I have recently started breaking out in hives. My general physician gives me a referral to see an allergist, and I’m talking to the receptionist to set up the appointment.

Receptionist: “The soonest we can get you in is [date nine days from now], at 1:15 pm.”

Me: “That works for me, thanks.”

Receptionist: “You’ll need to arrive fifteen minutes early to fill out a few forms. We are fully booked that day, so it is very important that you’re here by 1:00 so we don’t fall behind.”

Me: “Sure, no problem.”

Receptionist: “Okay. I have you booked for [date] at 1:15; be sure to arrive at least fifteen minutes early.”

Me: “See you then.”

A few minutes later, I receive a text asking me to confirm my appointment, noting to arrive fifteen minutes early. The next day, I get an email and a text reminding me of my appointment and the importance of arriving early, followed by daily text reminders.

The day before my appointment, I get a text, followed by an email, reminding me of my appointment at 1:15 and to arrive by 1:00 pm. I also get this phone call.

Receptionist: “This [Receptionist] from [Allergist]’s office calling to confirm your appointment tomorrow at 1:15.”

Me: “Yes, I’ll be there.”

Receptionist: “Please arrive fifteen minutes early to fill out forms.”

Me: “No problem.”

That evening and the next morning, I receive more text reminders to be there by 1:00. That’s eleven texts, two emails, and two phone calls in nine days, which I think is a bit over the top, but whatever.

I arrive at the office at 12:55 pm and try to go in, but the doors are locked. There is a sign on the door about calling and waiting in your car, so I call to check in.

Me: “Hello, I’m here for my 1:15 appointment and just wondering what I have to do to check in.”

Receptionist: “We are closed from 12:15 until 1:15 for lunch every day. You’ll just have to wait until the doors are open. Next time, do not interrupt our lunch break. We are people, too.”

Me: “None of the texts, emails, or phone calls I received telling me to arrive at 1:00 told me that you would not be open, and the sign on the door told me to call upon arrival. I’m so sorry for ruining your lunch by following directions.”

Receptionist: “We will be with you shortly.”

They did not unlock the doors until 1:25.

I’m a receptionist at a salon. During a busy day when there are about eight people waiting for a haircut, a woman comes in and walks up to me.

Customer: “I’m in a hurry, and if you could take me right away, that would be great.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but others have been waiting here before you. You’ll have to go after them.”

Customer: “Why can’t you just take me now? I don’t need that much done!”

Me: “We see our clients in the order they come in.”

Customer: “You’re discriminating against me!” *Storms out*

My dad passed away when I was ten years old, and this story takes place about a year or two afterward. I honestly don’t remember exactly how long it was since a lot went on to blur those years together, but I do remember that my mom was still very distraught about his death. I think this was one of the first times I actually saw her leave the house after his passing. 

I’m naturally very tiny, so while I was probably around twelve when this happened, I definitely looked at least half that.

On this fateful day, I had to go to the doctor’s office. I think I had pink eye, but again, I don’t really remember. My mom sat me down in the little receptionist’s office and grabbed the paperwork to fill out. My mom has always used humor to deflect her pain, so it wasn’t strange to hear her mumble:

Mom: “’Second guardian/parent address’… I don’t know how Heaven’s addressing system works… Guess that’s gonna be left blank.”

What was strange was when she returned to the receptionist’s counter. I was bored out of my mind, and it was a tiny waiting room, so all I could do was watch the scene unfold.

My mom turned to come and sit with me again but was stopped.

Receptionist: “Excuse me, ma’am?”

Mom: “Yes?”

Receptionist: “You didn’t finish your paperwork.”

My mom, ready to do her job and ensure that her daughter had medical care ASAP, grabbed the paperwork off the counter and flipped through it.

Mom: “No, looks like I got it all.”

Receptionist: “Ma’am, we need a second parent listed.”

Mom: “Oh, um, he’s no longer in the picture.”

Receptionist: “I’m sorry, but I still need an address.”

My mom lowered her voice, almost too quiet to hear.

Mom: “I mean that he passed recently. I don’t have an address.”

Receptionist: “Ma’am, I can’t file the paperwork without one.”

My mom’s voice was no longer lowered.

Mom: “He’s dead. I can’t give you one.”

Receptionist: “Then I can’t file the paperwork.”

Mom: “So, you’re telling me I need my deceased husband’s current address to get my daughter looked at?”

Receptionist: “Yes, ma’am. I can’t file the paperwork until it’s been completed.”

My mom isn’t normally one to make a scene — especially not somewhere like a doctor’s office. Keyword: “normally”.

