43. I Want What I’m Entitled To and I’m Entitled To What I Want
When I got to work the next day, a well-dressed woman in her thirties was using my office phone. I guessed she was a VIP touring the facility. I waved at the door, and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Ten minutes later, I walked back to my office. She was still there. I stood patiently at the door.
“Excuse me a minute,” she said into the phone. “Private conversation,” she said to me, shutting my door. I took a deep breath and made another trip down the hall to see who she might be.
Her name was Tara and this was her first day in treatment. Had I been asked, I would have happily given her my office for ten minutes or so, longer in an emergency.
“How rude!” she said when I asked her politely to wrap up her conversation. “Call you back.”
Tara wanted to know my name, my supervisor’s name, and just who I thought I was. Given what she paid for treatment, we owed her a little privacy, among other things. As nicely as I could, I told her what treatment included. I pointed out the Patient Bill of Rights was posted in the break room. It outlined all she was entitled to. She stormed off to find Miss Rella.
“She was talking to her boyfriend,” Mick said from behind me. She must have been hanging out at the door to the group room, a few feet from my door. “She thinks she’s entitled to everything she wants.”
“You have to stop eavesdropping,’ I said to Mick, stifling the urge to ask her about their conversation.
Today I will not confuse what I want with what I’m entitled to.
Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)