So, there's this message on my answering machine...

yesterday, telling me that the office manager, Ovis Ovis, for the surgical center will be happy to find another transcriptionist if I can't finish the work.

Huh? I go into a panicked frenzy and start making calls. Of course, the center's closed, but Ovis Ovis' cell phone is online...when he wants to answer it. Apparently, he doesn't want to deal with me after eight years of service. Wimp.

I talked to the surgical center this morning. The conversation went something like this:

"Hi, Heifer. It’s Kiran. Help! Please, what’s going on?"

"What's going on? I think it’s pretty black and white. You’re making Doc S sign all his H&Ps at the same time, and he’s sick of it."

I’m looking at the e-mails I’ve sent the last two weeks. Ten days, 9 e-mails (I forgot to send Tuesday night. It was done, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. I haven’t accidentally not sent anything in months). I tell her this. I tell her that I’m not sure what the problem is. The works obviously getting there. Is it not being printed out?

"No, it’s NOT being printed. You don’t get it here in time."

"Wait, wait, wait, whoa. What time do you need it?"

"Barb prints stuff out at 7 and takes it to the back. If it’s not there, she’s stuck. It’s been this way ever since I started in October."

Flashing lights, ding ding ding. "Is Barb a nurse?"

"Well, yeah."

"I have been typing for B.C. for 8 years. This is the first time I’ve had a deadline. When did this start?"

"October."

I’m thinking, when Annette went to Dr. S’s office instead of the surgical center.

"That’s the problem then."

"No, we’re sick of your excuses."

"How was I supposed to know there was a deadline if I’d never had one before and you let it go on for 2½ months before I figured this out and there’s a hostile message on my machine from you that Ovis Ovis would be happy to find someone else if I can’t keep up?"

"Now, here you go with your excuses. You know, you just sucked up all kinds of time..."

"Oh, you mean the Monday that I had the house fire, breathed in smoke for two hours, and managed to type everything for that night, because I see the e-mail here for it, only made it halfway through Tuesday night’s stuff before I felt too awful to continue, and already knew that all the H&Ps were done for the following Monday, so if I couldn’t breathe, it was okay to slack off a bit because it was Thanksgiving?"

She's got nothing to say at this point. "Just talk to Ovis Ovis. He said it’s unacceptable. We use those documents for billing."

"It’s not a problem getting them to you by 7. If that’s the problem, fine. I’ll always type B.C. first instead of juggling my order around. That’s it. That’s the problem. It’s fixed."

I left a message for Ovis Ovis, but he never called me back. So I called Annette, who now works for Dr. S, the doc who's supposed to be really, really ticked at me.

I’ve known her for five years. She was the main secretary at the surgical center. We exchanged the pleasantries and she asked how I was. I started to bawl. I told her everyone at B.C. is mad at me.

"What for?"

I told her. I asked if she’d heard anything about it. After all, she works *in* Dr. S’s office.
She hadn’t. I asked her if my work schedule had ever made a problem before for her. Of course it hadn’t. She was an office worker and didn’t have to watch patients, like a nurse would. She can’t believe no one told me that Barb was a nurse. I’ve communicated with Barb through multiple e-mails. I checked the caller ID histories. There have been two calls from related entities, but no messages. Unless there’s a message light flashing on my cell or my phone, I don’t check for them. That’s what the indicators are for, right?

So for 2½ months, they’ve been stewing about something that’s never been a problem before, the only problem now is they’re not getting their work back like they should. I’d be irritated too, but hell, let me know what the problem is before letting it go on for so long and then leave a heart-stopping message on my machine! My husband and I agreed - I don’t work for heartache. I can pick up more work with a different company and I’ve had several I.C. offers since I quit being my own boss, but I can go back, but I just don’t want to. I don’t like living on the phone for something that’s always been sent. If they give me any grief, I’ll ask if someone can come pick up the C-phone, because I don't have a car during the day. It’s easy money, but this is just more than I can stand.

Eight years...never problems...geez, benefit of the doubt, anyone?