Tag Archives: SECRETARIES

I THINK YOU’RE SORELY MISTAKEN, BIATCH

I walked into my ENT doctor to check on the status of my upcoming lobotomy.  Well, that’s what it seemed like.

Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, people.  ENT, keep up with me. I walked in and said:

ME:  Hi, I’m Sarah Berardi here for my 1:30.

GIRL:  Hmmmm, your name again?

ME:  Sarah Berardi

GIRL:  Your date of birth?

ME:  ##/##/##

GIRL:  You’re not on the schedule for today, but you have an appointment for August 7.

ME:  Oh no!  That’s weird.  I got a confirmation call last Friday.  Could you check again?  And as I’m looking at my calendar, I have a hair appointment on August 7, so I can’t even be here August 7, hair comes first, you know.

GIRL:  (looking at computer).  Oh, I see.  YOU called us this morning and cancelled and rescheduled for August 7.

ME: With all due respect, why would I be standing here now if I cancelled this morning?

GIRL:  Well, it says here I took your call, and YOU called this morning and cancelled your appointment.

ME:  Again, with all due respect, I don’t care for your accusatory tone which has implications carried with it.  The implications being that I may have been drunk, high, or even simpler, I’m really kookadoodledoo and picked up my phone, called you, rescheduled my appointment, then forgot about the whole damned thing.

I plopped down my co-pay and said, “I’ll need a receipt for that, and I’ll just have my seat in the waiting area.”

As I turned around to go have my seat, everyone in the waiting area quickly averted their eyes from the check-in desk fiasco the check-in girl was creating (I wasn’t)  back to their reading material.

What in the world?  Could she not just have admitted she made a clerical error?  We all know I’m a ding-batted knucklehead sometimes, but it WAS NOT this time.  I can usually ‘fess up to it when I’m a d-b-k.

P.S. When I asked the ENT doctor how soon my nasal polyps (he removed four) in my sinuses could grow back (I had them out in December), he said, “Twelve hours”.  You know mine started in eight.

"OH, I’M STRESSED"

I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.  Well, I’ll say “lately”, some of you won’t.   All I really mean to say is that I keep screwing up on so many details, large and small.

1.  I have more than once (ok, lots), paid the same bill twice, giving me credit but leaving me with nothing in my checking account (online banking.)
2.  I have more than once (ok, lots), paid the balance due on my Credit Card A to Credit Card B (online banking).  Then I get a late bill from Credit Card A.  This consequently also leaves me with nothing in my checking account.
3.  I have more than once neglected to pay the umbrella insurance, therefore having to frantically pay over the phone via credit card to get reinstated.  No, this is not insurance for my umbrella, but insurance for our cars, homeowners, and something else I can’t remember.  And do not tell Marty this.
4.  I have made incorrect plane reservations, in many ways.  For example:  I’ve booked for the incorrect days or I’ve booked prop jobs for myself.  I don’t fly prop jobs.  (I’m usually so darned careful not to book those darned little poop planes).   Let me repeat,  I don’t fly prop jobs.  Marty says I have to fly the prop job now since it’s too $$ to change it.  I will have to put my big-girl panties on and deal with it, take extra Xanax, and fly.  If it goes down, that’ll show him, won’t it?  Hmpf.
5. I have lost a wedding invitation, it’s here somewhere.  Probably with that plane reservation I screwed up.
6. I’ve sent sympathy cards to dead people (previous blog).
7. I’ve stared at red lights and driven right through them with horns blaring at me and tires screaching.
8.  I’ve stared at my appointment time of 1:45 for my hair, but mentally decided it was at 3:15, so arrived at 3:05.

It’s just getting worse and worse.  So, if I did have an assistant/secretary, such as George or Elaine, would I be any better?  George bought baseball uniforms for the Yankees that shrunk.  Elaine ended up in a dead-end job sharpening pencils and buying tube socks.  I think I’d rather one of Kramer’s interns.

Wouldn’t it be so neat to be one of those wealthy women who live in NYC who have an assistant that comes early in the morning and leaves after dinner each night?  They lay out your clothes for you in the morning, tell you where you’re going for the day, have the car brought around, make all your reservations, etc.
 H-e-a-v-e-n.  I would read all day in bed.  Every day.  I would sip my decaf with Miralax while snacking on fresh organic cherries.

In reality, I shrink my own clothes, and use Pentel pencils which don’t require sharpening.  So I guess I’m better off sucking it up, making the same mistakes over and over.  Plus, I think having someone to help me would make me look like a spoiled brat, and I wouldn’t want that Lillydale lady to be right, Martie Hughes, are your ears ringing?

I will swear on a stack of Bibles that my doctor said that at least one of my medications do, indeed, make me daft(er).

Cheers,
Sarah