Journal Entry of August 5, 2023 

Today’s experience at the orthopedic ‘hand’ doctor’s office was at the extreme end of the scale that starts with ‘unremarkable’ and terminates at the upper-end with ‘absolutely remarkable’.  The extreme remarkability is as follows:

I forget her name.  That in itself says volumes for anyone who knows me as the name rememberer.  She is the doctor’s assistant.  The moment she comes out of the honeycomb, she says my name “Diana,” she says.  One word called out into the mega-mall plaza of waiting patients.  

But then.  She begins narrating our path through the honeycomb of hallways to infinity, office doors like hexagonal cubes in the comb.  The pitch of her voice is in the baby chipmunk range, but that isn’t the whole gobsmack. . . the rest of it is the delivery.  Oh Lordy the delivery.   Will Robinson’s robot sounded more human than this poor, artificially-smiling, nauseously-plastic-pleasantish young I guess person.  She must have taken an extra course called ‘Patient Courtesy’  in her medical assistant training program and received an instant A+ the very first day just to make it stop for the rest of the class.  I could almost feel sorry for her if she wasn’t a robot whose glitch is repeating the word ‘PERfect’ before the patient even finishes answering “Do you smoke?“  I could have said, “Down to a pack a day now.” and the word “PERfect.” would have cut off the ‘now’ part.  “Alcoholic beverages?”  “Yes, I’m a staggering drunk but sobered up for today.”  “PERfect!”  “Recreational drugs?”  “Yes, please.”  “PERfect.”

Ghastly facial expressions behind Tom and my masks could  be seen by others as whites-of-eyes and eyebrows that disappear into the hairline!! if in fact anyone else were to see us, that is, which they weren’t.   

     Special effects artists on the staff of Guardians of the Galaxy could not have created a more fingernails-on-chalkboard, truck brakes screeching, cringing, ambulance-siren piercing emissions from a bot that otherwise looked pretty human.  Two octaves above falsetto, maybe more, making Snow White’s voice an alto in the ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’ song.  

     If only an ion higher on the pitch scale, that voice could attract all dogs in a one-mile radius.  And a flock of bats.  It could start fires, break glass, raise the dead.  My dentist-drill tinnitus can’t compete with her voice.   The eeriness of her range is nearly indescribable.  But let me continue describing it.  

     You know when someone has spinach in their teeth and is chain-talking so much they don’t notice you motioning that they have spinach in their teeth?  Well.  And you know when someone comes out of the ladies room with their skirt tucked into their pantyhose in the back and you feel you just have to hurriedly follow and tell them because it’s such an irrefutable piece of wrongness?  Well.  And you know that monstrous housefly sound that must absolutely stop immediately such that you’d be willing to let the house burn to the ground before you’d stop hunting the fly??  Well.  You know when your smoke alarm accidentally goes off and your ears instantly bleed and you feel like you are the prisoner in a torture capsule, eyes shooting out of their sockets, you dropping to your knees and repeatedly begging, “I’LL TALK!”.  “STOP, STOP!!”.  “I’LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING!!!”  Well.

Dear Doctor Hand:

Thank you for examining my hands today.  I appreciate your expert advice that there is nothing to be done about my situation with arthritis except pain medication, as surgery would likely be premature and more problematic.

But I can tell you something HAS to be done about YOUR situation with your assistant.  She is a robot.  I’m sure she is a very nice robot, but her movements are revealingly mechanical, and that would be okay were her voice intonations and verbal delivery not the real give-away that she needs plugged in at night, updated with the patient name before each appointment, and was probably paid for in one large-sum line item on your American Express statement.  Maybe she has a ‘pitch control’ option in her control panel.  I would highly recommend pulling that lever dramatically down, just saying.  

Also, I would rather let my arthritic thumbs fall off and learn to play the piano with eight fingers than listen to your assistant say the word ‘PERfect’ one more time.  No offense to anyone intended.  Strictly a business-feedback effort to save your orthopedic practice from failing due to a simple sound adjustment oversight of your office staff entity.

In short, you are probably a very nice man and a good doctor, but OMG you could not PAY me the amount on that American Express line item to come back to you.  I’m so sorry.

Thousand pardons,

Diana J. Legun

~~ djl