)

The first was my local pharmacist, who is generally a rude motherfucker to begin with. He has the kind of sour face that scares babies.

I called because I was almost out of my seizure medication and needed a refill. Now, I know that the wheels of my neurologist’s office move rather slowly, so I asked whether he might be able to float me a couple of pills, should my doctor be unable to call in a refill before I was out of the medication.

And yes, I am aware that half of this was my fault for not calling earlier. STILL, I should have been treated with a little common courtesy.

“I will send a fax, they’ll get it by morning,” he huffed angrily.
“I know, but-”
“I’LL SEND THE FAX.”

Then the asshole hung up on me.

I called back and calmly explained through gritted teeth (and a smile, always a smile) that generally it takes a few days for my doctor to get moving on such things, and I apologized profusely for not calling sooner. I asked again whether it might be possible to get a few pills should the refill not come through.

“I AM SENDING THE FAX. YOUR DOCTOR WILL GET IT IN THE MORNING.”

He hung up on me again.

AGAIN.

By this time I was livid.

I wound up calling the doctor’s office and explaining my predicament and they did indeed get my refill in order, so a happy ending worked out; but damn, never have I been treated so rudely by someone who is supposed to be helpful.

Yesterday I had an appointment for an MRI of my brain, because my last visual exam was extremely wonky. The J-Man got sick, so I had to cancel.

I called the MRI facility and was berated for a full twenty minutes by some sort of technician or receptionist who informed me that their time is valuable and that their slots are scheduled with the utmost importance, and that I basically was pond scum who had no concern for other people’s work schedules.

Well, la-di-freakin’-da.

Did I not mention that my kid was sick? Would you like me to bring my vomiting child in with me??

I was floored.

I understand that people have bad days. I, too, have bad days. I would occasionally like to rip the face off of another human being. It would probably give me great pleasure to verbally take down a person here and there. Maybe it would take a load off of my mind. Maybe I wouldn’t need therapy, and maybe I would be a much less stressed-out person. Still, I don’t do it, because it’s fucking rude.

Manners are becoming obsolete, and I hate it.

Don’t even get me started on my kid’s generation. They have a dearth of manners that frightens me to no freaking end. By the time these kids are old enough for public service, we’re never going to hear a “please” or a “thank you” again.

Gah.

This rant was brought to you by Walgreens and the local Ghetto Hospital.

Thank you, and have a PLEASANT day.

By the way, my friend Jane is having surgery for breast cancer today. While she is going to be totally fine and is totally going to kick cancer square in its big, fat ass, it would mean a lot to me if you could send up a prayer or some good thoughts, if you’re not the praying kind. She’s an awesome lady and deserves every bit of good mojo that is out there.

Happy Tuesday.

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