Thanks for Nothing
The following happened to me last Friday afternoon, when it was about 90 degrees out and I had a bad case of strep throat:
"Excuse me," I began. I always begin nicely. I really do. "I have to get this rapid strep test, the doctor just told me this, and I need to pay up here."
"Right," said the work study student. "It's $5.00."
"Okay, the thing is," and at this point, by the way, I'm completely self-deprecating and humble and nice and sorry that this is in fact, my fault, "I don't have any cash on me at the moment. So do you take credit cards?"
"No," said the work study, "but we can charge your student account."
I tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but the truth was, the only time my throat didn't feel like it wanted to die was when I was holding my breath, so I just kept doing that, but more relaxed.
"That is," continued the work study, "unless you graduated."
"I graduated," I admitted. It was like I was admitting something terrible.
"Oooooh," he breathed in sharply. "That's, umm, not good."
I seriously hope that is the last time that someone reacts like that to me telling him that I graduated from college.
"What should I do then?"
"We shouldn't even have treated you," he said.
"Oh."
"Umm, Marge? Marge?" He began looking all around for Marge.
When I saw Marge, I knew I might have some issues. There are two types of nurses. There are the nice, sweet nurses that get portrayed all the time as these blonde innocent people and then there are the matronly "I will kill you" nurses. Marge, well, with a name like Marge, you can imagine which one she was.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Bellowed.
"She graduated." Eww, gross.
"What are you doing here?"
Now, if I wasn't sick, and if I didn't need these people to help me, I might have told her what I was, in fact, doing there: trying to get some medical care, because, after all, it does say that 881 Comm Ave is the Health Services building, thus implying that services for health are being offered. I passed, though.
"I'm trying to get a strep test, the rapid one. I don't have any cash on me, which is my fault, and I need to figure out what to do so I can get the test and pay you and get better."
"But she graduated," the work study said.
"Right," I admitted. ADMITTED!
"Well, we don't help you then," said Marge.
"Okay, but the thing is, I didn't realize this. Because I just graduated in May and I'm working for the summer with the Res Life office in the dorms and I'm staying on to go to grad school in the fall, so I guess I mistakenly figured that I would still be covered, which I understand I should have looked into."
"Yes, you should have." Great, Marge. Way to work with me here.
"I know. But I didn't, and then nobody said anything when I checked in, and now it's Friday afternoon and I don't want to wait the weekend with strep without having some medicine."
"We can't all work around your schedule, hon." Smug smile. I could have slapped her, but my whole body hurt too much to move. In fact, the truth is, the more I talked, the worse I felt. It's rare when I don't even have the energy to really talk back to anyone and when it actually physically hurts to speak. So every time I tried to explain my problem, I felt like I was sicker and sicker. I began to hate 881 and BU and most of all, Marge. And if I concentrated hard enough, I really hated the work study who couldn't have just tried to deal with the problem one-on-one instead of calling Major Marge in. Anyway, Marge continued to tell me that she wasn't really supposed to help me, but she could make an exception just this ONCE, if I gave her my first born child. So I agreed.
"We do need that $5.00 though."
"Of course."
"Do you have the $5.00?"
She hated me. As much as I hated her, I could tell that she hated me. She really did.
"No. And that's my fault."
"Yes. Yes it is."
"What would you suggest I do about it?"
And this, really, is the keeper in all of this conversation: "Well, I'm not in your situation, am I? So I really don't have any suggestions for you."
Heiiinous. Completely heinous. Textbook ice queen.
"Okay, well, what do you want me to do then?"
"Pay $5.00."
I could tell that she wasn't going to offer anything other than these stupid replies. If she wasn't so mean I would have called her a moron (not to her face, just in this recap), but morons aren't mean. The real catch was, it wasn't just that I was dealing with stupidity. Her replies weren't just moronic, they were also mean. If all of this wasn't directed at me, and I hadn't been so sick, I might have admired this combination in Marge. But it was and I was, and so it wasn't very admirable at all. I decided I had to just take charge with Marge.
