For the past few months, the skin around my mouth nas been dry and flaky and red and painful. Yes, it's been months, and I just got around to going to the dermatologist today - lame.
Nonetheless, in I went, ready to meet a new doc to talk to him about my skin and ask him about this "sunscreen" business (I'm convinced it's all a scam by Johnson & Johnson).
I was terribly disappointed.
I walked in to find a brisk, angular little woman with bad skin behind the registration desk (Note to bitchy, angular receptionist: when you work at a dermatology office, you might want to employ some of the free samples loitering about the place. Otherwise, new customers will take one look at your face and comtemplate walking out). After 12 minutes of explaining to her that yes, I do have an appointment and no, I've never been here before and no, my insurance has not changed, as I have never in fact been here before, she asked me to please take a seat and stop preventing other clients from checking in.
That should have been my cue to leave. Really, I should have walked right out the door at that point.
Instead, I waited 15 minutes to be called back (not entirely inappropriate, but a bit annoying when one is trying to get back to work in time for a brainstorming session. That includes food.), and then sat for 75 minutes in a cold exam room with no magazines (thank god for iPhone Scrabble), wearing a backless robe, waiting for the doctor to see me. Twice convinced I'd been forgotten, I peeked into the hallway and asked a passing nurse if I should perhaps reschedule.
Let's just say that the passing nurse made the receptionist seem like Glenda the Good Witch.
Finally the doc burst in, and I thought, "Maybe it'll be worth it; maybe this guy will be an awesome doctor...."
Here's what happened. 10 minutes later I was standing back at the reception desk, doling out copious amounts of cash for products the doctor all but forced me to buy, having neither explained why I needed said creams and cleansers, nor told me what, exactly, was wrong with my face.
It all happened so fast - and with such disregard for customer service - that I was too shocked to protest, and was in my car heading back to work before I managed to form the question, "I'm sorry, but what is this stuff and why are you selling it to me?"
I shall not return.
(Frank Coble cartoon)