Hey Taxi!

MANY years ago, when I was young, slim, and handsome (AND, as Meatloaf would say, "Two outta three ain't bad), I worked in Admitting at a local hospital. I was known by most as an overtly jovial, always smiling kinda guy that was always good for a laugh.

Those that were not in the "by most" category, considered me to be an immature kid that did not take my job near seriously enough, but never had reason enough to fire me. At least not until YEARS later, but by then, it was different people, and that's a different story anyway.

They were, by the way, VERY astute. It was a brilliant observation on their part. I did NOT take my job seriously. I don't know that I ever HAVE taken ANY job I had seriously enough. I guess I've always felt that if I began to take what I do as important, then I would put more emphasis on what people DO as being more important than people. That's a slippery slope to elitism, or self deprecation because of occupational status. Heaven knows I have enough of an inferiority complex without adding job-status envy to the mix, let alone start judging people by their positions. I shudder to think how many friends I would not have if I had not been willing associate with people in higher and lower paid positions. This is quite possibly the most important thing I'll say here, but in NO WAY the topic at hand.

But regardless, or irregardless, without regard (you can chose any one of those that you like, but please take only one, save the rest for the other readers) to this fact , I was working on second shift. Later in the evening, after the first shift supervisors had left for the day, and was precalling patients for the next day.

WAIT! Before I go any further, let me explain "precalling": Precalling is the process by which we, in admitting, call the patients scheduled for the next day or so. We contact them, and ask them all of the demographic information in the computer, addy, dob, ss#, etc. We complete the insurance information, alert anyone if there is a need to get pre-authorization, list any accident information, and validate every aspect of the scheduled visit. If they had ever been registered before, we would read back all of the information we had on hand to make sure it was correct. We did this so that when we were done, the following day the patient could come to the front desk, get a copy made of their insurance card, and proceed on to their scheduled dept. for their exams without further delay.

Those of you that have worked in admitting, or have ever been precalled now need to get a paper towel to wipe the spittle off of your monitor because of your shouting through a frothing mouth about the egregious nature of the lie I just told. Go ahead. Grab one and clean up. I can wait. While we're waiting for them, I'll explain for everyone else: We DID in fact verify ALL of the information required for registration, and we DID get all of the insurance and accident information, and we DID ask all of the questions that would normally have been asked in a typical patient registration, and if you HAD been to one of the hospitals in the system, we DID read back all of your information we already had entered into the system, even if it was from just DAYS before. But that was only so that when you came in the next day, you could wait in line like everyone else. Sit at a desk with a registrar, and be asked EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THOSE QUESTIONS AGAIN. You'd be amazed at how happy it made sick people, being called the night before, held up for 10 minutes, then to come in and be held up for 20 minutes, because not only did we get the information, but we also had to get between 5-9 signatures, depending on whether the patient was inpatient or out, and Medicare or not.

It is perhaps due to the tedious nature of this practice that I was in the mood I was in. Hard to say. It could have been because of the fact that I was wearing black shoes. I don't need too much incentive to be in one of my "moods". Anyway, as we were precalling, I heard the distinctive clip clop of an angry woman walking (stomping?) in heels down the marble hall. I paused what I was doing to look up only to see an attractive older woman stomping into the department. (Older is defined here as somewhere between 5 and 15 years younger than I am now). As she stomped in, she walked past, I believe, Lorna and June and up to my desk. Perhaps it was because she had walked past one or two women to talk to me that gave me the courage (idiocy) to do this, but through clenched teeth she says to me, "Will you call me a cab?" I looked down at my paper for a split second, looked back up, made eye contact with her, looked into the seething depths of her soul, and replied, "Yes ma'am. You're a cab."

"WHOOOOOOOP!" Was Junes response to my observation. I knew at that very moment, my job was on the line. I immediately chased that line with, "I'm sorry, but I did not think I'd EVER get the chance to say that again." It was then that she cracked. She was OBVIOUSLY having a VERY bad day, but I had won. The fire in her eyes had dimmed a bit, and she WANTED to be mad as all hades at me, but she unfortunately saw the humor in it. She said, "Well I'm glad SOMEONE is having a good day!", but her heart wasn't in it anymore. She just could not maintain the seething blowtorch. I told her where the cab hotline was, and sent her on her way. I think it was a couple of weeks before I went in to work without wondering if THIS was the day that I would be called into the office to explain myself, but it never happened. I typed this up because I'd personally like to think that with this on the internet, perhaps there's some slight chance that she'll read it and get a chuckle, but mostly so that Joyce can look back and bemoan that she HAD her reason to fire me, but did not know it.

God bless, and have a good evening.