![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Every day, I help people in pain. It's the nature of this job that no one is really happy when they come see us. I get a lot of people (especially at the beginning of each year) that like to complain about their insurance, as if I'm the one who picked it or, even worse, the one who's running the show. Sorry to say, I don't make that kind of money. I'm no top dog.
Every year, like clockwork, we have the people who are fine all year long but they have a break down at our pick up window. There is a gentleman who has had the exact same breakdown for the last four years. I feel for him. I really do. But I don't like being the focus of his rage at his insurance and his doctor. I am neither of those entities.
It's one thing to be raged at and quite another to be raged at by a person who goes over to the seating area and puts his head in his hands and may or may not be crying. The first year, I felt bad. This year, I just sort of felt numb. It puts my own long day into perspective, though.
Said man came back the next day, as he always does, and apologized. I accepted the apology with a bright smile on my face and some idle chit chat about what he's going to do about getting the wrongs righted at the doctor's office (life is not kind enough for the insurance to ever budge). Now, also like clockwork, the man figures that we're standing behind the counter to chat with him. This only lasts a few months and I really do think it's just his way of making sure we know that he's not mad AT us. Just NEARBY us. I don't do idle chitchat so today, to get out of it, I pretended I was VERY INTENT on my paperwork (end of year insurance audits are STILL NOT DONE but I'm only a good day's work from handing them in so that's good!) and also on the song playing over Musak. It was Sara Bareilles so I mouthed along to the words and danced in my seat until he was gone. And then, it was just so much fun that I just kept doing it.
I don't know why I told you this story. It's just been on my mind the last few days. I'm not good at being compassionate and this job is slowly eroding away the little compassion I'm able to feel. Mostly, I just feel tired when I'm at work. I don't bring home any of the most outstanding of the stress so that's good. And I don't wish to be more compassionate. It must be horrible to feel something for everyone with any sort of complaint. This job would kill someone like that.
Every year, like clockwork, we have the people who are fine all year long but they have a break down at our pick up window. There is a gentleman who has had the exact same breakdown for the last four years. I feel for him. I really do. But I don't like being the focus of his rage at his insurance and his doctor. I am neither of those entities.
It's one thing to be raged at and quite another to be raged at by a person who goes over to the seating area and puts his head in his hands and may or may not be crying. The first year, I felt bad. This year, I just sort of felt numb. It puts my own long day into perspective, though.
Said man came back the next day, as he always does, and apologized. I accepted the apology with a bright smile on my face and some idle chit chat about what he's going to do about getting the wrongs righted at the doctor's office (life is not kind enough for the insurance to ever budge). Now, also like clockwork, the man figures that we're standing behind the counter to chat with him. This only lasts a few months and I really do think it's just his way of making sure we know that he's not mad AT us. Just NEARBY us. I don't do idle chitchat so today, to get out of it, I pretended I was VERY INTENT on my paperwork (end of year insurance audits are STILL NOT DONE but I'm only a good day's work from handing them in so that's good!) and also on the song playing over Musak. It was Sara Bareilles so I mouthed along to the words and danced in my seat until he was gone. And then, it was just so much fun that I just kept doing it.
I don't know why I told you this story. It's just been on my mind the last few days. I'm not good at being compassionate and this job is slowly eroding away the little compassion I'm able to feel. Mostly, I just feel tired when I'm at work. I don't bring home any of the most outstanding of the stress so that's good. And I don't wish to be more compassionate. It must be horrible to feel something for everyone with any sort of complaint. This job would kill someone like that.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-01-08 07:57 pm (UTC)From:*hugs* I'm glad you're able to put some distance between you an others. You are not responsible for insurance company evil and you are not paid to be a therapist.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-08 08:48 pm (UTC)From:I've been getting ideas for another chapter of the pharmacy story and it makes me laugh to think what Natasha would do in those situations.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-08 10:35 pm (UTC)From: