The appointment was scheduled for 10:40am. I was told that the appointment would last 10 minutes. 

I arrived in the parking lot at 10:35am. I felt relieved because I had made a wrong turn and I switched lanes more times than I needed. I am grateful no one honked at me, but I’m sure they thought I was from out of town. How wrong they would have been. I just have a poor sense of direction. I entered the office and an older woman patient was talking to the receptionist. Or rather talking at her. The receptionist’s face gave me all the information I needed to know about the older woman patient speaking at her. I was reminded about how rude I was on the phone a handful of months ago to the same receptionist.

“Cancel all my appointments!” 

I don’t know if I’ll ever shake that guilt. I shudder at the memory. That was really bad behavior on my part. The other woman that works in the office, I assume that she is the office manager or something, smiled and waved at me as I entered. I waved back, and felt relieved that she was friendly to me. I think now, that yes, she probably doesn’t care for me, but she’s really good at her job. Great recognize great.

I sat down in the waiting room. I texted a couple of my girlfriends in the hopes that we could set up a lunch date in person (I know, so 1999) for this Saturday. I put my phone and items to the side and thumbed through the magazine I found on the table to my left. The cover had a headline about an itinerary for Leavenworth. I want to see this itinerary. I want to visit Leavenworth. Not the prison, the Bavarian-styled village in the Cascades. It was 10:43am the next time I looked at my phone. I guess we’re starting late today. No problem. I have an hour to make this appointment and return to work. They said it would be a 10 minute appointment, everything should be fine. I wasn’t expecting everything to be on the dot punctual. 

The hygienist came out and said my name. It was time to go to the back. “Take your first left and go all the way back to the last room on the right” she told me. I focused on which way was left and once I made the first turn, I then counted to three to locate the little exam room. I found the cubby where patients place their items and placed mine inside. I sat in the chair and the hygienist mentioned the dentist was finishing with another patient. He would be there soon. Fair enough, no worries. She told me to hang out and look at my phone. I didn’t want to look at my phone. Everyone is so obsessed with staring at their phones. I asked if I could go rinse out my mouth. She happily told me to go right ahead. I dipped into the patient bathroom to use the mouthwash I had brought with me. Once I returned to the chair the hygienist asked me how I felt after last week’s procedure. I told her that I felt good. I mentioned that I felt I was healing nicely and I had been able to eat solid food yesterday. A dental bib was placed around my neck and I was given some glasses to protect my eyes from the examination lights. The hygienist told me she was going to take a quick look and confirmed that things were looking good inside my healing but still sore mouth. She rinsed out the two holes that once housed numbers 16 and 17. The dentist was still occupied somewhere else with some other patient. I noticed the clock on the computer and it read 11:00am. She told me that it should be a few more minutes and said she would return in a minute or two. I was alone in the chair and wondering how long this was going to last. This is the longest 10 minute appointment that I have waited to begin. I thought I should message my supervisor to let her know I would be delayed. It’s difficult scheduling leave with her because she’s a power hungry 25 year old working her first big girl job. I thought about staying and waiting for the dentist. 

Then it caught my eye. On a yellow sticky note, on the table where the sterile tools are ready for the dentist, was my name spelled incorrectly. That was the final straw. I have been to this same office for nearly a year’s worth of treatments. I am supposedly wrapping up my treatment plan with today’s delayed post op appointment. My name is spelled correctly on my insurance card. Billing statements they send include my correctly spelled name.The credit card I use to pay any remaining amounts has my name spelled correctly. My email address is my first and last name. I don’t think it’s an overreaction to be disappointed when my name is misspelled. It happens all too frequently to me and it pains me. This time I wasn’t mad, but I was weary of it. That yellow sticky note gave me a hard eye roll just as the clock on the wall said 11:15am. The time that I was due to return to my office. I decided that they’ll just have to reschedule this appointment as I am not waiting for some dentist to get his time management skills together today. I took off the bib and placed the protective eyewear on the chair and walked down the hallway. I was going to alert the receptionist, but there was someone else checking out. A different hygienist that is kind and I’ve seen at a few of my previous appointments came up to me, and I told her that I could no longer wait, and she said they’d work to get me in tomorrow. I wasn’t trying to be rude. I used my best customer service manners (patient patience?). I couldn’t continue to wait longer than 35 minutes for Rob the dentist to get his schedule in order to see me for ten. Maybe had I seen my name spelled correctly I would’ve been inclined to wait it out. Generally, I’ll do almost anything to avoid spending time with my baby boss in a tiny office. 

I made it back to the office by 11:35am and baby boss suggested I stay late rather than use minutes of leave to make up for the longer appointment that never took place. I’d rather barf and that’s what I said to her in response. I don’t know now if I’ll even reschedule the post op appointment. I go back in two weeks for my cleaning and then I don’t have to return for a year. The other good thing is that Rob, the time-bending dentist, isn’t my usual dentist. He was simply the one that yanked out 16 and 17. The less time I have to spend with him the better. Perhaps that was his feeling too and the reason for our rendezvous never beginning. How clever.