Angry hearts

A few weeks ago, I was in my dermatologist’s waiting room. A woman approached the front desk, “I have been waiting for thirty minutes. When will I see the doctor?” she asked.

The receptionist was very polite, “When the doctor’s nurse comes out, I’ll ask her for you. Until then, I’m not sure.” The woman huffed back to her seat.

A couple of minutes later, the woman puffed up to the desk again, “I have been waiting forty minutes!” The receptionist repeated her earlier disclaimer, but the woman was not satisfied.

The receptionist offered, “I can reschedule your appointment for another time if you’d like.”

The unhappy woman turned around and shouted from across the waiting room, “YOU scheduled my appointment!”

Still patient, the receptionist said that she didn’t know who scheduled the appointment, but that she could reschedule for a more convenient time.

Again the woman raised her voice across the room, “YOU scheduled the appointment; I don’t WANT another appointment. I want to be in there NOW.”

I have to admit that I laughed. I was horrified at the behavior of the well-dressed older woman, and mystified at the receptionist’s cool, but I laughed because she was so preposterous. American medical care is screwed up, right? Everyone knows this. No one expects to see the doctor on time, or at least shouldn’t expect to. But miss khaki trench coat from the angry mob, EXPECTED to be in the office on time because YOU scheduled the appointment! Yikes.

Just days before that, I witnessed an event I thought was even worse because I knew the people. A group of my friends met at a sports bar to watch MotoGP racing and plan a non-violent scooter regulation demonstration. Some acquaintances of a friend of mine ordered bloody mary’s. Not my fave drink, but it is one of the acceptable morning cocktails. The acquaintances were angry that their drinks didn’t taste how they wanted, and they decided to send them back. When the waitress approached, the woman said, “Do you KNOW how to make a bloody mary?” It was horrible.

I was so embarrassed to be at the same table as these clowns. I wanted a Wile E. Coyote style sign that said, “I’m not with these people.” I also wanted to tell the waitress that I was really sorry and that she was doing a good job.

I watched the waitress slink to the other end of the bar and set out glasses. She measured out each part and ingredient that the acquaintances demanded with her chin tucked down to her chest. Meanwhile, the acquaintances whined on about what a horrible bartender the waitress was. How insulting.

The waitress resubmitted the drinks, and the woman said, “I guess that’s better,” and then as the waitress walked away, “She is NOT getting a tip.” I wished the floor would peel open and they would disappear into Chicago’s sewers. What dreadful people.

I’m not the sort of person who believes that manners are dead and that we live in an impolite society. All around me I see evidence that people are friendly and courteous most of the time, but there are those in every age that will ruin that impression.