"Okay, well, do you know if there are any ATMs right around here?"
"I'm not supposed to know that." She could really stay in character. You know those guards at Buckingham Palace, how they're not supposed to break a smile or laugh or anything and people try to torture them? I sort of wanted to reach across the counter and just poke her shoulder, to see if she'd hit the roof. Because this entire time, she'd been keeping this very even keel, which was pretty impressive. She could have taught those guards a thing or two, I bet.
"Okay. Well, I can go to CVS, and I can get some cash back." The CVS, FYI, is right aross the street. Literally thirty seconds away. "I can be back in five minutes with the five dollars. In exact change."
"Well, you can, but you'd have to go through this process all over again."
"You mean seeing the doctor?"
"Right. You'd have to check in, then you'd have to see the nurse practitioner, then you'd have to see the doctor, then you'd have to get the order to get the strep test."
"I already did that." I started to wonder whether maybe I had some very high fever.
"Yes, you did that on this visit."
"Right."
"But every time you leave and come back, it's a new visit."
"It's only five minutes! You know exactly where I'm going and why I'm going!"
Then, Mr. Work Study Wonderful, who had been quiet this entire time, probably thinking that this story would make a great weekend conversation joke, piped in helpfully, "Actually, if she came back, we probably couldn't see her because SHE ALREADY GRADUATED." I swear, I heard the little twerp starting to laugh on that one.
And the thing is, I almost laughed too. This was almost comical, except for the whole "I feel like death" thing.
"Okay, well, can I take the test and then after I get the results go to CVS?"
After a few more minutes of bargaining and begging and telling Marge that she was the most beautiful and kind goddess on the planet, I won the strep test. So I got that over with, got the results, found out I had strep, and got the prescription. So I told Marge that I would just go drop off the prescription and be back with the $5.00.
"What can I have so that I'll be sure you'll come back?" Classic. Clearly, I was trying to steal $5.00 from the university. You know what? It would have been more tempting to do that if I was personally taking $5.00 of Marge's own money.
"I'll leave my BU ID?"
"Why don't you leave your prescription?"
"But I'm going to CVS. And it takes a while, so I was just going to drop off the prescription, get the cash back, and come back here while I wait."
"Is that necessary?"
"Umm, yes."
Biiiiiiiiiig sigh. Biiiiiiiiig disappointment, me making any reasonable progress in this mess.
"Fine."
"Thank you," I said, and I hated myself for saying it.
And then, as I was walking out, she called after me: "Hey girly! You better come back with EXACT CHANGE!"
And that did it. I snapped. I had had ENOUGH.
I walked over to CVS. I gave my prescription, and then, as luck would have it, as I was waiting in line to buy a magazine with my debit card so that I could get her five dollars EXACT CHANGE, I saw that the clerk was starting to unroll a bunch of dimes.
"Actually," I stopped her, "could I get those dimes?"
"You want the cash back in dimes?"
"Five dollars' worth?"
"Umm... okay," she said, probably thinking I was some sort of complete freak who bought Us Weekly with a credit card and asked for dimes in return. But whatever.
So I took my magazine and my rolled up dimes, and I walked back across the street. And as I considered that what I was about to do was a pretty big message to send someone, and maybe I should just give her the five dollar bill I had also secured, I saw it: in the lobby, there was a sign: "ATM DOWNSTAIRS."
That was my last second thought. I unrolled all the dimes, until they were in a little pile in my hands, and I walked right up to the counter where Marge was sitting.
"Five dollars," I said, laying all the dimes out and hearing the clankity clankity clankity cllllankity of them hitting the counter. "Exact change."
It's rare, I've found, that moments of vindication feel as good as you hope they do. This one, though, felt magnificent - strep and all. Of course, I can probably never go back to health services, which might come back later to get me, because they have my file and all, but you know what? I don't care.
