Dishing out bad treatment

He had made his way to where I was, around the back of the house, daring to travail a garden path he normally shunned when night fell.

He got to me and immediately gave up breath. He had survived well, thanks to a ruinously expensive heart medication prescribed by a local vet who kindly promised to buy back the hard-to-get drug if and when necessary. I contacted him and offered to donate some other remaining prescribed drugs and to sell the clinic the heart drug, as we had agreed. No one I spoke to on the phone at the clinic, including the vet, offered any condolences, which slightly surprised me since the vets are usually very solicitous after treating unwell animals, calling to check after an intervention or prescribing new medication.

I took the drugs to the clinic last weekend. This is the depressing exchange with the perpetually unfriendly receptionist. She is standing behind the counter. Nobody is waiting.

Me: Good morning, my name is Salandy-Brown. I spoke to……..

(I stop mid-sentence as the receptionist who seems not to have seen or heard me leaves to deal with another client sitting on the public side of the short L-shaped counter.

I start again as she returns).

Me: Good morning, my dog, Spot…… (I pause again as she stops, still without acknowledging me, and turns to finger some white cards stacked on the side just along from where I am standing. She suddenly speaks, to nobody in particular).

Receptionist: Did you bring the invoice? (She picks up one of the cards and finally turns towards me without looking up).

Me: Yes, it’s in this bag. There are also some other drugs there, not all very cheap, which I would like to donate to the clinic. (She takes the bag, opens it, closely examines the invoice and the package of other drugs). I could take them away if you don’t want them.

Receptionist: (Finally looking at me, with half a smile). OK.

What they did not tell you is that my accountant is not here today, so you will have to pass back for the cheque.

Me: I did tell the doctor I’d be coming in either yesterday or today.

I wish I’d known. I don’t think I’d be able to come back. Maybe you could send it to me? Receptionist: What do you mean? Me: Could you put it in the post? Receptionist: Put your name and your correct, PROPER address on this piece of paper.

Me: Could you please make a copy of the invoice for me? (I don’t hear her clearly but I gather that it’s not possible).

Me: Could I have a separate piece of paper, to copy the invoice details, as I won’t remember them? (I note the details and return the invoice). Thank you.

Receptionist: (As I turn to go).

Put your contact number here too, so they can let you know when they’ve done it.

Not the most civil encounter, but a frequent Trini one today: The customer is not valued and routinely belittled.

It is how we deal with one another, increasingly.

It is the thin end of the wedge.