Every Dog Has His Day.

“And we laughed, you know. Because sometimes you’d rather cry.”

                -Sherman Alexie, The Approximate Size of my Favorite Tumor

I make a lot of jokes about my job.

Most likely I don't know how to explain this. Except maybe it's a defense mechanism. Except maybe the starving artist in me resents a full belly. Maybe the Women & Gender Studies minor in me resents the word receptionist. Maybe it's not cool to be passionate about entry-level desk jobs. Or the child in me resents close-toed shoes, or the poet in me resents the nine-to-five hustle and the limited lexicon of customer service. A short and incomplete list of words I use excessively and primarily during work hours:

·         Absolutely.

·         Fantastic.

·         Perfect.

·         Excellent.

The truth is, I don't get to spend 8 hours a day playing with puppies and watching kitty cat videos on Youtube. People who have worked a front desk know how tedious they can be. The hand holding. The smiling/nodding/yes ma’aming. We sooth people’s anxiety and give them guidance. We help them prioritize finances, schedules, and their pets’ well-being. Behind the scenes we’re juggling technicians, who are juggling doctors, who are juggling the animals. When a ball gets dropped we end up at the bottom of the pile sorting who goes where and belongs to what.

This is an entry-level position that requires assimilating a vast amount of knowledge in a very short amount of time, with little acknowledgement. We’re helping people make important decisions with medical training that we picked up as we went. We have to recognize red flags. We have to know when to trust our instincts and when to defer. We have to learn from our mistakes, and often those lessons are hard. The sort of hard that follows you home at night, sits in the back of your mind for months.

I make a lot of jokes about my job. Because it’s easier to call myself a desk ornament than to describe the way a woman can sound like a car accident.  How her voice twists like metal when she calls to say her dog dropped dead mid-run, and what does she do now? I joke about paper pushing, because it’s socially acceptable. Casual acquaintances don’t want to hear about yesterday’s abdominal tap over drinks. I can’t describe a man’s hands trembling while he’s saying goodbye to a friend for the last time.

I promise this rambling monologue leads to cupcakes and sparkling cider on a Thursday afternoon.

As a courtesy, we routinely call our clients the day before their appointment. This allows us to confirm all the little details (ex. date, time, and that the pet is still kicking. Unfortunately working in a cardiology office means that last one isn’t always a given). Halfway through my phone calls with nothing out of the ordinary when this happened

Female client: Hello?

Me: Hello! This is Brenda from Cardiology Northwest. I was just calling to…

Client: Not interested, thanks.

Click. Silence. After a moment of deciding whether or not that counted as confirmation, I redialed and waited with bated breath. This time a clearly exasperated client answered the phone.

Client: Hello.

Me: HelloI’mcallingfromCardiologyNorthwesttoconfirmanappointmentforDogtomorrow!

Client: …What’s this about?

Me: This is Brenda. I’m with Cardiology Northwest. I’m calling to confirm Dog’s appointment.

Client: Are you sure it’s tomorrow?

Me: Yes, we’ve got him on the schedule for 4pm. Will that work for you folks?

Client: It’s TOMORROW?! But his birthday isn’t until March. Are you sure it’s for Dog?

Me: Yes, tomorrow at 4pm with the doctor for his cardiology appointment.

At this point in the conversation I was vaguely aware that we weren’t communicating effectively. I didn’t realize how far off topic we’d gotten until

Client: Oh, how lovely! And you’re sure it’s tomorrow? Oh, he’ll be so surprised!

Me: ….

Client: ….

Me: … What do you think we’re talking about?

Client: A surprise birthday party for Dog! With Party-ology Northwest! I don’t know who set this up for him, but I’m so excited.

You guys. I’ve taken a lot of difficult phone calls in the last two years. But I hated breaking the news to this woman that we were in fact a Cardiology clinic, not a super-secret dog birthday party planning committee. After a lengthy exchange of

Me: CARdiology Northwest.

Client: Yeah, PARTYology!

Me: No, no, no. CARDIO. CARdiology!
Client: Oh, this is so exciting.

I finally settled the matter with a C-as-in-Cat breakthrough. Laughter ensued, the appointment was confirmed, and we ended the call on a high note. The next day, Dog and a very sheepish gentleman showed up at 4pm clutching a small party bag. Dog’s mom had packed us cupcakes, a bottle of sparkling cider, tiny paper cups, and party napkins. She also wrote a lengthy note thanking me for being so patient with her on the phone, and hoping the gift bag would put the Party into Party-ology. [Note: If I had known that Party-ology was a thing, I think we all know what I would have my degree in]

The moral of this story: my job isn’t easy. I often downplay how difficult it is because I’m “only a receptionist”. But some days there are cupcakes. And every day with cupcakes is a good day. Cheers, Dog!

All my love, you creeps.

-b