How wholesome TV gave me my permanant rose colored glasses

There is an awful lot of television lately, and I might add, a LOT of AWFUL television. As I watch promo’s for shows I don’t watch, new shows I will never watch and current shows I sometimes secretly watch, I have been reflecting on the decades past of TV. The change of television in MY lifetime has been astronomical. But what I have learned is that the television viewing habits of my youth made me who I am today. And, by the way, that’s not necessarily a good thing, just—in my opinion—better  than what current TV appears to be doing to the general populace.

I grew up watching television that was happy, family oriented and most of all, astonishingly unreal. I loved every moment of its fantastical and near mythical stories, wrapped neatly in packages to make you think that you were watching “reality”. My brain and heart live in this place where every story has a happy ending. There is no stress, drama, disaster, crime or illness that cannot be resolved in 30 minutes or at most 60. In any case, there was always the unwritten promise of happy smiling faces while the credits rolled. Sadly, I have been living a life expecting to be in this parallel universe of 1970’s and 80’s TV.

As I searched my brain for the corresponding television shows that led to whatever flaws, neurosis, idealism and downright disconnection with reality I had, I enjoyed a Pleasantville type skip down memory lane. The shows during the time I grew up are categorized—probably by no one but myself—but categorized none-the-less. These were simpler TV times. Not necessarily simpler times—just that TV portrayed it as such, and therefore leading impressionable young girls like me into a future of idealism muddled with naiveté.

You had your family shows, with traditional families intact, and honestly of the ones I watched, traditional is the last thing I would call them. The Brady Bunch blended two families together, (both having deceased spouses—you will see a COMMON theme in the dead spouse throughout. And, of course there was Eight is Enough. The mom in the first season of that show passed in real life, so they quickly married dad off in season 2 to someone else. (This however, might be closer to real life than I originally thought.) And for a family without children, there would be Green Acres. As a child I believe I liked the farm idea, perhaps because I grew up in the burbs, but still kind of fantasized about the “penthouse view”. As an adult… well I believe I actually aspire to it.  Dah-ling I love you but give me Park Avenue. 😉

I preferred the slightly different take on family life–the shows that all had someone to help out–The nanny, the Gentleman’s Gentleman, the aunt, the uncle, the brother-in-law. Yes, these were the families where the mom was mysteriously DEAD before the show began, thus leaving dear old dad to not quite fend for himself. Now this was awesome reality TV! In no particular order there would be, My Three Son’s, (also the beginning of my infatuation with Converse Chucks), who had Uncle Charlie helping raise the little monsters. You had Family Affair, with a man who gets custody of  3 orphaned kids when his brother and sis in law are killed in an accident—and luckily has Mr. French to pick up the slack—I really wanted a Mr. French. Aah, The Courtship of Eddie’s Father. People let me tell you ’bout my best friend… This was a fabulous tale of a widower, with a young son that constantly plays wing boy to get his father a new wife, not that he wanted a new mom, he just wanted his dad to be happy. Thanks to Mrs. Livingston, the very proper Asian help, theirs was quite a beautiful and idealistic life, sans a mom and all. Then there was the uber rich Dad with the country club daughter on Different Strokes who takes in 2 African-American boys and has the help of Mrs. Garret, of course—who you know went on to have her own show, The Facts of Life. Somehow this was less real than the others to me. I had not known many stuffy Park Avenue types at the time. Now THEY scared me. Perhaps most memorable to my younger friends, was Full House. I mean where on earth would those kids be without best bud Joey and Uncle Jesse? And who didn’t want John Stamos in the house, then OR now?

partridge family

This brings me to the single mom portion of my skewed look on life from TV. Well, this was some brave new territory. Of course everyone had a dead spouse—running theme, remember? The Partridge Family: where a single mom with 5 kids and an AGENT can live in a big house, drive a gas guzzling bus, do maybe one gig a month, and live happily ever after. Yes, that sounds feasible. There was One Day at a Time, where mom seems to just have a plumber as her BFF. To this day, I am not sure what to think of that show. The tiny little mom on that show was abrasive and well, irritating, but I imagine the premise revolved around that “strong” woman, I thankfully, related to Valerie Bertinelli’s character, Barbara, since she was closer to  my age. In retrospect, probably the better choice.  Going a little farther back in time would be The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. A widow—shocker—rents a house in a fishing village in Maine, with her 2 kids, housekeeper and DOG! And I didn’t even mention the most realistic part of this particular show was the slightly creepy ghost who lived in the attic with a telescope.

