Friends for Now

Two hours into the whole remote access thing on my computer at work, I begin to see details of patients who aren't our's flash onto my screen - a very clear violation of privacy laws - and I suspect, an indication that the wretched non-English speaking wing nut in Pakistan now controlling my computer can't tell his ass from a hole in the ground.  The third hour proves me right when the connection is mysteriously broken without any repairs having been made.  Then with a kind of third world persistence, he calls back and asks that he be re-connected.

I am silent, trying to fashion a response that will convey my disgust and still qualify as "Playing Nice" as the doctor likes to tell me.  I fail.  

He asks again.

In your dreams, I say finally, I want an American supervisor.

He sighs.  Audibly.

Then stiffly attempts to talk me out of it.

Then finally - resentfully - agrees.

The American supervisor, grimly unapologetic and sounding as stressed as I'm feeling, finally comes onto the line but it takes another two hours and several re-starts before anything is resolved.  In the meantime, chaos reigns all around me and I almost miss the slickly inserted suggestion that the problems are not the fault of the software but somehow self-inflicted. 

That tears it - I'm headachy, out of patience, four hours behind, mad enough to spit, and I sense the old woman who wears purple tugging at my sleeve.  She gives me strength and I lay into the supervisor with everything I've thought about his overpriced, under-performing, useless, non-responsive trash software since day one.  And the morons who designed it.  And what's laughingly called tech support.  Especially tech support. But somehow, through it all, I remember where I am and my tone stays level and quiet.  When I'm done there is a moment or two of dead air and then to my amazement, he apologizes. Four times.  For the flaws in the system, for the time it has taken, for what he refers to as a less than perfect support staff and finally for his own lack of manners.  There's something suspiciously like sincerity in his words - I have so few work related non-scripted conversations that I barely recognize someone being genuine - but I'm positive they don't teach humility in his tech support classes and after my rant and raving, I'm suddenly at a loss for words. Not to worry though, he steps up to fill the empty space.

Friends? he asks almost shyly, Log off and then log in again and let's see.

I do as he tells me and the system responds - not with the "blazing speed" our new internet provider has promised but not like molasses uphill in a blizzard either - but rather somewhere on acceptable middle ground.
My southern self thinks it would be a good thing to apologize in return but my yankee self reminds me that I was justifiably provoked and overrules the inclination.

Friends, I agree cautiously but the old woman who wears purple gets the last word.  For now, she adds with a sly, satisfied smile.