Cantankerously Yours
He’s at it again
By Wendell Abern
Dear Easily-Duped,
When I moved to South Florida from Chicago fourteen years ago, I thought I had finally slipped the grubby tentacles of the VP/ICOAM (Vice President in Charge of Aggravating me).
Wrong. He followed me here. Many times, he has linked up with Borbick (the miniaturized terrorist who lives inside my computer).
Yesterday I discovered the VP/ICOAM is now working for Dr. Woods, a superb eye doctor I’ve been seeing for ten years.
I went to my appointment, arriving five minutes early, and was handed a sheaf of papers on my arrival.
“Before you go in,” the nurse said, “please fill out these forms to update your medical history. We have a new computer system, new software, new everything.”
“Forms? This looks like the Coral Springs phone book!”
“Well, we have to know if you have any new allergies, new medicines, things like that.”
“Can’t you just transfer from the old files?”
“No, we have a new administrator. Every patient has to fill these out.”
Ah. The VP/ICOAM, of course.
“A new administrator,” I said. “I know who he is.”
“It’s a woman.”
“He had a sex change.”
“Please just fill these out.”
Took me 20 minutes. Under current medical problems, I wrote, “P.M.S.” Under new medical conditions, I wrote, “Five months pregnant.”
Then I had my semi-annual eye exam. Eyes are perfect.
* *` *
Now I happen to believe in acknowledging ability, and while I have been castigating the VP/ICOAM for years, I feel it only fair at this time to cite one of his positive accomplishments, which is truly outstanding. Recently, he instituted a new policy to increase the efficiency of everyone working at the Broward County Veteran’s Administration:
He has instructed everyone to not answer telephones.
Like many revolutionary ideas … simple, but brilliant.
I have lived with the VP’s little ploys for decades, so I know exactly how he operates. His forte is rabble-rousing. He could whip a nunnery into a frenzied mob. Whenever he doles out instructions to implement a program at a new organization, he calls a staff meeting. The one he held at the Broward County VA can be easily replicated.
VP: “Okay, no one answers the phone during business hours. Now why, do you think? Can I hear from someone?”
“No more interruptions!”
VP: “No more interruptions! But what if someone is sick and needs help right away?”
“Piece o’ cake! First message you get when you call the main number is to call 9-1-1 if you got an emergency.”
VP: “Good! And if they have an extension number and dial it direct?”
“You get a message … says leave a message!”
VP: “And what if someone’s messages pile up and require hours to answer?”
“You limit the number of messages!”
VP: “Excellent! What else, with no interruptions? Let me hear it, people!”
“No crotchety old veterans seeking help!”
VP: “No crotcheties! Good!”
“No constant repetitions to deaf octogenarians!”
VP: “No repeating! More!”
“No more grocery lists from the wife!”
VP: “No more lists! No more interruptions! Let me hear it, people!”
“NO MORE INTERRUPTIONS! NO MORE INTERRUPTIONS! NO MORE…”
I really wish I’d been there.
Recently, I needed a refill of my blood pressure medication. I called my nurse practitioner to order it because my form read, “No refills remaining.” Her message asked me to leave my name, phone number and reason for the call. Before I could do that, the recorded message continued, “The owner of this mailbox is not accepting any messages. Good-bye.”
I called back the main number, waited through the menu and punched in the number to talk to an operator. I waited 28 rings. No answer.
For five consecutive days, I called my nurse practitioner six times a day. Never reached her. Was never able to leave a message.
Using the portable equipment I’d bought a few years earlier, I measured my blood pressure. Terrific if I were a horse. Choosing not to run in the Preakness, I called my kids in Chicago, and told them what was going on, and if I died suddenly, to sue the Veteran’s Administration for malfeasance, indifference, arrogance and nasal twangs; to make it publicly humiliating, and for dollars beginning at seven zeros.
Having run out of phone options, I had to drive to the VA. I walked to my section (Bravo), and on the way spotted someone talking on the phone.
When he’d hung up, I said, “What are you doing?”
“Excuse me?”
“You were talking on the phone! Are you new here or something? Aren’t you aware of the policy? I’m going to report you!”
He stood up. All six-foot four of him. He could eviscerate a hippo with his bare hands. “I got two ideas,” he said. “First, you get out of my face. Second, you go see a shrink.”
Then his phone rang. He looked at me. “You wanna answer that?” he asked. I walked away.
I went to Bravo section and handed my re-order form to the clerk.
“You’re late with this,” he said.
“I tried to phone it in.”
He chuckled, turned to the computer and punched in my prescription number. “Should come in the mail in a couple of days or so,” he said.
I went home and thought about all of the bad press the Veteran’s Administration has received recently. However, if the VP/ICOAM has recommended his new policy to national headquarters and all of the VA clinics in the country stop answering phones, all branches will improve their efficiency.
Meanwhile, as I write this, I still have not received my blood pressure medication.
* * *
Tomorrow, I have to call Dr. Sider, my wonderful internist at the Cleveland Clinic. If the VP/ICOAM has taken over their phone system, I may have to get a new internist. Or shrink.
Cantankerously Yours,
Wendell Abern
Wendell Abern can be reached at [email protected].