Considering the time, there were also the strong and impressive single woman. I was young, but impressed by the guts of That Girl. She moved away from upstate New York, to be an actress in New York City. She somehow made a go of it with sporadic temp jobs and a boyfriend who was a journalist for a magazine. Again, the underlying and astonishingly unrealistic premise was fabulous. Sure, I thought, this could be me. It’s not as if she lived in a shoebox apartment in Manhattan living on Ramen noodles. She was living the dream, and I was buying it. On TV all can be perfection and no explanation is necessary. But it gets BETTER. The Mary Tyler Moore Show may have featured the premier woman of a generation. As far as I am concerned, ANY generation. 30-year-old woman, never married moves to Minneapolis and applies for a secretarial job—which is taken—only to mary tyler mooreget the very similar job of associate producer of the 6 O’Clock news! I mean, you honestly can’t hit any closer to home when it comes to reality. YES, I believed all of this! That is exactly my point. And while I am on the subject of shows with strong and single women that had me bamboozled, I did love The Flying Nun. I am not sure if this is the proper category for Sister Betrille, but it was a great show… and let’s be real, she was single. (I also scoured streets looking for a nun with a hat—cornette–like that FOR YEARS, hoping to catch one on a windy day.)

Perhaps one of my favorite self-made categories would be the RIDICULOUS. This might also be where my life went terribly astray. I have an affinity for the absurd. The more absurd the better. Wonder Woman. What can I say? There is still nothing today that I wouldn’t give for her golden lasso. Not to mention the fact that she was strong and beautiful and well, amazing. Before the decades of everyone needing to be blonde, there was Lynda Carter, a kick-ass brunette, who will always hold a special place in my heart. There was something about the kick-ass woman I really admired. Charlie’s Angels was perhaps the paramount bad ass, brilliant, beautiful woman show on TV–that made me want to be a private investigator–you’ll notice I wanted to be lots of things as a kid.  But you have to admit with Charlie’s Angels, who didn’t want a boss you literally NEVER had to see. I mean, awesome, right? And The Bionic Woman. That  EAR of hers! As an  amateur eavesdropper, one  can only imagine how much I loved that show. While on the subject, eavesdropping  inevitably led to wanting to be a spy. Get Smart had that covered. Before Wayne Gretzky, the REAL 99 was a kick-ass woman who was a spy with ‘knockout’ lipstick, but honestly, that was the 60’s–yet still so realistic, even in syndication!

While on the absurd, I really did love the 6 Million Dollar Man—totally realistic, and I still don’t understand how he got all fixed up and I still have a screwed up back, but I digress. There was Knight Rider—talking, self-driving car! Mark that down as next year’s birthday gift. Thanks. But there is so much more. I am starting to wonder when I had time to do school work, be a cheerleader and manage to go outside and play. But I did, and I turned out perfectly……… Where was I?

