bad metaphor

Those who know me know that I often complain about interacting with people who are not fully mentally on at work, but today it was my turn to be the ditzy one. My friend Indie Dan, who has relocated to Idaho, asked me on Tuesday if I would drop by the Zerglish* department to pick up a reference letter. I agreed, and he said it would be available “after tomorrow,” meaning Wednesday.

I stopped by this morning to check and see if it was there. The reception girl checked and said it wasn’t, and asked me more details about it. Now I am not a total moron or anything, but I have to reaffirm that conviction every now and then because sometimes I end up doing or saying incredibly stupid things. One common error is a tendency, when relaying information, to repeat things verbatim exactly the way they were said to me. Without changing the frame of reference. This error happens with more frequency when I am busy with other tasks and my attentional resources are strained. Such was my state of mind today, standing in the Zerglish office and talking to the receptionista. This is what I thought the exchange had been:

Me: “Oh, the professor said on Wednesday that the reference letter would be available after tomorrow.”

Receptionista: “Ah, usually when professors say that it won’t be available until the afternoon.”

Readers may note that this response makes absolutely no sense but I accepted it at the time because I had shit to do, etc. So I went away, making a mental note to come back and check on it when I was finished with a zillion other tasks that had come up at work. Tasks finished, I needed to run a cross-campus errand anyways so I decided to drop by the Zerglish department again. “Hey, I came by earlier. So is that reference letter ready?”

At this, the receptionista shot me a chilly glare. “It’s not here yet. If a professor says it will be ready ‘after tomorrow,’ it won’t be ready till then.” Looking back at our previous exchange, I realized what had actually transpired:

Me: “The professor said it would be available ‘after tomorrow’…”

Receptionista: “Oh, well usually when professors say that, it won’t be ready until then.”

Ohhh. Clumsily, I tried to explain the miscommunication that had transpired, but it was far too late – lines were severed and the receptionista was not receiving. “Nope, it’s not here. I can even check the professor’s mailbox.” She stomped over to the mailboxes. “Nope, don’t see it!” giving me an exaggerated shrug from down the hallway. Folding easily against the intensity of her ire, I left, laughing a little bit, because how many times have I pulled the bitchy receptionista routine on other people? Once I even told some poor professor on the phone that yes, indeed a course numbered 450 satisfies an academic requirement for 300 level courses and beyond, in the most patronizing tone I could muster, “because 450 is bigger than 300.”

At the time I realized I was being cruel and decided to take sick leave for the remaining half hour of the day, due to an acute sense of bitchiness. I am torn between sympathizing with receptionista, being offended by her offendedness, and thinking, “goddamn, is that how I come across?” I hereby resolve to be a nicer and more patient secretary. Even with the people that wander into my office seemingly half-comatose and oblivious to neon signage.

* Real names changed, as is the manner with this blog.

My mom called me up last week and immediately asked if I could fly to Houston, offering to comp the plane ticket. She mentioned the word “surgery” and I immediately went into panic overdrive, “ahh! on what?!” She said it was nothing serious, but that it had something to do with her throat? I remained panicked, because what could be so serious that would necessitate me flying? After calling my sister and between the two of us researching her vague descriptions on the internet, we deduced that she was having an endoscopy (like a colonoscopy but through the other end). So, nothing too alarming (yet), but she’d have to be put under anesthesia and would need me to drive around. Yes, she could probably have gotten someone else who actually lived in the area to chauffeur her around, but at least this way I’d be there for her and somewhat cognizant of what was happening with her health.

As I sat in the waiting room this morning, I contemplated just how difficult it must be for my mother and other people like her, whose grasp of English is tenuous at best. Medical complications and insurance issues in this country can be really foggy even for people who speak fluent English, who have doctorate degrees and such. Luckily for Mom, there is a huge Vietnamese immigrant presence in Houston, and services have popped up to cater this population. There was a Vietnamese nurse on hand to talk to patients, and the doctor she saw was Vietnamese. Putting myself in her shoes, I would feel immensely more comfortable going through an awkward or painful procedure, if I could at least understand what was happening. Just a few years ago, she probably would have had an incredibly frustrating experience at the doctor, with a higher potential of misdiagnosis, say. Or even worse, she might just not have gone to the doctor at all.

Despite these extra services, however, medical jargon can still be pretty hard to grasp for a complete layperson like my mom. The doctor explained to her, in Vietnamese, that they had found some whitish spots in her esophageal lining, that could indicate some sort of fungal infection, and that biopsy results would be available in a couple of weeks. Busy doctor that he is, he quickly rushed off to tend to another patient.

In the car, Mom asked, “why the doctor say I have mushroom in my throat?”

Even though I’m sequestered inside, I’m not entirely cut off from nature. Thanks Krissy!