Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?!
So this morning I had to go get more testing done. Oh joy of joys! I never did get in touch with anyone yesterday to find out if I should fast or not, so I erred on the side of caution and didn’t eat anything last night and stopped drinking before midnight. Not even my beloved bedtime glass of water!
And of course, no coffee this morning. Keep that in mind as you peruse my tale of woe, friends, I was decaffeinated.
So I arrive at the facility, on time, because I’m a good bunny that way. I check in and patiently wait to be called. No, really, I was patient. I know, it’s a stretch, but I was in a really good mood when I woke up, so patience wasn’t too hard. Was in a good mood. Was.
As I sit down to have my blood drawn, I’m questioned as to whether or not I was still fasting.
“I wasn’t sure if I should, but I did. I tried to call to find out, but no one answered the phone. Is there a good time…”
“Your doctor is responsible for telling you that!” Grouchy yells at me, completely interrupting my question.
“Ah, well, fine. But is there a good time to call here, you know, what hours are best?”
“We are too understaffed to take your phone calls!” Grouchy snaps. Clearly, she is having a bad day.
The phlebotomist grabs my right arm and gets ready to start poking a big ole needle in it. “No, I prefer the left arm, please. The right one is no good for drawing blood.”
It’s clear to me that the phlebotomist is really a Russian version of Vampira as she snarls, “I don’t care!”
*blink*
Vampira, for whom English is clearly a second language, instructs me to “fench my clist” before jamming the needle in my arm. Which, of course, made me giggle slightly. I mean, c’mon. Say it out loud. It just sounds dirty, and I am, after all, a child.
After Vampira draws my blood, she informs me that she is going to “mix a drink” for the second part of my testing. I’m still trying to maintain my good cheer (really, I woke up in a fabulous mood!) and jokingly ask, “Is it hot cocoa?”
Which was received with a glare.
She hands me a capped small jar and a straw and instructs me to shake it up and drink it slowly through the straw. I quietly comply, because by now I’m so overwhelmed with rudeness there’s simply nothing I can say that will make any of it any better.
“No! No! You have to blow in the bag first!” Vampira screeches at me.
Lady, you told me to drink the fucking drink. I try to tell her that she didn’t tell me the part about the bag, but she’s having none of it, and my patience has just gone out the window, and my good mood is close behind. I’m pretty sure my face took on a lovely rosy glow as my blood pressure hit the ceiling.
She makes me breathe in and out a few times, scowling that I am not exhaling to her satisfaction. But finally she’s happy and I blow in the bag. Then drink the god awful poison she so lovingly prepared for me. She then stares at the clock and informs me that it’s 3 minutes to 9:00. “You need to blow into another bag in exactly fifteen minutes. That’s…” and she struggles with the time.
“9:12, it’ll be 9:12,” I offer.
“No, that’s not right. It’ll be… Ten, eleven, 9:12!” and she smiles triumphantly.
She sends me out to the waiting room with strict instructions to return at 9:11. Of course, there’s no clock in the waiting room, so I make a note of the time on my phone and proceed to wait for what seemed like an eternity. I’m not sure what was in that crap she made me drink, but my stomach started cramping in protest rather quickly.
As the minutes slowly tick by, I step up to the receptionist window and ask Grouchy if it is okay if I return to where I was now, as Vampira instructed me to come back at precisely that time.
“She’s with a patient right now, you will have to wait!”
“Okay, can you tell me when she’s done as she asked me to come back?”
“I SAID she is with a patient right now. SIT DOWN MA’AM!”
I politely flip her the bird and return to my seat.
A couple of minutes later, Vampira comes out to the waiting room and scolds me for not returning at the appointed time. I just stare at her.
She tells me she needs me to breath into the stupid bag, and scolds me for not expelling enough air the first time around. Hi, emphysema? Exhaling is not one of my talents, k? Something about permanently expanded lung tissue. Bitch.
At this point, I swear to god, she attempts to make small talk by noting that the bag is pink, just like my sweater.
I just looked at her and snarled, “Yeah, I’ll take one as an accessory. Am I done here?”
She has the audacity to act offended.
WTF?
If I have to do any more testing, I’m going to lose my mind. If you see my good mood floating around anywhere, can I have it back please? I miss it.
Press 3 to nuke the place would have been a -really- good option.