Okay, first, it's one of those "revolving door" offices. Very big, very busy, and poorly staffed. One woman was so mean to everyone, which luckily I did not have to deal with, because I would have punched her. Me. The nice guy; that's how fucking mean that blond bitch was to other patients and her own staff. I have so many arguments about most of that staff, I don't know where to start. But I'll just bring out one point about dealing with the public: when talking to a customer, do NOT include them in your personal drama like you are working on an assembly line. Imagine you were at the window (really a huge wraparound desk) and the woman spoke to you like this (italics are when she's speaking loudly to some of the staff around her):
"Okay I need you to fill this out and sigh here. I don't know if I can stand to work here until the end of her shift, she's driving me crazy with this shit-- no no, hon. Sign this paper, and fill this out-- so if she thinks she can call me up and tell ME how to fill out the damn paperwork, I am going to hang up on her again because I don't have to take that from anyone, you know? Okay, I need your insurance card. And then the deli downstairs had the WORST smell, I mean, what was that about? Yeah, I thought I would gag. I hate working here. Now sit down and wait until you get called. No, I don't know your referring doctor! Can you believe what I have to put up with today? Everyone's got a stupid hat on or something..."
Like you're not even there. Judging from all the signed photos of sports celebrities all over the walls, I figure the three doctors are pretty popular, or at least want you to feel like they are. Many of the photos are taken with the sports stars, too. "To my main man, Dr. Kildare. Signed, Bucky Bronson, number 78."
Anyway, I got shuffled around a poorly-run but fast office machine, prodded, poked, scanned, and got the 5 minute diagnosis: my ankle is messed up, but they don't know why. They saw some unusual bone bumps, but don't know if they are related. "I can see you limp, so wear this ginormous boot for a month, and go to physical therapy 3 times a week until then. If it doesn't get better, we're going to do some deeper scans. Okay, thank you for playing, nurse Ratchet here will fit your for a boot, and I'll see you next on 'The Doctor is In!'"
I fucking hate this boot. I have to admit, my ankle feels great, but my walking speed is cut down to a third, and I don't know how the HELL I am going to do the Metro rail commute for the next month, nor how to afford money or TIME for the physical therapy.