You had your so-called police shows, Starsky and Hutch, CHiPs, Hawaii 5-0–which is still one of my favorite theme songs.  And, in retrospect, perhaps where my misconception that all Cops were the moral compass of a community… whoa! There were medical drama’s that I loved, Emergency and then later, St. Elsewhere. You have to admit the epitome of my lack of reality wound up in St. Elsewhere taking place in a snow globe.  Yeah, and I’m delusional?  There were the shows that everyone watched like Happy Days, and Welcbewitchedome back Kotter, COVER DATE 2/5/66Laverne and Shirley—I won’t tell you what I related to in that—suffice it to say, in Thailand–I heard–they prefaced the show with “The title characters in the following program are actually escapees from an insane asylum….”. But getting back to MY issues, would be my infatuation—to this day—with I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched. I loved that Bottle of Jeannie’s and still want one, velvet sofa and all, and quite frankly, I have Samantha’s twitching nose sound as a message tone on my phone. Yes, absurd was the word. I didn’t want REALITY TV. I live in reality, I wanted pure unadulterated fantasy. Or, in my head, possibilities. There are darker more sinister versions of the paranormal on TV today, but it’s just not warm and fuzzy. Not at all warm and fuzzy like Major Tony Nelson or either of the Darren’s.

There were entire genres of shows that are gone. The musical variety show. There was always music in my house, ALWAYS!  There was Sonny and Cher, or the big favorite in my house, The Carol Burnett Show. For that matter, The Muppet Show. This was as “grown up” as I ever wanted to get. There were so many famous people on there, and it spawned some of my favorite characters, Swedish Chef, Beaker, Gonzo—who may explain my magnet type adherence to all people strange and “off”, and of course, the first drummer I ever loved, Animal.

I would be remiss and quite possibly disowned by friends if I did not mention a staple in my history. One so strong that it is celebrated every November 13th–Felix Unger was asked to remove himself from his place of residence. That request came from his wife. The Odd Couple. Plain and simply a show that was truly amazing. And the first time I recall not killing off a spouse, but merely divorcing them. Hmmm, reality was sneaking into my life.  But it was FUNNY and how else would I know what it means when you “assume”? There was The Bob Newhart Show with him as a psychologist–that I don’t recall having anything to do with Dr. Drew–in the 70’s. You had WKRP in Cincinnati in the 80’s, which totally glamorized radio stations—which really were not that glamorous.

Then there was the beginning of reality type game shows, with The Dating Game. Such innocence and badly placed double entendres. Gratifying stuff. There was Gilligan’s Island, a little off the reality scale to me unless YOU travel with a trunk of dresses on the Circle Line in New York–the OTHER 3 hour tour. There was BJ and the Bear that had me LITERALLY wanting to be a truck driver because I thought I could get a monkey too. There was SO much good-natured purely entertaining television. Don’t get me wrong, I love a great deal of more modern television that is smart and thought-provoking, like The West Wing was and The Newsroom IS,  but one must admit it is different. So different that the space between children’s TV and “TVMA” has become an expansive void.love boat

But I will leave you with one of my guilty pleasures. I have to say I was a really big fan of The Love Boatsoon will be making another run. The Love Boat, promises something for everyone—finally truth in advertising. Best cruise crew EVER. I wanted to be JULIE more than anything. Looked like all she did was… well…nothing… I loved that job. I wish every bartender I ever had was Isaac. I wish everyone named Gopher became a member of the U.S House of Representatives. No, I am not making that up. But mostly, I loved that every twisted person who came on that cruise for whatever reason, walked off that boat HAPPY.

And my friends, my life through television should give you all a glimpse into my addled brain, unwavering faith in pure fantasy, and my strange affinity to my High School Graduation Song.

Don Quixote said it best.

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause.

Yes, that about sums it up.

Xoxo DDJ

A suburban New York girls guide to nature and the great outdoors

BK PA Bear

I love the outdoors, in that I love fresh air.  I love the indoors in that I love indoor plumbing and a big comfy bed.  So it might not come as a huge surprise that my idea of “camping” involves both of the aforementioned. Planning is paramount if you’re a suburban girl like me who has that twinge of wanting to experience nature first hand, and it NOT being at the Bronx Zoo.  First, and possibly foremost, when choosing your locale, you will want to be acutely aware of the proximity of said nature to a fine resort, preferably—no definitely—with a spa and a pool—maybe even a gym if you are one of THOSE people.

