So, I was reading this thread, and I noticed my theiving coworker from hell thread got mentioned (thank you, promethia and bluecanary!). I had promised updates, and while she’s had some wonderful moments, it hasn’t been anything truly pit worthy. But I will put them here for your perusal, and to thank Shiva for your good Karma that you don’t work with this woman.
The Ops Meeting, or: Joan Feels neglected
Once a month we have an operations meeting. Thanks to something I once read here, I now view any meeting over 20 minutes as a collossal waste of time (I have actually tested the theory; about 20 minutes of good input is all that’s ever been introduced into any meeting I’ve attended since I read the thread). So, in last month’s ops meeting, everyone has decided they’re not going to let Joan talk, because every time she does, she meanders on for about 10 minutes on a subject completely separate from whatever we’re discussing, usually to tell us about some menial task she performed as if it were the most difficult thing ever presented in utilization review history, which I could have summarized in 2 minutes if I spoke very slowly and used every difficult diagnosis I can remember. At any rate. We’ve al ignored her and talked over her every time she started speaking through just about the entire meeting, and I’m thinking “wow, maybe she’s getting now that she’s really an irritant. I know this has to be killing her.” The meeting starts to wrap, everyone is talking to each other, grabbing notebooks, water bottles, etc… when Joan STANDS UP SCOWLING AND STARTS TAPPING HER PEN ON THE CONFERENCE TABLE AS LOUDLY AS SHE CAN. We all stop and look at her, giving her the most “WTF??” looks we can manage. She says “Can I be heard, please? I have input, and you people have wasted this entire meeting on nothing! What I have to say is important!” Our jaws hang open. Everyone’s head swivels to Dr. M, who is chairing the meeting. He has one eyebrow raised, a sure sign of imminent crap rolling downhill at speed, but he managed to say “Of course, Joan. If it’s important I’m sure we all want to hear it.” Joan then proceeds to embarrass herself and me and her species by saying “I just wanted everyone to know that today is my 2 year anniversary here, and I think we should all go to lunch and the company pay for it.”
“…” can be heard throughout the room. Finally, I realize everyone is looking at me, and I say rather weakly, “Actually, Joan, we had something planned for later in the week within the department, when everyone is back from travelling.” This breaks the mood, Dr. M. smiles and said “then I guess that’s it. Everyone have a good week.” and we all go back to our respective departments, me with my face as red as my hair. I then throw together a pot luck lunch and a (snerk) gift certificate, which Joan proceeds to bitch about because “we have potlucks all the time and I wanted something special!” But we all ignored her and treated it as an excuse to not work for a couple hours, so it turned out fine.
Diagnosis code flubs, as magnified to a worse crime than terrorism, even
A lot of Utilization Review is…well, review. Review of patient charts for appropriate care, diagnosis, etc. After I review them, I sign them. This is standard, and gives you a basic idea of how thrilling my office life is. At any rate. One day, I come in a bit late. Joan is standing up, talking very loudly into the phone to what I can only guess is her nephew or neice or some other family member, because there is no way in hell she would ever be stupid enough to speak to a colleague in that tone using that language. Or so you’d think. I am going to edit this slightly for diagnosis, but it should give you the broad general reason she was screeching. I guess.
“I don’t know who you have there coding this crap you’re sending us, but it’s the WRONG CODE! No! It’s WRONG! This diagnosis is for (insert problem specifically related to female reproductive organs)!! The patient is a MAN!! Do you GET IT NOW?? My GOD, what kind of MORON do you have doing this stuff?” Joan becomes aware that I am staring at her. Sotto voce (IOW, normal tone for the rest of us): “I’ll be with you in a sec as soon as I’m done telling this person her job.” Into the phone: “I want a new diagnosis with a doctor’s sig NOW!”
Me: “Joan. Put the phone down, please.” “but…” “Now, please, Joan. Tell whoever it is, you’ll call them back.” She hangs up the phone. I take a deep breath and point her toward my office. We walk in, I shut the door. She starts to speak immediately, some crap about how “can you believe the nerve, what were they thinking,…” yada. I hold up my hand and say “Joan. In the first place, why were you reviewing these charts? You’re not supposed to do that. I review them, then give them to you to follow up with facilities.” She splutters and tries to interrupt. Not. Having it. “In the second place. This is simply a coding error. We get them, you know that.” splutter…“But it’s for (FEMALE REPRODUCTIVE PROBLEM) and it’s A MAN!” “Yes. That happens. Please, just professionally ask for a corrected code. There is no need to dress down the facilities in that manner. Please go apologize to that facility and make sure the chart is on my desk after you’re done. Please. Now.” sigh… Chart comes back, I follow up with facility, apologize profusely, chit chat with office manager, apologize some more. And the punch line? Joan thinks their coder is a moron, because she occasionally miscodes. Human error happens. We catch it, we correct it, we go on with life. We do NOT turn it into the crime of the century just because someone transposed a couple numbers. Unless we’re Joan.
The finance meeting coordinator dares to order Mexican
Another monthly meeting. This time, we get lunch because it’s three hours long. I swear, only finance can sway that kind of attention. Three hours out of everyone’s day to talk about money. At any rate. Joan sat in the corner of the meeting, not taking notes, not talking to anyone (it was bliss), arms crossed, scowling and staring at the CFO’s assitant becauuuuuuse… She had the gall to order Mexican food for lunch. It’s the CFO’s favorite. Joan refuses to eat, and stalks from the room at lunch time, to return with her sandwich and a banana, which she ate while burning a hole into said assistant’s skull with her eyes. Easily the best finance meeting we’ve had in the past 8 months, bar none. Even better than when they told us we were in the black enough to spend some serious cash on a new Olympus machine in the lab.
One day, one of my coworkers asked Joan where she got the idea that it was alright to talk to people that way. You’re going to like the response. She said, and I quote: “Well. See, I’m Italian. We’re a very straightforward people. Everyone knows that and knows how I am. I don’t have to explain myself or change the way I am.” Mary just blinked, thought for a few seconds, then walked away. I don’t blame her.