"Excuse me," I began. I always begin nicely. I really do. "I have to get this rapid strep test, the doctor just told me this, and I need to pay up here."
"Right," said the work study student. "It's $5.00."
"Okay, the thing is," and at this point, by the way, I'm completely self-deprecating and humble and nice and sorry that this is in fact, my fault, "I don't have any cash on me at the moment. So do you take credit cards?"
"No," said the work study, "but we can charge your student account."
I tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but the truth was, the only time my throat didn't feel like it wanted to die was when I was holding my breath, so I just kept doing that, but more relaxed.
"That is," continued the work study, "unless you graduated."
"I graduated," I admitted. It was like I was admitting something terrible.
"Oooooh," he breathed in sharply. "That's, umm, not good."
I seriously hope that is the last time that someone reacts like that to me telling him that I graduated from college.
"What should I do then?"
"We shouldn't even have treated you," he said.
"Oh."
"Umm, Marge? Marge?" He began looking all around for Marge.
When I saw Marge, I knew I might have some issues. There are two types of nurses. There are the nice, sweet nurses that get portrayed all the time as these blonde innocent people and then there are the matronly "I will kill you" nurses. Marge, well, with a name like Marge, you can imagine which one she was.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Bellowed.
"She graduated." Eww, gross.
"What are you doing here?"
Now, if I wasn't sick, and if I didn't need these people to help me, I might have told her what I was, in fact, doing there: trying to get some medical care, because, after all, it does say that 881 Comm Ave is the Health Services building, thus implying that services for health are being offered. I passed, though.
"I'm trying to get a strep test, the rapid one. I don't have any cash on me, which is my fault, and I need to figure out what to do so I can get the test and pay you and get better."
"But she graduated," the work study said.
"Right," I admitted. ADMITTED!
"Well, we don't help you then," said Marge.
"Okay, but the thing is, I didn't realize this. Because I just graduated in May and I'm working for the summer with the Res Life office in the dorms and I'm staying on to go to grad school in the fall, so I guess I mistakenly figured that I would still be covered, which I understand I should have looked into."
"Yes, you should have." Great, Marge. Way to work with me here.
"I know. But I didn't, and then nobody said anything when I checked in, and now it's Friday afternoon and I don't want to wait the weekend with strep without having some medicine."
"We can't all work around your schedule, hon." Smug smile. I could have slapped her, but my whole body hurt too much to move. In fact, the truth is, the more I talked, the worse I felt. It's rare when I don't even have the energy to really talk back to anyone and when it actually physically hurts to speak. So every time I tried to explain my problem, I felt like I was sicker and sicker. I began to hate 881 and BU and most of all, Marge. And if I concentrated hard enough, I really hated the work study who couldn't have just tried to deal with the problem one-on-one instead of calling Major Marge in. Anyway, Marge continued to tell me that she wasn't really supposed to help me, but she could make an exception just this ONCE, if I gave her my first born child. So I agreed.
"We do need that $5.00 though."
"Of course."
"Do you have the $5.00?"
She hated me. As much as I hated her, I could tell that she hated me. She really did.
"No. And that's my fault."
"Yes. Yes it is."
"What would you suggest I do about it?"
And this, really, is the keeper in all of this conversation: "Well, I'm not in your situation, am I? So I really don't have any suggestions for you."
Heiiinous. Completely heinous. Textbook ice queen.
"Okay, well, what do you want me to do then?"
"Pay $5.00."
I could tell that she wasn't going to offer anything other than these stupid replies. If she wasn't so mean I would have called her a moron (not to her face, just in this recap), but morons aren't mean. The real catch was, it wasn't just that I was dealing with stupidity. Her replies weren't just moronic, they were also mean. If all of this wasn't directed at me, and I hadn't been so sick, I might have admired this combination in Marge. But it was and I was, and so it wasn't very admirable at all. I decided I had to just take charge with Marge.
