My grand reception.

Tuesday evening, 7pm, finds me freshly showered, and frowning at my closet. What to wear? What to wear???
I'm not usually the type of person to disturb my equilibrium over such, semi-mundane matters, especially since my body has long since lost its former glory. (Thanks to a fair number of offspring!). But, damn, why didn't I go on that f%^#&$* diet????

Hospital admin was kind enough to arrange a sort-of, informal, get- to- know- the- new- doper, meeting at 8pm. Must say I felt rather chuffed at the idea of meeting all the surgical colleagues at the same time. I could therefore spare myself the agony of going from doctors rooms to doctors rooms, handing out my snazzy little business cards, and feeling like a glorified call girl/ rep/ idiot.

Eventually, I look at my reflection and think, not bad... not bad at all. I don my killer heels, that don't actually show beneath my pants, but make me feel like some exotic chick with hidden powers, kiss my family goodbye, and present myself to my favourite receptionist (yep the very one I mentioned in a previous post) with 5 minutes to spare.

With a confused, yet sympathetic, "they are not here, but perhaps they are late", she continued whatever she was doing. Should of known then that something was up.

I am strictly punctual, but this is an island ... and apparently you can only call yourself a true islander once you have proudly mastered the art of being late... Very late...

Exactly one and a half hours later, my mood something akin to soured cream, I get a call. "Sorry got caught up with something." No kidding. " It's quite late so maybe you should come to my rooms, just outside the main hospital, to the left." Piss off. By now I just want this joke of a meeting over with so I follow the directions, and come up with... wait for it.... nothing.

Back to the receptionist who explains that said rooms are to the left of the hospital, but that Dr Prick forgot to mention that they were about a kilometer down the road!

My mood now resembling curdled cream, I stomp down the road, expecting at least one hell of a stiff drink for this minor inconvenience, and very worried about my heels. Island pavements seem to be as twisted as island doctors.

At last, Dr Prick in the flesh, lounging against the streetlamp, having a smoke and chatting to Dr X.

"You guys are late and where is everyone else?" I ask. "Two minutes please" is the reply. WTF!!!!!

I'm ashamed to say that I actually granted them their precious two minutes. I was so flabbergasted, that even if I had come up with some acid one-liner to shove them back into the creepy hole they had crawled out of, it would have eluded me at that moment.

What happened afterwards is barely of any consequence, suffice to say that my first impression had been well and truly cemented into my brain. These people sucked!! And I had to work with them!!

Well ... I can always still diet.... doubt whether much can improve for them, poor sods...