I watched my mom open her mouth, close it, take in a deep breath, and nod. My mom then spoke loudly — I almost think she embellished the heartbreak in her voice — making sure everyone and anyone could hear her.

Mom: “Well, I hope a plot number works for my husband’s address because that’s all I can give you!”

The receptionist immediately started to panic. There was no way her bosses hadn’t just heard that, and I could already see people standing up, I assume to defend my mom’s honor. She started trying to take the paper from my mom’s hands.

Receptionist: “No! No, no, don’t worry. I don’t need one! This is good enough!”

Mom: *Glaring* “No, you said you can’t file without an address, so I’m giving you one.”

My mom’s also super stubborn when she gets frustrated. She held onto those papers like they were my dad’s final words. Tears were streaming down her face, though I’m still not sure if it was from anger, grief, or an equal mix of both as she scribbled out his plot number. She didn’t move from the desk, but it didn’t matter. Everyone was looking at her in stunned silence. My mom had to grab her phone to get the proper number, which involved returning to our seats where her purse was. Everyone turned to glare at the receptionist when they saw that my poor mom had a child.

When she did return with her phone, a different woman was standing up front.

Receptionist #2: *Politely* “Ma’am, the plot number isn’t necessary. I’m sorry about my coworker. You can return to your seat if you’d like.”

Did I already mention that my mother is stubborn when pissed? The tears were still coming, but my mom had a blank expression.

Mom: “You cannot file my paperwork without a second parent’s address. I will provide you with one.”

After a second of navigating her phone, my mom confirmed that what she had written down was correct and returned to our seats.

The other receptionist did not return while we were there. I also remember my mom being pleasantly surprised when she went over the bill for that visit; we got a hefty discount, like 60% off.

I am working at the reception at our gym, and I am handed the phone by one of our receptionists. He looks pained.

Receptionist: “Can you take this? I honestly don’t know how to explain it any simpler.”

I take the call and announce myself as a manager.

Caller: “Why are you still billing me for my gym membership?”

Me: “Did you cancel your membership with us?”

Caller: “Well, no. But you should know not to bill me anymore!”

Me: “Why is that, ma’am?”

Caller: “I haven’t been to the gym in months!”

Me: “That’s… not how it works, ma’am. We bill you as long as your account is active.”

Caller: “Well, that’s unfair! I only want to be billed when I feel like coming in.”

Me: “That’s… still not how it works.”

Caller: “Ridiculous! You’re telling me people who pay for the gym actually keep going?!” *Click*

She’s figured out how most gyms stay in business!

Last year, my doctor’s office was bought out by a larger corporation. It really didn’t change much for me except that I had to fill out all new paperwork with the name of the new country-wide company name at the top.

A few months ago, my sister (who lives in a completely different state) started a new job in health insurance. We are both on our parents’ cell phone plan, and our phone numbers are the same except for the last digit; mine ends in five, hers in six.

About a week ago, I got a text message with my sister’s first name, asking me to leave a review for my OBGYN. I thought it was a weird coincidence and sent a screenshot of it to her for a laugh, figuring someone forgot to clear the name field before sending the text.

Then, I went to go check in at my appointment today.

Receptionist: “Hello! Name, please?”

Me: “[My Name].”

Receptionist: “I don’t see you in our system. Do you have an appointment today?”

Me: “Yes, I just scheduled it last week.”

Receptionist: “Okay, can you spell your last name? Maybe I got it wrong.”

I spell my last name, and the receptionist is silent.

Me: “Something wrong?”

Receptionist: “I don’t have anyone with that name. Are you a new patient?”

Me: “No, I’ve been coming to you for ten years. Your office has delivered both my children!”

Receptionist: “Okay, let me try searching by your phone number. Maybe it’s just not recognizing your name for some reason.”

I give my number, which ends in five.

Receptionist: “Okay, that phone number shows up, but it is for a different name. A [Sister]?”

Me: “I got a text from you with that name, but I thought it was just a fluke!”

Receptionist: “Okay, do you live at [address]?”

Me: “Sure do!”

Receptionist: “Okay, that address and phone number are connected to a [Sister] with the last name as [Our Last Name, mispronounced].”

Me: “That’s my sister! She shouldn’t be anywhere on my paperwork! She lives in a completely different state!”

The receptionist gets a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Receptionist: “I don’t know how this happened! I am so sorry!”

She immediately changed the name in my chart back to the right one, and I texted my sister to let her know to check with her office about her information, but seriously, what are the odds?