Covid-19 is Bringing Out The Jerk in Some People
By: Eze Ihenetu
Tags: Health, Coronavirus, Customer Service, Mental Health, Short Story

Photo by Icons8 Team on Unsplash

My hospital began testing patients for IGM and IGG antibodies about a month ago. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the science, these antibodies give providers and patients special insight into combating the Covid-19 disease. Patients with IGM antibodies swimming through their blood are currently engaged in a battle with the disease, as IGM antibodies are deployed first after Covid-19 floods the system; these are the first responders. Patients with IGG antibodies swimming through their blood have had coronavirus in the recent past and might be protected from infection in the future, although it is unknown how much protection these antibodies can provide.

In order to create the necessary infrastructure to accomodate these antibody tests, the hospital commandeered the southwestern employee parking lot and converted it into a makeshift draw station. An arc shaped tent overhangs the station, and is manned by essential employees who greet and draw blood from the patients. The arc station is a drive-through draw facility, meaning that patients can remain in their cars while their blood is extracted through an arm by a phlebotomist. As one might imagine, the demand for these Covid-19 antibody tests are very high. Blink once and all of the open spots for blood draws will be taken by anxiety ridden patients.

Covid-19 antibody testing was already up and running by the time I was given instruction on how to respond to inquiries about these tests. These instructions are of course cursory, since we were already behind in responding to the excess demand. Information is being thrown at me from all different directions. My head spins like a top.

Things also change frequently and out of the blue. I’ll think I’m all right after skimming through a hastily constructed policy until a few days later, when I receive word of a current policy being jettisoned for something completely new. And because the new information is relayed to me in a rush, and not backed up with a written SOP (Standard Operating Procedure), my comprehension of the process is often misaligned with that of the other employees.

It is all so frustrating and disheartening, knowing that I’d been equipped with only a fraction of the information that I needed to do my job correctly. But I know that I’m not the only employee in this predicament, so I swallow my anger as I cobble together and synthesize the information in the best way I can.

Covid-19 increased my daily workload by at least two fold. All areas of my computer screens are covered with spreadsheets, word documents, and other data springing from various software applications during the day. My desk is littered with papers and notebooks. My telephone, situated in a nook on the left side of my desk, continuously calls out for my attention. I often work through my assigned lunch hour. It’s just chaos. The days fly by though, one of the only good things about this new reality that we find ourselves in. Friday often arrives before I know it. And come Friday afternoon, I’m eager for the drive home.

On the first Friday evening after the antibodies test had been launched, I rearranged the applications on my desktop, and caught at peek at the clock. It was 4:30 pm, or thirty minutes before it was time for me to make my exit from the office. Thank goodness. The day had been unrelentingly busy, with phone calls coming at me like rapid fire for the entirety of my day shift. I’d worked the swing shift (1:30 to 11:00 pm) the previous day and hadn’t gotten more than four hours of sleep before arriving at work on that Friday. I was exhausted and a little bit cranky. But I hadn’t allowed the crankiness to slip into my interactions with clients at any time during the day; because I am a professional, one who is able to prevent his feelings from getting in the way of completing the work.

Calls tend to peter off after 4:30 pm. So, instead of receiving a call every ten seconds, I’m given a reprieve of three to five minutes before hearing the phone go off. And I’m left with a choice. I could fill out the time in between the next phone call by tackling some other leftover job duty. The email from a harried client needed to be replied to ASAP, those test results needed to be faxed, and my boss was waiting on the report to be finished. There is always something that needs doing.

I raised both of my hands into the air to stretch, higher and higher until I heard a small crack emanate from somewhere in my body. Then I brought both of my hands behind my head, interlaced my fingers, and then cradled the back of my skull. I leaned back into my swivel chair to breathe, like really breathe for the first time in nearly eight hours. Right then I decided that I was going to stay in that position until I heard my phone go off again.

The sound the phone makes reminds me of the underground passenger train at Denver International Airport. Da da ding. Da da ding da ding ding. It pulled me out of my blissful reverie. I let out an extended exhale, disentangled my fingers from behind my head, and shifted my weight and my swivel chair forward. I grabbed the receiver from off the hook and placed it against my ear.

“Good afternoon,” I said. “This is laboratory client services. How may I help you?”

I anticipated a greeting from the person on the other end of the line, customary practice for these types of interactions.

