Me: “I’d like to come in to discuss my medication please.”
Receptionist: “Did you get a note asking you to?”
Me: “No but I know I’m coming to the end of my repeat prescription, so I’m just jumping the gun a little…”(and I want to discuss changing them but that’s none of her business)
Me: “And I errr, I’m going away soon so I probably need a doctor’s note for all the pills I’m taking with me…”
Receptionist: “When are you going?”
Me: “29th ”(again, not your beeswax)
Receptionist: *silence* *huffs* We’ve got nothing left to pre-book so phone at 8am tomorrow.
My heart goes out to all the people with severe anxiety who struggle to pick up the phone to ask for help and they get snooty disinterested unhelpful people at the other end of the line.
But then my heart also goes out to NHS receptionists, a role I may soon return to myself as I’d like to streamline their quite frankly prehistoric admin procedures to enable a better service to be delivered (when I last went to collect a prescription, a fax machine was in use behind the counter), who earn roughly £7ph, when the Living Wage is £8.25ph.