From what I understand about “urgent care” clinics is that they are not on the same level as Emergency rooms. Urgent care clinics are for situations that are too minor for an ER, but too serious to wait for normal doctor office hours. A sprain, the flu that you may think has turned into pneumonia, a urinary tract infection - that would be urgent care type of stuff. Something that requires stitches? I’d say that was firmly in the ER realm.
What if they were willing to do just that. What if they said “We will sew up the finger, BUT this must be reported to …whoever these things get reported to.” And then the employer said "Screw that, I’m taking him somewheres else and I’m not answering any of your questions. " And then, as the employee told the story over and over again while drinking beer after beer, the story morphed into “They turned me away because I only had cash.”
It’s not really any more unlikely than anything in the OP…
I’ve been thinking about this incident. What really happened?
Unfortunately, we’ll never know. But as I pointed out in a different thread, I’m a big fan of the Kurosawa film Rashomon, so I’ll offer up the following scenario. Of course, you’re encouraged to join in with your own interpretation what really occurred on that fateful day.
Dramatis Personae:
Jimmy Blear. Jimmy is a 24-year-old college sophomore at UC Santa Cruz, majoring in English. He works afternoons at the Farm Basket organic food store. He wears dreadlocks, a Phish t-shirt, and steel-toed work boots. One of his hands is wrapped in a dishrag that has an obvious (and growing) blood stain.
Dr. Craig Hornman. Dr. Hornman is a recent graduate of the Universidad Autónoma de Guadalajara School of Medicine. He was grateful to be hired by Fizer-Caliente in Santa Cruz. His other job offers were from a hospital in the South Bronx and the Wind River Indian Reservation. He wears a lab-coat and has a stethoscope around his neck.
Mrs. Shyrella Williamson. Mrs. Williamson is an imposing, somewhat overweight woman with a no-nonsense attitude. She’s been working at medical clinics for over twenty years and has seen just about everything by this point in her career. Currently, she’s the receptionist and office coordinator at the Urgent Need Clinic in Santa Cruz. She wears a jacket with a Fizer-Caliente logo on the pocket.
Scene I
The reception area of the Fizer-Caliente Urgent Need Clinic in Santa Cruz, California.
Jimmy enters stage right and approaches the reception desk. His bandaged hand drips blood on the clinic’s newly waxed floor. Mrs. Williamson eyes him coldly.
Mrs. Williamson
May I help you?
Jimmy
I really did a number on my finger when I was slicing a coconut. I think I need to see a doctor and…
Mrs. Williamson [Interrupting him.]
OK, hold on. [She picks up the phone and dials.] Dr. Hornman? Can you come to the front? Looks like we got us a bleeder. Thanks. [Turning back to Jimmy.] OK, I’m gonna need some information from you and you’ll have to fill out some forms. Do you have insurance? [Dr. Hornman enters stage left and approaches Jimmy before he can answer Mrs. Williamson.]
Dr. Hornman
Hi, I’m Dr. Craig Hornman. What do we have? [He starts to unwrap the dishrag around Jimmy’s hand. More blood drips on the floor.] Wow. You opened that finger right up, didn’t you? How’d it happen? [He starts to examine Jimmy’s finger.]
Jimmy
Well, I was cracking a coconut and the machete bounced off and sliced me. At first I didn’t think it was bad, but then the blood really started to gush and I was all like, “Whoa, dude,” and…
Dr. Hornman [Interrupting him.]
Listen, I think this is a little more than we can handle here at the clinic. You’re definitely going to need some stitches and I think you might want to get a specialist to check to make sure there’s no damage to a tendon or a ligament. What I want you to do is wrap your finger back up tight and keep pressure on it. Do you know how to get to the emergency room at Dominican? It’s on Soquel Drive. Is there somebody that can drive you?
Jimmy
Well, uh, I was really hoping you could just handle it here and I could save the trip, man. Are you sure I need to go to the emergency room? See, I was thinking it might be cheaper here and…
Dr. Hornman [Interrupting him.]
No, I think you should have someone at the ER look at you. We’re not really set up to handle a cut like that here. Can I call somebody to pick you up? If you’ve got insurance, it’d probably cover an ambulance ride to the hospital.
Jimmy
No, man, no insurance. The boss just gave me some cash and said you guys could handle…
Mrs. Williamson [Interrupting him.]
“The boss?!” Is this a worker’s compensation case?
