Boredom Can Drive You Over The Edge

I used to work in an office that was often confused with a nearby clinic. We had a scheme where mentally and/or physically disabled volunteers could come in and take part in small, menial tasks. Unfortunately, said tasks consisted of little more than shredding and photocopying, to be shared between six or seven people when one person could easily do this within a day. I genuinely believe that the office was taking advantage of these people, but they were either too polite to complain or didn’t understand.

That is, except for this woman, who was the most able-bodied and the least mentally challenged. She was the receptionist and had been pushed into this job by her parents. She would sit at the front desk for up to eight hours a day. She was not allowed to read, scribble, or go on the computer that was provided for her for documents — none of which exceeded more than a couple of pages at a time, which she would then print out and photocopy — because it would “look bad” for any customers that came through, despite the fact that five out of every six said customers were people looking for the nearby clinic.

I am not sure what condition this young woman had, except that she couldn’t sit still for very long and became bored quite easily. As you can expect, this was a terrible combination that resulted in this incident.

After about a month of the receptionist sitting about doing virtually nothing, this particular customer came in.

Customer: “Hi, is this the clinic?”

Receptionist: “Take a seat.”

The customer took out her phone and started playing with it. The receptionist went back to typing up a document. After a few minutes, she asked the customer a question.

Receptionist: *Feeling malicious* “What are you here for?”

Customer: *Getting up and handing a paper over* “My name is [Customer]. I’m here to see [Doctor].”

Receptionist: *Without looking at the paper* “Are you here for an eye exam?”

Customer: “No.”

Receptionist: “I see. Do you have dyslexia or some other sort of reading disability?”

Customer: “No.”

She practically pushed the paper into the receptionist’s hands.

Customer: “Please, just hurry up.”

The receptionist smiled at her and went into the back with the documents. She returned thirty seconds later.

Receptionist: “I’m sorry, but this isn’t the clinic.”

Customer: “What?”

Receptionist: “This isn’t the clinic. If you go out of the doors, turn left, and go down the road, you’ll see a big, big sign that tells you where the clinic really is. Maybe you should learn to read.”

Customer: *Holding her hand out* “Give me back my papers!”

Receptionist: *Calmly* “I shredded them.”

Customer: “What?!”

Receptionist: “Consider this your punishment for not reading the signs. Do you realise how many of you idiots I have to deal with every day?”

Customer: “Get me your manager!”

Receptionist: “I think you’d better go so you aren’t late for your appointment.”

Customer: “I can’t go to my appointment without my documents!”

Receptionist: “You’re the one who gave them to me. Don’t believe everything you’re told.”

At this point, the receptionist’s boss came through after hearing the shouting. I had also come through because I needed the receptionist to help me tidy up another room. The customer started shouting at the boss and the receptionist about her documentation being shredded. The receptionist now started to look rather afraid. I decided to ask her the most important question, as I know that the receptionist detested her boss.

Me: “[Receptionist], is this true?”

Receptionist: *Getting angrier* “Yes! But it’s only because you—” *looking toward the boss* “—talk to me as if I’m seven! I know that you’re used to people with [mental disability], but you don’t seem to realise how f****** bored I am here! You don’t allow me to read, you don’t allow me to scribble, you don’t allow me to go on the computer! What is the point of sitting here doing nothing when I could do something and you don’t let me? All we get are idiots looking for the clinic when the signpost at the start of the road points out where it is! I’ve tried to keep it in, but I’m so fed up of the way you treat me! I hate you! I hate you!”

I took the customer away and decided to ask if she could easily replace her papers. The customer was in a slight panic, which was not helped by the fact that I could hear the receptionist banging something against the walls.

I ended up having to talk to the customer’s doctor about the incident. We know the staff at the clinic fairly well because of our close proximity and the fact that we sometimes have to tell them in advance of customers coming over.

The last time I saw the receptionist, she was being taken home by her father, screaming, “I hate you!” all the while.