Fighting for the Fairytale

Nora

Being by myself, depending on the day, can be a good thing or a bad thing. 

This morning was bad. 

Two of the three dental hygienists were late coming into work—a wicked car accident concerning a tipped over semi-truck and a minivan had traffic at a standstill for over an hour and a half. 

A flustered mother and her triplets arrived over an hour late for their six-month cleaning, putting Dr. Steve even further behind than he was already.

Mind you, Forest Valley is a suburb town with relatively close highway access, so not everyone lives in town. 

Unfortunately, highway travel anywhere near Minnesota's Twin Cities can be brutal, even in perfect weather conditions.

That's why one should plan ahead!!!! I wanted to scream at every patient that gave me attitude because they were late.

Between checking-in patients, answering phone calls, scheduling, and grabbing files, my morning was a hectic mess of epic proportions. It was like a couple days from work had made me forget how to do my job. 

I forgot to alert Janelle when the 8:30 patient had arrived, so the angry male patient—who hadn't stopped scowling at me—wasn't brought back until after Dr. Steve's 9am patient. 

I had yet to pull all of Dr. Steve's afternoon patient files for him, although he would probably be working through his lunch to catch up.

The waiting area was a mess from the crazy triplets that had ravaged the kids table and left crayons littering the table and floor. There were fingerprints on the fish tank (thank goodness Dr. Carmen wasn't in today) and magazines scattered amongst the couches and chairs (did nobody have the decency to put the magazine back where they had found it?)

On top of that, my tea had gone cold, and I was not about to finish cold tea that was meant to be warm.

I tried my best, however, to remain polite and courteous with patients I was scheduling on the phone while noting the patients who were checking in for their in-person visits. 

When the part-time receptionist, Celeste, breezed through the door with an orange headband containing her big white blonde waves during a brief patient reprieve I was ready to cry with relief. 

The 50-something receptionist— she would never tell me her actual age and gave a ridiculous answer any time she was asked— was outrageous in her hair and dress style but very good at her job. So full of energy and life, she was the type of person who could find something in common with every person she met.

I came from the file room with the last of Dr. Steve's afternoon patients just as she called my name and pulled me into her arms. 

She smelled of hair spray and a lot of it. 

I held back a cough as she squeezed me. "It's so good to see you! How is my beautiful August bride? Has this humidity gotten to your hair too? It's made mine so frizzy!"

I could not hold back my smile at Celeste's effervescence. Her youthful excitement and love for anything related to cosmetics and designer shoes made her highly entertaining to work with. Even if I didn't know what she was talking about half the time.

Not to say that Celeste was a stereotypical bottle blonde though. Her hair color might have come from a can, but she was highly intelligent and a hard worker. She just happened to enjoy online shopping in her free time.

"Hi Celeste. It's good to see you too. Listen, this day has been crazy, do you think you could—"

"Wipe those grimy little fingers off the fish tank?" She wiggled her pink-polished fingernails at me for emphasis. "Organize the magazines? I would love to!, darling" She dropped her bag behind the desk and smoothed her crinkled black silk skirt.