BK PA Pool LONG

Research will involve making sure that your nature excursion isn’t so far from your fabulously fluffy bed, duly appointed robe and slippers, along with a fine dining restaurant for the end of your exhausting oneness with nature.  My choice required the following criteria: distance from home, spa amenities, restaurant menus and… of course, proximity to the nature I have been craving. A mere 2 ½ hours from my personal insanity is Bushkill Falls in Pennsylvania. This first decision had me on my way to a brave new world.  This suburban chick was going out to find NATURE!

 BK PA spa                               BK PA drinks and snacks

Nature and resort being established there is more planning to be had, at least for me there was. I needed to move on to attire.  Don’t laugh, this is important stuff! Be sure to bring the appropriate clothing for your hikes and nature jaunts.  (I had to laugh when I saw people trying to navigate the rocky, wooded trails along streams and waterfalls in FLIP FLOP’s). So, being as how this typical New York suburban girl doesn’t have these items, a little shopping was necessary.  By the way a great trick when you purchase your awesome new designer hiking shoes is to scuff the bottoms for that OH SO AUTHENTIC LOOK.   Make sure you bring a bathing suit, as your fabulous resort has a pool or 2.  As I was in Pennsylvania, dressing up was not necessary.  In fact, you would look pretty silly.  I still managed to rock some kick ass casual.

BK PA me

You are almost ready to step outside the confines of your amazing resort. It sounds silly even now as I write this… Why ON EARTH would I leave these fabulous amenities?  BECAUSE, dammit… you came to see nature…. And you darned well are going to–Just as soon as you douse yourself in whatever carcinogen swears to ward off mosquitos, ticks, creepy crawly things, flying God knows what AND bears.  Ok… Turns out OFF doesn’t ward off bears.  However, I have on relatively good authority… ok some guy in a bar at the resort, but still… put your arms out straight to your sides, and somehow, without really moving, make sure mama bears babies are not behind you.  If they are, and Mama bear can not see her cubs, you are screwed and I hope you have a will.  I, being a seasoned NYer, travel with pepper spray, enough snacks to keep a family of bears busy and the ability to talk to the animals. Or, so it would seem, as they don’t seem to run away as quickly when I start talking as most people do.  In any case, my last resort would be the bad attitude I was born and raised with as a lifelong New Yorker.  Surely that has to work for something with the bears.   OK, Bears check.  Now, there are well… People.  I am not nearly as confident in dealing with them.  I’d go back to the pepper spray if need be.

I was ready to go.  Backpack filled with the appropriate bug repellent, water, Band-Aids—ya never know—and trail mix, since I never used TRAIL MIX  for its appropriate use before.  It all seemed to be going swimmingly until I made the mistake of hiking mid-day on my first foray into the “woods”.  I would have preferred bears.  People are not my cup of tea.  The signs are quite explicit.  “Hikers only”, “very long walk, rocky terrain”, “I’d turn back if I were you.”   I mean really!  The weather was 90 degrees, there are people dressed in jeans, flip flops, some people from India I am guessing, by their Saris that dragged on the ground behind them.  Oh, and of course the Einstein’s who thought flip flops on the most difficult trail would be wise, which worked out great as 2 of them sprained ankles. I should have told her that someone died just 2 years ago after slipping and falling 150 feet to their death, but I was feeling magnanimous for a change. This Zen thing was working its magic.

BK PA other signBK PA sign 2 small

 For the next day I went VERY early in the morning.  WOW, what a difference.  I barely—or is it bearly—saw any people on this excursion.  A couple of people walking dogs on one of the trails, and best of all REAL nature.  Deer with their little white tails whipping around as they put their little deer lips down to the cool clear water….  Oh wait, that doesn’t end well.  For me, however, it was breathtaking.  The early morning sun through the enormous trees, the way the sun glistened on the falls, and streams almost blinded me while it had me stopped in my tracks in awe.  Now I know, for a great deal of you this is old hat.  “Sure, yeah, whatever…. See that all the time.”  But for this suburban chick, I felt as though I was the first person on the moon.  And a feeling of serenity I had not known since my massage.  No, this was a different sensation altogether.  I literally didn’t want it to end.  Covered in sweat and drenched clear through my awesome outfit, I didn’t care.  THIS was amazing!

