Suzy Says

Is it me? Is it San Francisco? Or has the art of customer service vanished along with the art of conversation, the art of letter-writing, and the notion of politeness? It certainly seems to be as extinct as a dinosaur in my life.

In order to complain, I will yet again have to make a somewhat embarrassing confession, but I won’t let that stop me. I have been seeing a therapist to help me through the grieving process and also to help me address an issue that has become magnified since my father’s death: my fear of flying. I haven’t flown since I came home from my father’s funeral in London just days before 9/11. Then there was 9/11. I bailed on a conference in Dallas in January because I just couldn’t face flying. That’s when I realized that I needed some help with these problems.

So I have been going once a week, and it has helped. My therapist suggested that I get a prescription for anti-anxiety medication to take with me when I fly. If all the other tools I have fail me, I know I have the medication and can take it if I need to. I suspect just knowing I have it will be enough. But my therapist is a PhD, not an M.D., so I had to get a prescription from a doctor.

I haven’t been to the doctor in years (I know, I know, shut up and let me complain). I called to make an appointment. They asked what for.

Me: A check-up.

Them: What kind?

Me: How many kinds are there?

Them (unhelpfully): Lots.

Me: Well, this is more complicated than I thought.

Them (suspiciously): You’ll have to tell me what you need.

So I did. They said the first appointment was in 6 weeks. SIX WEEKS. I was immediately convinced that if I had said something else, I would have gotten in sooner, but it was too late by then. The day finally arrived yesterday, and I went to the office, waited in line to check in, and was told that my doctor no longer worked at this office, she worked out of one on the other side of town. The receptionist said, “She (meaning the person I made the appointment with) should have told you that.” I said, “Yeah, she should have. I waited SIX WEEKS to get in here and now you’re telling me that I can’t see the doctor.” The receptionist said that all the other doctors in the practice were fully booked for that day, and indeed, the reception area was packed with people with the hangdog expression of those about to be measured and weighed and told they were 5 feet tall and 200 pounds, right before exchanging their clothes for a paper smock open in the back.

I just stormed out and called a cab.

In the meantime, John had finally had it with the idiots who have been supposedly repairing our iMac for the past two weeks. They admitted at last that only one guy could do it, and he is coming back from vacation today and we should have it by Monday. If they had told us this TWO WEEKS AGO when we first asked them to fix it, we would have gotten a refund and shipped it to Brian and would have had it back by now, better than new. John just lost it with them. Two weeks of their screwing us over, not calling us back, not doing a damn thing, despite the fact that we had paid almost $400 to have it repaired two months ago. I’m sorry, but we’re not in the wrong here. And I cannot understand why they aren’t totally embarrassed about what a crappy job they have done and why they aren’t falling all over themselves apologizing.

The doctor’s receptionist didn’t apologize, either. Maybe that’s a lost art, too.