"Okay, well, do you know if there are any ATMs right around here?"
"I'm not supposed to know that." She could really stay in character. You know those guards at Buckingham Palace, how they're not supposed to break a smile or laugh or anything and people try to torture them? I sort of wanted to reach across the counter and just poke her shoulder, to see if she'd hit the roof. Because this entire time, she'd been keeping this very even keel, which was pretty impressive. She could have taught those guards a thing or two, I bet.
"Okay. Well, I can go to CVS, and I can get some cash back." The CVS, FYI, is right aross the street. Literally thirty seconds away. "I can be back in five minutes with the five dollars. In exact change."
"Well, you can, but you'd have to go through this process all over again."
"You mean seeing the doctor?"
"Right. You'd have to check in, then you'd have to see the nurse practitioner, then you'd have to see the doctor, then you'd have to get the order to get the strep test."
"I already did that." I started to wonder whether maybe I had some very high fever.
"Yes, you did that on this visit."
"Right."
"But every time you leave and come back, it's a new visit."
"It's only five minutes! You know exactly where I'm going and why I'm going!"
Then, Mr. Work Study Wonderful, who had been quiet this entire time, probably thinking that this story would make a great weekend conversation joke, piped in helpfully, "Actually, if she came back, we probably couldn't see her because SHE ALREADY GRADUATED." I swear, I heard the little twerp starting to laugh on that one.
And the thing is, I almost laughed too. This was almost comical, except for the whole "I feel like death" thing.
"Okay, well, can I take the test and then after I get the results go to CVS?"
After a few more minutes of bargaining and begging and telling Marge that she was the most beautiful and kind goddess on the planet, I won the strep test. So I got that over with, got the results, found out I had strep, and got the prescription. So I told Marge that I would just go drop off the prescription and be back with the $5.00.
"What can I have so that I'll be sure you'll come back?" Classic. Clearly, I was trying to steal $5.00 from the university. You know what? It would have been more tempting to do that if I was personally taking $5.00 of Marge's own money.
"I'll leave my BU ID?"
"Why don't you leave your prescription?"
"But I'm going to CVS. And it takes a while, so I was just going to drop off the prescription, get the cash back, and come back here while I wait."
"Is that necessary?"
"Umm, yes."
Biiiiiiiiiig sigh. Biiiiiiiiig disappointment, me making any reasonable progress in this mess.
"Fine."
"Thank you," I said, and I hated myself for saying it.
And then, as I was walking out, she called after me: "Hey girly! You better come back with EXACT CHANGE!"
And that did it. I snapped. I had had ENOUGH.
I walked over to CVS. I gave my prescription, and then, as luck would have it, as I was waiting in line to buy a magazine with my debit card so that I could get her five dollars EXACT CHANGE, I saw that the clerk was starting to unroll a bunch of dimes.
"Actually," I stopped her, "could I get those dimes?"
"You want the cash back in dimes?"
"Five dollars' worth?"
"Umm... okay," she said, probably thinking I was some sort of complete freak who bought Us Weekly with a credit card and asked for dimes in return. But whatever.
So I took my magazine and my rolled up dimes, and I walked back across the street. And as I considered that what I was about to do was a pretty big message to send someone, and maybe I should just give her the five dollar bill I had also secured, I saw it: in the lobby, there was a sign: "ATM DOWNSTAIRS."
That was my last second thought. I unrolled all the dimes, until they were in a little pile in my hands, and I walked right up to the counter where Marge was sitting.
"Five dollars," I said, laying all the dimes out and hearing the clankity clankity clankity cllllankity of them hitting the counter. "Exact change."
It's rare, I've found, that moments of vindication feel as good as you hope they do. This one, though, felt magnificent - strep and all. Of course, I can probably never go back to health services, which might come back later to get me, because they have my file and all, but you know what? I don't care.
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