After the fear-filled fiasco of yesterday’s aborted MRI, today I headed out for my biannual mammogram. I am in The System as a woman of a certain age so every two years I get a notice for the next appointment. Except today I ended up at the wrong place at the right time. After a chat with the helpful staff at the hospital I was given a number for the new mammogram clinic location. Uffff. Okay, while it did affect my morning and general plans for the day at least there was no prep and, well, no all-day fear. I mean, mammograms hurt like fuckity, but they’re over and done with just before it reaches intolerable.
Waiting to get the bus back home I called the new number and they acknowledged that I did indeed have an appointment with them today and also said “but we’ve moved!”. No shit. Anyhow, what the hell, I made a new appointment with them for May 16th and saw that my trusty 32 Bus will get me there in 45 hellish minutes (honestly that bus is always so packed, but at least I know I can always get one of the seats reserved for handicapped folks). That’s all really. Just another day. Now I am going to drink wine and cook… still perfecting my “whisky” sauce.
casa azahar 
Ugh. I had that “but we moved” happen twice in the space of a few months with my professional license, and I ended up with a clerk so dumb I told her to her face that if a person could die of the stupids she would be on life support and left her boo-hooing into her computer.
And just now I had to go to the courthouse to file a document. Where, the last time I had business there, they allowed me to have my phone if it were turned off. This time, no. Had to reconnoiter and call the Engineer to pick it up. Go back in. Locate the office I was directed to. Accidentally encounter a kind gentleman at the elevators who told me it had been moved temporarily to the first floor, for renovations. I get back on the elevator with him. Half way down I realize I’m standing next to — ten years older and a little hard to identify with my failing eyes — the former County board member I wrote into my mystery novels as “Pinky Paulsen,” now Clerk Of The Court, wearing a plaid sports shirt with the collar unbuttoned and khakis.
I refrained from saying “Hi Pinky.”
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It’s weird because somewhere (of course now I can’t find it) I had the appointment notice. These days I’m cutting health care workers a lot of slack because they are horribly overworked and underfunded, not to mention those still suffering ptsd from Covid, and I honestly don’t know why they don’t all quit at this point.
Today everyone was so nice that I couldn’t get mad at them, just at the SYSTEM, because these guys are equally being fucked over.
The same SYSTEM that has had me waiting to see an orthopaedic surgeon SINCE FUCKING LAST OCTOBER.
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Yeah, most of the time I cut nine to five workers a lot of slack; the dumbass clerk in question was warming a chair in a fairly un-busy office close to 30 years ago and had called to tell me to pick up my license without looking in the folder where it was supposed to be. Which was empty. You don’t get a pass for that.
Health care people here, I’m astonished to find, are actually nicer and more with-it than they were ten and twenty years ago. To be fair I live in a fairly prosperous area and my doctor’s office, etc. always seems quiet. I know there are places where you can’t even find a doctor in your entire county of residence any more.
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