TOBASH

I'M BACK!

Yay?

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As a general rule, Saturday mornings are the busiest days at any vet clinic, as everyone and their cousin's girlfriend wants an appointment for that day, and we're only open for 4 hours. Hence, you can always bet that we'll be booked solid with "limping x2 wks" and "adr x? - outdoor cat, 16yr" and "discharge from 'pee-pee parts', per owner". (On that note, c'mon people, say it with me - "penis" and/or "vulva/vaginal area").

Anywho, Saturday 8am is very bad time to call up your beloved local vet clinic to declare your immediate need for medical attention for a problem that has been going on for the past 2, 3, or 4 weeks. You see, the people who procrastinated slightly less than you have already booked us up with THEIR 2, 3, or 4 week-old problems, and we're scrambling like crazy to squeeze in the truly sick pets.

"Fine", you might say. "I'll just walk in there and plop myself in a chair and demand to be seen", you say. I know this will come as a surprise to you, but when we are a receptionist and tech short and only have one doctor scheduled, open slots in our book will not spontaneously generate. Therefore, you and your ridiculously unsocialized animal will sit in our lobby for an indefinite period of time, despite our attempts to placate you with a smorgasbord of appointment options for Monday.

Finally, you strike up a conversation with the nice man next to you as he patiently waits for his SCHEDULED appointment. With a lovely touch of class, you inform him that if we fail to see you promptly, you intend to take your pet home and shoot it in the head.

Congrats, you got your appointment slot after the nice man insisted upon rescheduling his exam for later in the week so you could be seen for your minor, x4wk problem. I'm not sure what all your fuss was about, however, since "diagnostics" and "medications" were not part your extensive lexicon to begin with. Since our magic wand is in the shop, a physical exam can't really CURE anything.

I know, that's our fault too...