The caller did not introduce herself. She sort of growled and said, “Yeah. I’m calling because I want my results this weekend!”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. And then I braced myself for what was about to come. This one was going to be trouble.

“Are you referring to the covid-19 antibody tests?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“So you have already had your blood drawn at the tent?”

“Of course I have. I had it done today! I want my results this weekend!”

She was an adult lady making demands as if she was a five year old toddler.

“One second. Let me check something.” I said.

According to our company’s website, our laboratory was performing the test during the weekdays, with an estimated turnaround time of two to three days. I knew that our portal software — the mechanism drive-through customers would use to gain access to their Covid-19 antibody results — was not completely functional at that particular moment. And I also knew that we were going to have to compensate for the lack of the portal mechanism with a bulk mailing of available results to our drive-through consumers.

“So Miss,” I said. The turnaround time for this test is about three days. When we are done analyzing the test, we will mail the results to you.”

“Ugh! You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said. “I talked to the manager of the laboratory and he told me that I’d be able to get results the next day!”

“The manager told you that?” I asked.

“Yes, he did. Now can you guarantee that I’ll get me results this weekend, or do I have to talk to your manager?”

My right temple was throbbing. Millions of people had lost their jobs because of Covid-19 the previous week. The snarling woman on the other end of the line must have known this when she threatened me with a complaint to my manager.

“It’s just that the manager of the immunology laboratory is a woman,” I said.

“Are you trying to start a fight with me?”

“Nope,” I said. “I’m just giving you the facts as I know them.”

“I want to talk to your manager. You are being belligerent, uncooperative, and are fighting with me.”

“Let me see if I can get some information on your test. What is your name?”

“Shelly Thomas. I need — ”

“All right. I’ll check with the lab.”

I’d cut her off to put her on hold, but I didn’t care. Her voice was nails on a chalkboard, an offense to my ears. The less I heard of this individual, the better it was for my calm.

I put in a call to the laboratory where the assay was being performed. The technologist who answered said testing would be performed during the weekend, and that results for the irate patient were not yet ready.

“Do you think that they’ll be ready by the end of the weekend?” I asked.

“They should be,” said the technologist. She’s one of the one hundred or so that I’ll be working on tomorrow.”

“Okay.” So about two days then.

I needed a few seconds to gird myself for what was left to come. I ground my teeth together as I pressed the button to take Shelly off of hold status. More offense for my ears.

In an attempt to appease her, I told Shelly that the laboratory will be working on analyzing her blood sample over the weekend. I realized that conceding this information to Shelly meant that I was going to come out on the short end of our confrontation. But once again, I didn’t care so much about losing as long as I didn’t have to hear this person berate me any longer.

“Do you still need to talk to my supervisor?”

“Yep!” said the lady, eagerness creeping into her voice.

“All right.”

I transferred Shelly to my supervisor, who of course bent over backwards to make it seem as if Shelly was lighting fires beneath our toes.

At least I wasn’t the one.

I saw a sticky note on my desk shortly after I’d arrived for work on Sunday. My blood started to boil as I read through the message. After I finished reading, I crushed the yellow sticky note in my hand, tilted my head toward the ceiling, and spit curse words into the air.

Immediately after I’d emailed the results to Shelly, I grabbed the phone receiver and put it to my ear. I quickly dialed her number. Best to get this over with, I thought.

“Hello,” said Shelly.

“Hello,” I said. “This is Eze Ihenetu from client services. I’m calling to make sure that you got your results.”

“Yes, I got them.”

I inhaled a long breath and hoped she recognized the voice of the person she’d mercilessly antagonized just a few days ago. Yes, the person that you wanted fired is still plugging away at the job he’s held for nearly seven years.

She sounded somewhat chastened.

Shelly opened her mouth to say something before I said, “Thanks”, and put down the phone.

It’s happening all over the country. Workers entrusted with providing essential services to strangers are being verbally and physically abused by jerks, or individuals looking to start trouble with people who are not given the option to fight back. A woman in California berates a store employee after he asked her to wear a mask upon entering a department store. Two vandals fracture the arm of the Target security guard who was tasked with escorting them out of the store for not wearing masks. An irate customer berates one of my co-workers at the arc draw station. Enough of this! I know that many Americans are on edge because of the coronavirus pandemic, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to berate and bully innocent strangers at their places of work. If you are feeling stressed or out of sorts, go speak with a therapist before you go out into public spaces. Essential workers already have enough on their plates without having to deal with the louts of the world.