So, since that first counsellor never called me back, my husband’s benefits people set me up with another counsellor, who called me a couple of weeks ago to set up an appointment. She said she was going on vacation, but could see me when she got back, on the fourth. So I made an appointment for eleven o clock.
That was this morning.
After leaving in a rush from work (having taken the blood of five released dogs to help the genetics testing people find the gene causing one of our inherited health problems) I managed to find the place, circle around the block to go BACK to it after I passed it, and pay for parking. Then I went into two different buildings until I found the right one (all with the same address) and arrived, sweating slightly, just barely on time. I went to the reception desk and gave the name of the counsellor.
“Oh, she’s not here today,” said the girl behind the counter, surprised.
“She’s… not? Are… you sure?” I asked. She nodded, and her nearly identical counterpart nodded confirmation.
“Did you have an appointment?” one of the twins asked dubiously.
“Yes,” I said, “for eleven! She booked it with me just before she went on vacation.”
The girl flipped uselessly through a book in front of her. “Well, she called us last week and said she wouldn’t be in today.”
“Oh…” I said, “well… okay…”
“Maybe you could call her cell phone number,” she suggested. I wasn’t ready for voice-on-voice action with the newest in the line of professionals to reject me yet, though, so I just turned to leave. One of the teeny boppers opened a bag of chips and, forgetting me already, they bent their giggling heads over a magazine as I waited for the elevator to take me back downstairs, so I could go to my car, so I could find the nearest New York Fries, and smother my rejection in poutine with extra cheese curds.