(A month ago I had to cancel a dentist appointment due to my mother having an accident. She lives in Northern Ireland and I doubted I would make it back in time — I live in Scotland. My dentist is private and charges for missed appointments. I cancelled three weeks prior to my appointment. After checking my bank statement, I notice a charge has been made. I call up my dentist.)

Me: “I have a charge on my bank statement from you. Could I ask what it was for?” *gives details*

Receptionist: “It’s for a missed appointment. You should have given us six days’ notice.”

Me: “But I cancelled at least three weeks before.”

Receptionist: “…”

Me: “Hello?”

Receptionist: “You have been charged for a missed appointment. You needed to give six days’ notice.”

Me: “I gave you 21 days’ notice!”

Receptionist: “That isn’t six days!”

Me: “So… I need to cancel my appointment exactly six days before?”

Receptionist: “Finally, he gets it!” *hangs up*

(I went into my dentist after work and got everything straightened out. It turns out the receptionist was new and had been charging everyone who had missed appointments who didn’t cancel six days before. I was only the third person to actually call in about the charge, but it prompted the owner to do an investigation. The found that a rather sizeable sum had been accumulated. She no longer works there. The bewildering part about all of this is you need to give at least 24 hour’s notice of cancellation or risk being charged. There has never been a policy there concerning six days. No one knows why she was so adamant about six days. Even she couldn’t answer why.)

(A few months after I move, I decide to get a haircut at a salon in a nearby mall. I get to the salon about five minutes early for my appointment and check in with the receptionist, who tells me my hair stylist will be with me in a few minutes. As I’m sitting in the waiting area I notice that all of the chairs are empty, and the hair stylists are all standing around chatting at the back of the salon. Ten minutes after my appointment was supposed to be, I start to get antsy and think about reminding the receptionist I’m here when my cell phone rings.)

Me: “Hello?”

Receptionist: “Hi, I’m calling from [Salon] because we had you booked for an appointment at two. Are you on your way?”

Me: *looking right at the receptionist, who can clearly see me from the desk* “Actually, I’m here now; I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”

Receptionist: “Oh! You know, you’re supposed to check in when you get here so I can tell your stylist to get ready for you.”

Me: “I did check in. You told me she’d be with me in a few minutes. Like I said, I’ve been waiting on her for fifteen minutes. Plus, I had to pass the desk to get to the waiting area, so you would have seen me come in even if I forgot to check in.”

Receptionist: “Okay, well, I’m going to tell the stylist you’re here, but your appointment might go longer than usual because you’re late.”

(She did get up and tell the stylist I was there, who came and got me into a chair immediately. The stylist apologized and said she’d seen me waiting but she didn’t realize I was there for her.)

Related:
This Salon Has Very Bad Reception

(While building my own home, I have a little mishap and cut my left thumb deeply. I quickly disinfect the wound, apply a pressure bandage, and drive over to my family doctor’s practice to get some stitches.)

Me: *sliding over my social security card* “Hi, I cut myself badly.”

Desk Clerk: “Do you have an appointment?”

Me: “Sorry, no, I didn’t plan it in advance!”

(I graduated high school two years before this story happened. I had a terrible time in school, mostly due to intense bullying, to the point of near panic attacks. Because of this, I never attended my graduation to receive my diploma and class transcripts, and also had no intention of doing any higher education. Although my grades were fine enough, I thought “school was not for me.” After high school, I floated around a few jobs before deciding to go to college to do something better. Now, I need to go back to my high school to get the required info for college applications. The deadline to apply is in roughly one week. I try calling the school repeatedly, leaving many messages. I am mostly polite, but in one message I regrettably use a single curse word. Although the word begins with an F, it is used in reference to the situation and NOT directed to the person who would hear the message. I also visit daily to find only maintenance and janitorial staff who can’t help. One visit, there is finally a receptionist present.) 

Receptionist: “Can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I’d like to get my diploma and transcripts to use for college applications. My name is [My Name] and I graduated in [year].”

Receptionist: *angrily* “Oh.” *breaks eye contact, and refuses to look me in the eye for the remainder of the conversation* “You’re the one that left all the messages.”

Me: “Yes, that was me. I’ve been trying desperately to get this before the deadline to apply.”

Receptionist: *says nothing, looking very snooty*

Me: “If you got my messages, how come you didn’t call me back to say someone was in to help me?”

Receptionist: “I was on vacation last week. I have a right to go on vacation.”

Me: “I understand that. But I also have a right to receive my diploma. It was never sent to me.”

Receptionist: “You shouldn’t need them again. They were given to you at your graduation.”

Me: “I didn’t attend my graduation ceremony. I was told at the time that they would be mailed to any students who didn’t pick them up in person. But I never got them.”

Receptionist: *angrily* “I have a right to go on vacation! I work hard all year.”

Me: “I believe you. But I also worked hard for four years to earn my diploma, and it was never given to me.”

Receptionist: *long silence* “I don’t like the way you talked to me on the phone.”

Me: “Well, I apologize for being rude in a message.”

Receptionist: *long silence* “You shouldn’t speak to me that way! You can’t use that language with me.”

(By now, two janitors are listening in from the hallway outside the office. I am trying to remain calm, but she has still not budged to get what I came for and still will not even look at me.) 

Me: “Well, it was at this fine institution that I learned that kind of language. I will apologize again. I’m sorry for swearing on the voicemail. But I need my transcripts now, please.”

Receptionist: *reluctantly hands me an envelope that was sitting in front of her the entire time*

Me: “Thank you.”

Receptionist: *silence*

Me: “I said, ‘Thank you.’”

Receptionist: “The principal would like to speak with you about your attitude.”

Me: *realising this is a silly and empty threat* “Good! I’m not some scared student you can send to the principal’s office. I graduated two years ago. I would love to speak to her, and I’ll be sure to mention how you’ve treated me. I was picked on in this building for years, and I won’t take it from you for another minute. Have fun holding onto your grudge.”

(I walked out past the janitors who were laughing at the whole thing. I got into college, but strangely never heard from the high school principal.)

Several years ago I had a summer job working as a clerical officer in an NHS Hospital. One of my reception duties involved checking patients into the antenatal clinics. The receptionist explained to me that when patients arrived for the clinic I had to take their name, and if it was their first appointment, I had to write “no file” on their letter and bring it down to the nursing station. Women who had previously been to the clinic did have a file, so I had to pull out their file, check their details were correct, and bring the file down to the nursing station.

The receptionist showed me how to do the first few arrivals and then said I could take over. The next patient arrived for her antenatal appointment. I smiled at her and her husband, greeted them warmly, and the woman handed me her appointment letter. “Okay, Mrs. [Patient],” I said, trying to appear professional. “Is this your first appointment?”

The woman looked surprised and glanced down at her belly. “No…” she said. She was quite large by this stage! Her husband just smiled, clearly amused. “Oh… Sorry!” I stammered, then retrieved her file, checked her details, and asked her to take a seat in the waiting area. As she and her husband walked off, the receptionist leaned over to me. “Yeah, it’ll be obvious to you if it’s their first appointment!” she said, smiling. I apologised again, but the receptionist told me not to worry, as we all make mistakes!

The receptionist went on holiday, and I managed to cover reception surprisingly well. And during the next three antenatal clinics, I never again made the mistake of asking a woman obviously in advanced stages of pregnancy if it was her first appointment!