I Don’t Work Here, But I’ll Pretend I Do
Apparently, I look like I work everywhere I go; people (usually older people) constantly ask me questions about where to find items in the aisles of stores I frequent. In their defense, I help run a restaurant and usually DO know where things are when people ask me for assistance because I’m there all the time. After my partner witnessed this phenomenon the other day, he reminded me that this was not new; I guess I’ve been doing this for quite a while.
More than twenty years ago, I was living in Cincinnati, and my phone number was one digit away from a doctor’s office. This mean old guy would call all the time asking for a ride for his wife and himself to their appointments. (I found out later that this was a service they provided for their elderly patients who could no longer drive themselves.)
No amount of explanation would convince this gentleman that I did not, in fact, work there and that he had the wrong number.
I’d finally had enough of this verbal harassment. With a huge sigh, I just asked for his address and the time and date of their next appointment. I then found the doctor’s office’s number and called to ask if they could help. Because of privacy laws, they regretfully informed me that they couldn’t confirm that the couple were even patients, even though we both knew that they absolutely knew this couple.
With another big sigh, I drove to their house the next day, picked them up, and took them to their appointment. The look on the receptionist’s face when I walked in the door said it all.
Receptionist: “Holy s***. Please tell me that I didn’t just talk to you on the phone yesterday!”
Me: “Yup, that was me.”
So, for TWO YEARS, I would get the call and go pick them up for their appointments. I wish this story ended with the couple being happy and appreciative, but no. The man never hesitated to complain that I was late, that my vehicle was difficult for them to get into, or that I should look “more professional”. I would always politely remind him that I didn’t actually work there, to no avail.
To be honest, I kind of loved it. He was such a cranky ol’ b*****d, and his grumpiness was so incredibly entertaining to me, but his wife, who was obviously suffering from dementia, was such a sweetheart who thought I was some family member doing them a favor.
When I moved from that area, I was super concerned about them and made sure that the office had someone to take my place. The last time I took them, the folks at the office had a bouquet of flowers and a box of bakery cookies for me to wish me well on my adventures.
I left them with my new contact information, and about six months later, I got an email telling me that Sir Grump-a-lot had come in for an appointment with the new driver (actually set up by the office this time) and complained because “the other girl was so much better”.
It totally warmed my heart as the real reason I even started this was that I’d hoped that if either myself or any of my family were suffering from dementia or any other affliction, someone would look past it and help out. I still don’t regret giving that crabby ol’ b*****d and his sweet lovey wife a ride.