Adulthood and the Fletch

Well, it has been a veritable eternity since I have written a post. At least two years, which would be a shocking 14 years if you happen to be a dog. I apologize to all my canine followers for keeping you waiting for over a decade.

I have retired from restauranteurship and am now employed at Fletcher Allen Health Care in registration. I would be lying if I told you my job was glamorous and fulfilling; I spend over half my waking hours in a call-center cubicle staring at dual monitors. On the upside, my cube is right next to the windows, and I sit on a yoga ball. And nobody sees when I spill strawberry jelly all over my pants from the pb&j-in-a-jar-together that I've been eating at my desk.

I speak with patients by phone all day, registering them before appointments. Mostly it's a whole lot of repitition, having the same conversation with 80-plus patients a day, but every now and then you'll get a break in the norm. Some patients want to tell you their life stories, or try to regale you with tales of 14 colonoscopies (ma'am, please, I'm trying to eat my pb&j).

By far the most scarring experience of my phone life to date would have to be the time an older man called in to register. He started verifying everything I said with "that's correct," but sounded very out of breath. I simply attributed it to respiratory issues and was moving right along with the process when suddenly, barely waiting for the finish of my next question, he hollered, "THAT'S CORRECT!!!" in a mixture of a yell and a grunt. I was so startled I almost fell off my yoga ball and was trying to regain my composure when not 5 seconds later I hear *FLUSH*.

Who on earth thinks, "Hey, I'm pooping - now would be a good time to call registration!"

Men! I ask you. Disgusting.
Today I answered an incoming call from a gentleman who unceremoniously said in tones of greatest disgust, "How did I get you?"  Well, sir, you probably dialed my phone number. I understand your confusion, however; technology has indeed progressed at an astonishing rate.

And then you have the abnormal name spellings, such as "Ceilidh" with a note that says "name pronounced Kaylee." I wanted to call and be like, "Hi, is this Ceiling? It's not? May I speak with Ceiling, please?"
Obviously, adulthood has had a singular effect on me. That is to say, none at all.

Well, the Fletch is a many-splendored thing, and I am quite fortunate to be employed. I may not be so fortunate in my old hopes of a million-dollar tip, but I have not given up all faith. Someday in the not-so-distant future, when I am a black-and-white-clad server in a 5-star restaurant in the ritziest part of New York City, my long-awaited dream may come true.


Yeah, I won't hold my breath.