This is a combination Sucky Customer + Morons in Management story.
Years ago I was working in an ER in California. We had a number of regular customers, or "frequent flyers" who would come in several times a week, usually drug seeking.
One of them, I'll call her "Donna" (not her real name), could be particularly frustrating at times.
Donna was morbidly obese (please no fratching folks . . .this story is not a rant against the obese but rather her sucky EW behaviors), and had chronic back pain. She usually came into the ER several times a week for narcotics. Donna had a Jekyl and Hyde personality: she could be really sweet when she got her way, but a real bitch when she didn't.
Our charge, Tim, couldn't stand her. He'd bring back every other BS complaint before he'd bring her from the waiting room. As bad as Donna could be, she usually came by private vehicle.
Our ER had a limited number of wheelchairs for patients who had difficulty walking. Donna was pretty much chair bound though she could walk short distances. She had one of those mobile scooters; we'd see her tooling around town on it. She was a well known mall rat (at 40). When she came to us, she'd usually use one of our oversized wheelchairs. We didn't have a lot of these . . . and they tended to disappear.
Once day Donna shows up and we don't have an oversized wheel chair. So we managed to get her on a stretcher. Tim refused to room her, and had us leave her on a stretcher in the waiting room until things slowed down. That bugged me, but I wasn't running the show.
Next time, Donna comes back. Again, we don't have an oversized w/c. She claims she can't get out of the car on her own . . . this took place in the pullup by the walk in door. And the suck began. . . .
Donna: you have to have a wheelchair for me. It's my right! You have to provide me with a wheelchair.
My buddy, Rick, tells her: Donna, our last oversized chair has been stolen. It happens. They haven't replaced it. You have your own chair . . . you should bring it.
Donna: I can't get it in the car!
Rick: Donna, we know you can. We see you all over town in it.
Donna: You still have to provide me with a chair. I can't walk.
Rick: We don't have a chair. Either you step out of the car and get on the stretcher, or go home and get your chair.
Donna reluctantly agrees, complaining the whole time she has a right to an oversized wheelchair. With extreme difficulty Rick and I manage to get Donna out of the car and onto the stretcher. Then we have to pull the strecher up a slight incline to get her in the door.
She doesn't stop complaining the whole time. Meanwhile, me and Rick are dripping in sweat and my own back is starting to ache.
Rick: Donna, all this could have been avoided if you'd just brought your own chair.
Donna: YOU HAVE TO PROVIDE ME WITH A CHAIR! I HAVE A RIGHT TO A CHAIR!!!
Rick: Donna, you knew we didn't have one from yesterday. You have to bring yours if you don't want to go through this again.
Me: It's really not safe for you . . . you could have a fall doing this.
Donna: YOU'RE CALLING ME FAT! YOU'RE CALLING ME FAT!!! *cue the crocadile tears*
Meanwhile, all the other patients and visitors are staring at me and Rick. Donna continues to scream and fuss how we "hate fat people", so we pull her past the door into a hallway so she can settle down.
She continues to fuss. So Tim finally rooms her and she gets her meds.
Then the ER doctor comes to me and tells me I have to apologize to her. I protest; Rick was the one who was really arguing with her, and I didn't say anything inappropriate. He insisted . . . otherwise Donna might file a formal complaint.
So in I truck, and mumble a half hearted apology while trying not to be enraged by her smug smirk. After all, she got what she wanted: quick rooming, the drugs she wanted, AND to make me eat crow.
Years ago I was working in an ER in California. We had a number of regular customers, or "frequent flyers" who would come in several times a week, usually drug seeking.
One of them, I'll call her "Donna" (not her real name), could be particularly frustrating at times.
Donna was morbidly obese (please no fratching folks . . .this story is not a rant against the obese but rather her sucky EW behaviors), and had chronic back pain. She usually came into the ER several times a week for narcotics. Donna had a Jekyl and Hyde personality: she could be really sweet when she got her way, but a real bitch when she didn't.
Our charge, Tim, couldn't stand her. He'd bring back every other BS complaint before he'd bring her from the waiting room. As bad as Donna could be, she usually came by private vehicle.
Our ER had a limited number of wheelchairs for patients who had difficulty walking. Donna was pretty much chair bound though she could walk short distances. She had one of those mobile scooters; we'd see her tooling around town on it. She was a well known mall rat (at 40). When she came to us, she'd usually use one of our oversized wheelchairs. We didn't have a lot of these . . . and they tended to disappear.
Once day Donna shows up and we don't have an oversized wheel chair. So we managed to get her on a stretcher. Tim refused to room her, and had us leave her on a stretcher in the waiting room until things slowed down. That bugged me, but I wasn't running the show.
Next time, Donna comes back. Again, we don't have an oversized w/c. She claims she can't get out of the car on her own . . . this took place in the pullup by the walk in door. And the suck began. . . .
Donna: you have to have a wheelchair for me. It's my right! You have to provide me with a wheelchair.
My buddy, Rick, tells her: Donna, our last oversized chair has been stolen. It happens. They haven't replaced it. You have your own chair . . . you should bring it.
Donna: I can't get it in the car!
Rick: Donna, we know you can. We see you all over town in it.
Donna: You still have to provide me with a chair. I can't walk.
Rick: We don't have a chair. Either you step out of the car and get on the stretcher, or go home and get your chair.
Donna reluctantly agrees, complaining the whole time she has a right to an oversized wheelchair. With extreme difficulty Rick and I manage to get Donna out of the car and onto the stretcher. Then we have to pull the strecher up a slight incline to get her in the door.
She doesn't stop complaining the whole time. Meanwhile, me and Rick are dripping in sweat and my own back is starting to ache.
Rick: Donna, all this could have been avoided if you'd just brought your own chair.
Donna: YOU HAVE TO PROVIDE ME WITH A CHAIR! I HAVE A RIGHT TO A CHAIR!!!
Rick: Donna, you knew we didn't have one from yesterday. You have to bring yours if you don't want to go through this again.
Me: It's really not safe for you . . . you could have a fall doing this.
Donna: YOU'RE CALLING ME FAT! YOU'RE CALLING ME FAT!!! *cue the crocadile tears*
Meanwhile, all the other patients and visitors are staring at me and Rick. Donna continues to scream and fuss how we "hate fat people", so we pull her past the door into a hallway so she can settle down.
She continues to fuss. So Tim finally rooms her and she gets her meds.
Then the ER doctor comes to me and tells me I have to apologize to her. I protest; Rick was the one who was really arguing with her, and I didn't say anything inappropriate. He insisted . . . otherwise Donna might file a formal complaint.
So in I truck, and mumble a half hearted apology while trying not to be enraged by her smug smirk. After all, she got what she wanted: quick rooming, the drugs she wanted, AND to make me eat crow.
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