I am a pharmacy technician for drug studies at a university. I work in research, with a bunch of easy-going research assistants and a woman who could easily win “Best Boss in the World” ten times over. I get my job done, and I do it well. I deal with problems as they come, and I try to keep a calm head when dealing with the spastic research assistants. But today was the LAST FUCKING TIME.
I had a research assistant (now known as Moronica) call me at 2:45 and tell me that she needed meds for a patient who had to be at work 15 miles away at 3:00. The only problem? Her meds have to be dispensed by a pharmacist or a doctor. And the meds are locked in the pharmacy downstairs. Where’s the pharmacist? She’s here, but she doesn’t know where the key is, and the regular pharmacist is running late. Where’s the key? No one knows. Hmm. Maybe it got lost. Considering there’s only ONE key for this particular cabinet, and that the ONLY meds in this cabinet are for this particular study, and that the key is supposed to be placed in the same place every time, I am not suprised. Not at all.
Now, Moronica tells me, “well, can you just go ahead and make up some of the meds for her, and we’ll give you her daily meds back?” Yup. I can do this. But, keep in mind, I’m just a tech. I can’t check these things. So, I tell Moronica that I have to get someone knowlegeable of the study to check the meds, mainly my boss. It just so happens that today is the one day a week that my boss works from home. So I page her, and she calls me back. Luckily, she is already downtown, and she can be over in just few minutes.
The patient, who is not in a good mood anyways, leaves for work with the promise that a doctor will deliver meds to her. I get her meds ready, and my boss shows up about 30 seconds after the patient has driven off. No big deal, right? The doctor has already agreed to deliver them to her. I take the meds downstairs to give to Moronica, who hisses through her teeth and tells me, 'oh, you JUST missed her!" as if this is all my fault. Oh well, says I. I did my job, twice over now.
Then, I see someone flagging us down from the pharmacy. Turns out the pharmacist is there, she has the key, and she is waving the meds at us.
Moronica pipes up with “It’s about time! I’ve been waiting on these meds since 2:00!”
An hour, you say? You had the patient sitting here for almost an hour, waiting on meds? And you didn’t bother to call me until she had to be at work in 15 minutes? You knew the pharmacist wasn’t in the pharmacy for an hour now? But you want me to jump on getting meds ready in 30 seconds, getting them checked, and getting them to the patient in less than a minute? This isn’t Burger King, honey. You ain’t getting it your way.
I may have nothing but time on my hands. And yes, I am the peon here, being the one person working in these studies that doesn’t have a degree or a doctorate. But one thing I do have is common sense. I have repeatedly told these research people that it takes 24 hours to fill a med request. My boss has reiterated the same point over and over again until it sounds like a broken fucking record. We can make exceptions in rare cases like this, when it is totally out of our control. I have told my research assistants that if a problem comes up to call me. Did she? No.
I want to send out a group email to them saying:
PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE AND CALL ME WHEN YOU HAVE A PROBLEM. If you can’t pick up the phone, come to my office. You know, the one where you come when you want to chit-chat. I am here to help you out. I am here to provide a service for you. But if you can’t let me know what you need, I CANNOT FUCKING HELP YOU. I have an answering machine, a pager, and a cellphone. You page me by phone or by computer. If you can’t use a telephone, a computer, or your legs to walk to my office, I am not going to help you. I don’t care if you have to get the receptionist to help you dial the numbers or type the web address. It is not that difficult to get in touch with me. It’s not like I’m asking you to hire a flock of carrier pigeons or scale Kilamanjaro to reach me. You do not have to consult Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot to figure out the ‘Mystery of Skerri’s Location’. And don’t wait until the last minute, either. If I find out you’ve been sitting on your ass for an hour just to finally decide to jump right up my ass about medicine, I’m going to kick your ass. No ifs, ands, or buts. I’m just going to walk into your office and beat you within inches of your life.
Think this will get it through their heads? Probably not.