BK PA falls

BK PA beauty

BK PA TreesBK PA Rocks

My “Dora the Explorer” adventures didn’t stop there.  What good is heading out into what may or may not be the sequel to Deliverance, if you don’t take a few chances? So, even though I was on my own, I found a few “authentic” middle of nowhere establishments for the drinks and snacks that are obligatory.  I have to say, the food was great—for not being in NY—and the people were as friendly as can be.  I made friends wherever I sat my happy butt on a stool.  Again, serenity ensued.  I had crawled outside the box of my apprehension of doing things on my own, and had CONQUERED it—BIG TIME.

When not playing explorer I took full advantage of my resort.  The amazing staff befriended me immediately.  Turns out people like me.  The people there could not have been kinder or more helpful. They made me feel like family from the get-go.  I have to thank my best friend, whose generous gift allowed me to take advantage of the spectacular spa. It was amazing; massage, facial, manicure.  Now tell me what campground has that kind of service?  And a special thanks to a woman named Patty, who was able to hone in on my insatiable appetite. She made suggestion after suggestion and did not steer me wrong even once.  Every morsel of food I had at the resort was fantastic. I could go on and on about my Zen trip into the deep dark woods of a park in Pennsylvania, and the thoroughly relaxing nearby resort, but that would be silly.  I think my gushing about it has been sufficient.

Suffice it to say, this suburban chick has seen the beauty and serenity that lies 2 ½ hours from home and LOVES it. I found I am whole without needing someone to tag along with me.  There is NO stigma in actually WANTING to get away alone. I wanted this, I got it, and it was perfect.  I learned that the serenity lies within me—it’s just often interrupted by reality.

One last note about my literal and spiritual exploration, as I would be remiss to not mention the new friends I made at Bushkill Falls Inn:  Jen O., Patty, Crystal, and my tiny Bulgarian friend Donka who made me feel like family.  I hope when Donka returns to Bulgaria she takes with her the knowledge that she made my birthday vacation amazing.

I learned on my 49th birthday that I can do anything.  This was just the beginning.  🙂

DDJ

Bushkill Falls Inn, PA

Update 2014: Facebook for all of its good or bad has allowed me to maintain a friendships with some of my PA girls. And for that I am quite grateful.  I WILL BE BACK… And you can all warn ROGER.  😉

If I speak “POLITICALese”, am I bilingual?

george-orwell-political-language

There are few things more noticeable to me than when you hear a politician who sounds like he’s at a backyard barbecue. It is noticeable because it so rarely happens. Politicians speak something I call Politicalese. Yes, I made that word up. But how else does one define the differences in the language and how it is presented? In my personal revised edition of My Fair Lady…. it would be something like, Why can’t Politician be more like a Person. 😉

In news of average Joe behavior being frowned upon in politics, one can look to Tajikistan. They blocked yet another YouTube video. The third this year, but who’s counting? This one involved their President as he allegedly sang and slurred his way through a song at his son’s 2007 wedding. Now, personally, I would find myself feeling a bit closer to a person whom I thought acts just like any drunken relative we all have. But, NO. Then again, their country is a little different from ours.

So, what about our country? There is currently a campaign in Massachusetts for the Senate seat left open when John Kerry became Secretary of State. A man by the name of Gabriel Gomez—a former Navy Seal—is running against Democratic challenger Ed Markey. Ed Markey, in case you don’t know, has been in some form of office since 1973 when he was elected to the Massachusetts House of Representatives. Needless to say, at 40 years, one might call him a career politician.

