For those of you who don't know, Chewey, my sweet and dumb little shih tzu, deals with demodex mange (a type of parasite that gives him scabby and itchy zit-like bumps; it's an immune system thing...) Anyways, his two vets in Salt Lake City that have been practicing for over 20 years each, concluded that this is a chronic condition that we'll just have to do skin-scrapings and medicate for the rest of his life.
So, now we're here in Grenada, not only dealing with his demodex and my allergies, but also the infamous school's vet hospital....
1. Overall, it is a preview of hell.
For 5 years, I worked at a very competent orthodontist office. We employees took a lot of pride in our jobs, especially in our efficiency and quality of customer service. The front desk ladies definitely won the gold stars for their foreheads—they were unbelievable! You could be a patient's mother on the phone with one of them for 4 seconds, and get 17 things done and taken care of. And by the time you hung up, you were felt so good about yourself. Fabulous! I betcha random moms would just call them only for the reason that someone "behind the counter" is on their side.
There is nothing like that at this vet hospital. What a fool I was to think I could possibly be getting anything resembling the KrisAnne treatment.2. The receptionists are the most incompetent workers EVER.
I have lots of unusual chores down here on the island—making ice twice a day, washing some clothes by hand sometimes, hanging up all the laundry outside to dry while standing on angry ant hills, returning to the grocery store(s) several times a week to see if they’ve stocked cottage cheese yet, ignoring the scurrying cockroaches in our food cupboards, washing dishes at least four times a day in our small sink, and telling our landlord that the Internet is down. Again. Well, I’ve learned to tolerate everything! The only time I complained (went postal is more like it) about any of those last week was when Ryan used up all the ice just so he could put it in water to dump over me when I was in the shower. (Side note: he won’t be doing that anymore.)
But the one chore I refuse to do down here is call the vet hospital to make an appointment: (this is my January experience)
Receptionist: (Phone picks up. Long pause) “Hello?”
Me: “Uh, hi, good morning! I’d like to make an appointment for my dog please.”
Receptionist: “One sec.” (Puts me on hold. For several minutes.) “Can I get your number please, I need ask a doctor, and I can call you back?”
Me: WTH? “Um, okay. It’s 533-1785.”
Receptionist: “5-3-3…”
Me: “1. 7. 8. 5.”
I didn’t get a phone call until the next day. We didn’t get an appointment set until a week later.So now Ryan calls the vet hospital to make appointments. Ryan said ordering pizza from the stoned 17-year-old kid gives better phone customer service.
3. "All the exam rooms are full" doesn't mean everyone working is busy with animals:
So… Chewey and I show up early for our appointment yesterday, and strangely enough, the waiting room is totally empty. The receptionist (not the same one from the hellish January phone call from #2) tells me that “all the exam rooms are full” right now. I’m thinking, yah, I remember working at a doctor’s office and everything was full, I can be a good and patient patient right now. No worries!
So I got out my life-saving Kindle to finish reading my trashy vampire book. Then I notice after a few minutes (like 15 minutes) that a vet and a few assistants in scrubs are bringing in some potted plants from outside… and arranging them in different places throughout the hospital. And laughing. And not working. And this goes on for another 15 minutes.
4. No one knows how to read.
After a half hour, the receptionist takes pity on Irritated Me and Chewey and takes us into an exam room (that hasn't been cleaned--there's course black dog hair on the metal table). And she’s in scrubs, and she starts doing the verbal physical exam.
First of all, we just had a physical exam the last time we were here 4 weeks ago. Why are having another one…? So we spent 15 more minutes of me answering all the same questions that I have already answered, because she obviously thinks that I cannot read. And then I have to hold Chewey while she takes a rectal temperature twice because the first time she messed up. So just when I’m starting to hate her for making me an accessory in the anal rape of my dog, she has saved the dumb questions for the very end: “So he’s a shih tzu?” “He’s 3 years old?” Yes, lady, that is what it written on his file. Sigh, I should’ve said “No, Chewey’s a German Sheppard puppy!”
Then a vet comes in (not the same doctor that has been working with Chewey) and asks me why Chewey is there. Don’t they have the reason for Chewey’s appointment written down in their notes? Ugh! So I begin to tell him why we’re freaking there in the first place all the while wondering why no one has bothered to read Chewey’s file! It’s written down! It’s not my job to tell you what is on your medical paperwork! Then I had a Eureka Moment: the people at this hospital are illiterate.
5. I hate them so much, I refuse to cry in front of them.
Chewey was there for a skin-scraping to see if he had any demodex mites. This is the part where they take Chewey out to a different room. Except today. The Illiterate Vet and Dumb Questions Scrubs Rape Lady held him still on the torture metal table while they took a razor blade and scraped off bits of his skin several times right in front of me!
I looked away, thinking of the comedian sketches I heard that morning from Patton Oswalt and Louis CK, cuz dammit, I will not burst into tears in front of these illiterate, condescending, incompetent, and insensitive people.
Chewey and I are set free 2 hours later.
This is where bad people go when they die.
Can't believe they don't read! Its a good thing you run! Hang in there. You'll have a break soon.
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