Yesterday, Mrs. B had an epidural steroid injection at L5 to try to treat pains in her leg resulting from nerve irritation.
Scheduling Asshole: Is Mrs. B there?
Me: I'm sorry she's sleeping because of the procedure from yesterday.
SA: I know. I'm calling to schedule a follow-up appointment.
Me: I'll call you back when she wakes up.
SA: Well, then I'll just go ahead and schedule a time, and you can call back to confirm.
Me: (sotto voce - sigh. . . ) Why waste the time setting up an appointment when you don't know if we can make it?
SA: What do you mean?
Me: (sotto voce - listen, dumbass, what did I just say?) The appointment depends on my work schedule and her other appointments.
SA: Well, I can just schedule it then?
Me: (sotto voce - OK, I'll speak slowly, using small words) No, you can't do that.
Me: (mental image of wrapping phone cord around her fat neck) Because you have NO idea whether or not we can make it on the day you schedule.
SA: If you know your work schedule, let's just set it now.
Me: (mental image of drawing and quartering Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart) No, let's not. Give me your phone number, and I'll call you back.
SA: Call back soon so you won't miss out on an appointment. They're filling up fast.
Me: (mental image of strangling her under a blue-light special light at K-Mart) Right. Bye. Click.