So today's crazy adventure took me to the Cleveland Clinic.
Yes, the Cleveland Clinic.
We have a client who is having surgery, maybe, this week, and needed previous chest x-rays on a CD to give to his new physician.
Forget I suggested having the new physician request them directly - "it's faster and more efficient that way", I tried to explain.
To deaf ears.
So with Mr. Big's approval, I requested the CD "ASAP" and when they faxed me a bill this morning, I printed the check, he signed it and said - go pick it up, please.
Ahhhh, a field trip.
I called to make certain it was ready and, oddly, the woman whose name appears on my faxed bill is "out today." Hmmm. . . so I spoke with another woman whose name I cannot recall, so we'll call her Ms. Secret.
Ms. Secret tells me the CD is ready.
Then she started to whisper.
"Go to the main desk, there will be a door to the right. Go through that door, down to the basement, the bottom level, and you'll see a big red doorbell button. Push the button and I will bring you the CD."
Seems simple enough.
And let me just say - thank goodness she felt it necessary to explain to me that the bottom level of the Cleveland Clinic is the basement.
What else might it be called?
The dungeon?
Anyway, I head out. From Beachwood to Cleveland Clinic. Oh, I had to stop at the bank. . and naturally, if you've read my past two blogs, realize that I need . . . . gas. Of course.
Now fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your outlook on life. . . we have a son who has a genetic heart lung condition and is being treated at the Cleveland Clinic. So (fortunately, or unfortunately), I am very familiar with the parking garage, the tunnel, and the Clinic in general. Several buildings. It's massive. It can sustain itself and I still think it would be the ideal place to work.
But I'll save that for another blog.
It's around Noon, so I have to park on the top level. Seven levels of hundreds of cars. . . gads. I park, head into the elevator, down to the tunnel, then up the escalator into the marvelous Cleveland Clinic.
I walk up to the main desk and looked to the right.
There's no door there.
I look to my left. . . down at my note. It says "right - past desk. . . door - basement (smiley face - not sure why that's there). . . . red doorbell. Push."
I looked to the right again.
Nada.
So a Cleveland Clinic "red coat" comes to assist me. These are the people who wear - guess? Yup, red coats and they assist you to your location. They are amazing. Apparently, they know ever nook and cranny of the Cleveland Clinic.
So I told the gentleman why I'm there and what I need.
He tilts his head.
Then shakes it.
"There's no door" he said, as he points.
I shrugged. "That's what she told me?"
"Who" he said.
So I tell him what Ms. Secret told me.
"You're a lawyer?"
"No. I'm his assistant. I'm just picking this up."
He realizes I really want to be in a different building.
I blinked. He walked me partially down a hallway and pointed.
"You see that building over there?"
I looked.
"Uh, yeah."
"You want to be there. You can take a bus."
I blinked. "A bus? But can't I just walk over there?"
He smiled and said "In those shoes? Walk? If you want. But watch out for traffic."
I looked down, confused.
Oh, heels.
Not a problem.
I am woman and all, hear me roar.
So I head out and across the street. Don't know what street it is. . in all the years we've been taking our son to the Clinic, we've never left the "main" hospital.
And thank goodness it wasn't raining.
No coat. . . no umbrella. Beautiful pink sweater and heels. . . but no coat.
Note to self - find your coat, dumb*&^...summer is over.
And I tried to walk like I wasn't really cold.
It wasn't that far - certainly not worthy of a bus ride. But I guess if someone is unable to walk that far. . . maybe. I'd say it was a "normal" block. Not even two blocks.
Anyway, I got to the main desk and looked.
There's a door to the right - but it clearly says "Emergency Exit."
Uh, no.
I look to the left. . . . same.
So I ask the lady at the desk. Told her the same thing I told the red coat in the other building.
She said, "Do you work here?"
Now I ask you: If I worked there, wouldn't I have a badge on with my picture on it like everyone else?
Yes, of course I would.
So I said, "No, I worked for an attorney. I need to pick a CD up with x-rays on it."
"Ohhhhhhhh" she said.
"Take the elevator to the basement. Bottom level."
What is it with the "basement, bottom level" deal? There is only one basement in the Cleveland Clinic. It says "B" on the elevator button!
Deep breath.
I said "but she told me.. . . "
The lady behind the desk scrunched up her nose and said "And I'm telling you to take the elevator."
Another deep breath.
I take the elevator to the basement. . . bottom level.
Walk into the "Heath Data Department" or maybe it's called "Health Information Department" and wait for the lady on the phone to finish her call.
I explain what I need. The lady who sent me the form is out today and I understand that but Ms. Secret is expecting me and. . .
"Oh, you want the second floor."
I blinked. "No, she told me. . . "
"And I'm telling you - you want the second floor."
Another deep breath.
Turn and walk out.
Hear me roar? Yeah, those are my feet now. . . .
I take the elevator up to the second floor - not sure what level that would be in their little world.
I walk up to the desk and naturally, there's a line.
Of people.
Waiting to get actual tests performed.
OMG. I do not want to be on THIS floor.
Ugh.
I wait my turn, trying to be patient. . . trying NOT to tap my foot, which I've discovered I do when I'm impatient.
Yeah, I'm that girl.
My turn.
I walk up and explain, again, to another lady behind another desk what I'm looking for. What I need.
I'm, what's the word? Exasperated at this point.
She smiled.
"Pick up that phone and she'll tell you where to go."
"Pardon me?", I said.
"Phone. There." (then she pointed - like I can't see it!)
"Pick it up. She'll tell you where to go."
Deep breath in. . . . .
A woman answers the phone. I try telling her what I want and became aware of the fact that everyone in the sitting area of the radiology department is staring at me.
What? They've never seen a six foot tall woman in heels wearing a pink sweater before?
Or was I almost yelling?
Yeah, that's probably it.
I mean, honestly, how often do you see a woman in a pink sweater?
But I digress.
Ms. Secret comes on the phone.
She says (and I'm not joking) in a whispered tone "I told you to go to the door."
So I whispered back "The woman at the desk wouldn't tell me where the door is."
She whispered "Go back down and walk behind the desk. Go through that door."
I said, whispering again "she won't let me."
"Fine!" she said, no longer whispering and it startled me! "Go downstairs. I'll meet you."
So I head down the stairs - correction, I took the elevator. Feet. Are. Killing. Me.
I stood there a few minutes and this woman came up behind me.
She whispered and pointed "That's the door. Next time go through there."
I said "Thanks, but there won't be a next time."
Signed my life away, checked the CD to make certain it had the right name on it - realizing there was no way for me to check the CD at all, I was just looking at a label.
If I get it back to the office and it's the wrong patient. . . .
Deep breath. . .
Walked back across the courtyard. . . past all the empty benches that say "no smoking". . . . back into the main building. . . through the lobby and down the escalator, through the tunnel, to the elevator, up to my car, only to drive alllll the way back down so I could leave.
The bonus - there was no fee!
I got to park for free!
I'm not sure why. . . . although maybe the hot doctor in the brand new white Mercedes in front of me picked it up.
Nahh, I doubt it.
Just my lucky day.
Because, after all, I am woman. . . . .
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