One the flip side of this election is Republican candidate, Mr. Gomez. He is a 47 year old former Navy Seal with an MBA from Harvard Business School. (This is not so much about HIM for office as it is about the man—as he grew up the son of Colombian immigrants, speaking Spanish before learning English and went on to be a successful private equity investor.)

On paper he is living the American dream and has—evidently—yet to learn Politicalese. So henceforth, I will call Mr. Gomez, the “Everyman”.

Everyman got into a little—let’s just call it a rookie mistake—trouble with something he said. Evidently, calling your challenger “pond scum” is frowned upon. The barbs back and forth came from an ad campaign. Evidently, Markey had a video in a commercial ad that highlighted the fact that Gomez was a spokesman for a conservative super PAC that criticized Obama’s handling of information about the death of Osama bin Laden. And, Everyman responded to a reporter, “You know I’ve got four young kids, and they’ve got to sit there and they’ve got to see an ad with their dad, who’s a SEAL, who served honorably,” he went on, “And for him to be as dirty and low, pond scum, to put me up there next to bin Laden, he’s just got to be called what he is.”

OK! Pond Scum. Hey, that’s bad? I think it’s a breath of fresh air… well figuratively, of course. But he speaks in a way—with words I understand—and naysayers are making this a big deal? Please. I want to understand the person who supposedly represents me. I do not want to feel as if every sentence is so calculated and needs some sort of approval from the Politicalese Police that by the time it comes out of someone’s mouth I am scratching my head. We should all try to remember all of those political appointee’s caught on any given open mic night, saying things FAR WORSE.

I want my government to represent ME.

Ok… I was dreaming for a moment. But good luck to all the Everyman’s out there who dare to try to change the world for us and speak a language that, at the very least, I understand and appreciate. 🙂

DDJ

Technology purging in modern times… good luck

social-media-crisis

We live in an amazing time. The ever evolving advancement of technology has made dating, and even marrying, something that can begin with a click of a mouse or a tap on a smartphone.  People have multiple emails, as well as a plethora of social media that only begins with Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.  We have cell phones, work phones, and some of us still have land line home phones. All of these make building relationships a snap.  They also make contact, nearly instantaneous.  We have the ability to tell our stories via 140 characters or less, to lengthy blogs while telling our deepest, darkest secrets to the world—or your 1000 or so closest friends. Heck, I have “words with friends” friends! We have pictures of our blissful relationships we cultivated online, as well as pictures of friends, family, pets, vacations, and my personal favorite… drinks and snacks. Everything neatly tagged so that the world can follow your every move.  Awesome.

But what happens when there is someone attached to you by all of the aforementioned and you want to well… let’s just say… excommunicate them from your life?  It used to be—depending on how far back we go—you could change a single number.   At worst, not answer, hang up and hope they don’t call back, rip up the hand written letter before opening it, throw an answering machine tape in the garbage, or simply MOVE. 😉

Things have changed.  There is a domino effect of—let’s just say—breaking up with a boyfriend or girlfriend, and it has a domino missing.  Now you are stuck. And boy oh boy, you have a lot of work to do in order to rid yourself of this unwanted appendage.  As seemingly simple as it is to bring people into your life, it is astronomically more difficult to rid yourself of them.

The daunting and exhaustive process involved was brought up to me recently by a friend, and I have to say, I am not envious.  Happy I don’t have too many social media ACTUAL friends, and pretty sure if I vanished from someone’s “timeline”, I would not necessarily be missed.  We seem to be ‘shackled’ to people we know, barely know and wish we didn’t know in  ways that Houdini would have trouble getting out of.  I am curious how people handle this new era breakup.   I am pretty much a lone wolf.  There is something to be said for that in these ‘technology on steroid’ times.

Just a little something to think about as you share your fabulous life with the world…  🙂

This prescription may cause…

waiting-lol1

I am going to go out on a limb here and say that a great many of you have a doctor whom you like, but your doctor has a staff you would like to strangle.  I know a little bit about this subject. I’ve managed a cardiology practice for well over 20 years.  Speaking only from personal experience, I am going to give a few tips to ingratiate yourself to the staff, make you their “favorite” patient, and in turn have the doctor put you to the top of his or her triage list of phone calls he or she doesn’t want to make.

