I walk into my appointment downtown at a fairly busy clinic and I’m greeted with, “Hey girl!” and “Hi Jenny!” They smile, because they know I’m going to make them smile. The whole appointment process is smooth and they’re smiling and I’m laughing and it wouldn’t even be clinical except for my feet being slung up into stirrups.
Contrast that with talking to my surgeon’s office. They’re clipped, sound unhappy and overworked, and almost refuse to smile. It worries me because these are the people in charge of some serious shiz in bodyland. From calling for results and being told they don’t have them to calling back and being told I need an appointment they can’t give them out over the phone it’s an office of insanely UNhelpful people, the surgeon included.
Why is it that one office (far busier and catering to a far lower socioeconomic group) is so easy to smile and laugh and enjoy themselves, while the other office is tight lipped and practically angry that they are being bothered from doing…what?
It has always confused me.
When I find offices I like I cling to them with every last breath. I will drive on the expressway to the city in the worst rush-hour traffic on the Dan Ryan to get to my lady-doctor every time. Sure, there’s a lady-doctor closer, but it’s just not a friendly office.
I wish people were less closed and more able to smile. It’s sad there are so many people in a people industry (nurses) and customer service that cannot be bothered to give even the barest of polite responses. It’s just too much effort.
And that is a true tragedy. Because they either do not care about the suffering or worry of others, or are numb to it. Neither of which are good ways to live a life WORTH living.
Regular maintenance is important for the whole family.
Today three of our five family members have doctor appointments, including me!
The scheduling was a horrendous mistake on my part, two kids getting shots at 7am and then me having to be downtown by 9:30am is just not the way you want your Friday morning to start. But hey, I did it and I’m going to power through the best I can.
I’m lucky my kids and I can go to the doctor. So I am thankful today.
For that, for great friends I’ve never met (like Leah) and for great friends I already have in my life and see in person.
But you know what, I’ve spent a lot of time not being an ass. I’ve learned how to be kind, I’ve learned to appreciate other people. So maybe I’m not lucky, maybe I’ve earned amazing friends and the trust of others.
I still have my hood rat ghetto moments, but they’re pretty few and far between. Plus when they do come out it’s usually because ghetto hood rat recognizes the same and wants to come out and play. So as long as you’re not a GHR you will probably never even see that side of my personality.
Which is a good thing, because it’s TOTES unprofessional. *laugh*
Oh yeah, and if I talk to you today, I may sound half out of my mind. The baby didn’t sleep hardly at all last night and was in bed with us most of the night. Keeping me awake. So nice of her to let daddy sleep and save her “love kicks” for MY face. SuchACutieWootieSnuggaWuggaBabyBoo! *barf*
I walked out into the dining room and the first thing I saw, on the bench at the dining-room table, was a chunk of hair.
A serious chunk of hair.
Immediately, I began to worry and hunted down the kids. Who knew that safety scissors could cut hair? Why wasn’t there any crying involved? (Both my kids are growing out their hair and I thought screaming would ensue like it does when I even mention hair-cutting within earshot).
They were playing in the bedroom like nothing was wrong. I tried to see from my vantage point at the doorway which one had less hair than before. I honestly couldn’t tell, but figured this just meant it was a huge chunk on a part of someone’s head I just couldn’t see.
A started flipping her hair talking about her “new style” – I looked closer and asked her to show me. S looked at me, puffed up her chest and said proudly, “I cut her hair, doesn’t it look beeyoutiful?” Upon closer examination I saw the straight lines and layers that were cut into A’s hair.
I don’t have a picture because I kept trying and couldn’t get the camera to pick up the delicate lines.
S can either cut hair (it’s a family thing, I can cut hair, my cousin can, my aunt can…) or she lucked out and we need her to start picking lottery numbers. My guess is she has the hair cutting gene from my side of the family.
It’s good to know she’ll have something to fall back on if her dreams of being a famous artist or dancer don’t come to fruition. Hell, it’s better than being a server at the local Olive Garden while waiting for fame and glory. (Note: I worked at the OG for three years. *shudder* Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Ok, maybe my worst enemy, but not the so-so enemies. Seriously)
I mean there are about a billion paths to success but the only way to get to the end of any one of those paths is to stay on them.
There will always be someone
…and more amazing than you could ever be.
But the only thing you need is stick-to-it-iveness.
You’re not running anyone else’s race but your own. Your only real competition is you. And the only way to get to the finish line is to keep going.
My New Year’s resolution is to stop measuring myself by the ruler of what other people are doing and worry about me and what I’m doing and where I’m going.
Happy New Year!