Upon visiting a doctor for the first time, or ANY time, have with you something we in the business like to call an “insurance card”.  It would be equally helpful if you actually KNEW who your carrier is and—I don’t want to get crazy here—but what your copay is. Also, don’t put your hand out with 3 cards because you get a new one each year and never get rid of the old one… and then expect the already miffed staff to “figure it out”.  Some form of Identification would be welcome as well. I am sure this sounds insurmountable, but trust me, it isn’t.

Questions NO one who works with doctors wants to hear:

“Is the doctor here yet?”

“Is he running on time?”

“How long will I be?

“I know I don’t have an appointment, but I was in the neighborhood. Think I can be seen?”

In a crowded doctor’s office, I find it best to befriend the front desk people.  An example of a reasonable question would be, “how many patients are ahead of me?”  And NEVER even try that last one–EVER.  Though my office has a plethora of amazing magazines, none greater than 3 months old, presume yours does not.  Bring something to occupy your time that is SILENT.  There is the possibility, however incredibly LIKELY, that you will be there for a while.  😉

If possible, so as to not be a block away when you think of another question, write them down and bring them with you.  NOT a hundred of them on index cards, but the pertinent and important ones.  I dare say a little common sense will be required here.  Also, it is probably best to NOT start a sentence with “I read on line….”  Even if you did, the doctors I know aren’t very fond of the self treating patient who knows better.

When calling your now befriended office staff, keep up the good work.  Leave a clear and concise message, a phone number where you can actually be reached, and… this is key… if you do not hear back from your beloved physician in a reasonable amount of time, it is perfectly fine to call back. (Do NOT wait 3 weeks and call back angry and ready to rip heads off. I am afraid that tactic is counterproductive.) There is hardly the need to be nasty about it to the staff.  A simple, I have not heard back yet, preferably with an upbeat tone and minus the demonizing of the staff.  It’s not as if the doctor tried to call and had his hands lopped off by their underpaid staff. (That is just a guess.)

Notice the signs.  Not the signs from the heavens above, but the actual, physical signs that say things like, no cell phones, no eating, if you have any demographic changes, please tell the receptionist, copay expected at time of visit, please have identification.  Crazy, insane things like that.   Trust me, there ARE signs.  And much like those from heaven above, they are mostly ignored.

When dealing with the front office staff, remember that they are the first line of defense. They whisper their opinions to the physician that you are about to see. It would be in your best interest to befriend them from the get-go.  As things stand now, even as computerized as we have become, you will encounter humans.  The human element in any situation is going to make some determining factors.  Again, since I speak only from PERSONAL experience, I can say with very little doubt that all will go much more smoothly when there is a calm and friendly relationship with the STAFF.  It trickles UP to the physician and then across to the patient.

Office protocols differ from office to office, and that lag time in a cold lonely room can be exasperating.  I personally have wandered out in my gown to see if the lights were on or had everyone just left me there.  Still there is a more or LESS obnoxious way to handle that scenario.  Mostly, I realize that I have not been forgotten, I have been waylaid while the doctor is off seeing someone else or on a call with a physician… or something completely irrelevant to your care completely.  (Not an excuse, but an explanation—also not how I run my office.) If need be, peek out and NICELY make sure they haven’t forgotten you as they chatter amongst themselves doing absolutely nothing. Barking like a rabid dog will again, not make a good impression.  Remember, you aren’t wearing clothes.

In any case, my philosophy is go there expecting the worst and hoping for the best in both your time spent, and even your prognosis. I suppose my point is, you are likely to get the grand and royal treatment if you start off on the right foot and not bite the hand that can leave you in a freezing room, naked for a really long time, and drop you to the bottom of the call back list somewhere after your doctor’s malpractice insurance agent.  🙂

DDJ