Jimmy [Realizing he’s said too much.]
No. No. It was an accident. At home. Yeah, I was opening a coconut at home and the machete hit my finger. [Mrs. Williamson frowns in obvious disbelief.] Listen, are you guys sure you couldn’t treat me here? I’ve got money. I can pay…
Dr. Hornman
I’m sorry, I think you really need to go to the emergency room. Just keep a good, strong pressure on it to control the bleeding and you should be fine until you get there. [Jimmy looks at the door.] Are you sure we couldn’t call you a cab?
Mrs. Williamson [Somewhat triumphantly.]
And we don’t take cash! So you’re gonna have to go to the ER. [Jimmy exits stage right, disconsolate and dripping blood. The curtain falls.]
Mrs. Williamson [Her voice from behind the curtain.]
Julio! Brink that mop up front!
chukhung; confess are you really Julio or Mrs. Williamson? :dubious: We know you were there, you obviousely know more about what happened than even sven. 
I can’t help myself. Here’s one from a slightly different perspective.
Dramatis Personae
Will Hemphill. Will is a 20-year-old college junior at UC Santa Cruz, majoring in political science. He works part-time as an assistant manager at the Fruit Bowl organic grocery. He wears a Che Guevara t-shirt and his left hand is wrapped in a white terry-cloth towel.
Dr. Leland Emory. Dr. Emory is trying to get his life back on track. He served as a medic in Vietnam and then got his medical degree and went on to have a successful private practice. Now, however, he’s working in a MedCorp clinic, trying to pick himself up after a painful divorce, a bout with depression, and a series of expensive malpractice suits. He wears a frayed lab-coat with a stethoscope sticking out of the pocket.
Georgia Lafferty. Georgia is the attractive receptionist at the clinic. Dr. Emory has been trying to get her to go on a date with him ever since she started working at the clinic two months ago, but Georgia finds the age difference (over 35 years) and Dr. Emory’s gory Vietnam stories to be off-putting. She’s dressed in a set of brightly printed scrubs.
Scene II
The reception area of the MedCorp Urgency Clinic in Santa Cruz, California.
Dr. Emory is chatting with Georgia at the reception desk when Will enters from stage right.
Will
Hey! Are you a doctor? You gotta look at my finger. I’m really bleeding here.
Dr. Emory [Sighing–he was finally getting somewhere with Georgia.]
Cut your finger, huh? OK, show your ID and give your insurance information to Georgia here and she’ll let you know when you can come on back. [He turns to leave.]
Will
No, man, I got cash. And, anyway, I need a doctor now! I’m bleeding!
Georgia [Quietly.]
We don’t take cash.
Dr. Emory [Turning back to Will, annoyed.]
Yeah, that, a credit card, and photo ID will get you in. Otherwise, go to the emergency room at Dominican.
Will [Angry now.]
I know my rights! You can’t turn me away! A doctor has to treat somebody that needs help! This isn’t some Third World country! This is America!
Georgia [Under her breath. She knows what’s coming.]
Awww, crap.
Dr. Emory [Going postal.]
I can’t turn you away, huh? I’m required to treat every pot-head loser that walks in off the street, am I?
Well, let me tell you something, you worthless little piece of shit. Unless you fall down in convulsions right fucking now, you can go FUCK YOURSELF, for all I care. That little boo-boo on your pinky ain’t life-threatening! Just put some fucking pressure on it, numbnuts! Hell, I’ve got an even better idea: why don’t you stick that finger straight up your ass and clamp down, ya whiny little bitch!
You know, if it weren’t for commie assholes like you, the medical system in this country wouldn’t be as fucked up as it is. I’m sick of the patients and the bureaucrats and the lawyers making all the decisions. At this clinic, I’m calling the shots! So you can take that bloody finger and your skinny, college-boy ass on down the street; 'cause you’re not getting any fucking charity around here, dipshit!
Will [Stunned.]
But, I can pay…
Dr. Emory
Oh, that’s it! That is fucking IT! I’m giving you exactly three seconds to get your scrawny ass OUT OF MY CLINIC, you little cocksucker! THREE FUCKING SECONDS!
ONE! Get your fucking ass. TWO! Outta my fucking clinic. THR… [Will turns and flees, stage right. The curtain falls.]
Oh man, even I’m cracking up.
Well, since you’re still checking this thread, would you at least answer some of the questions asked of you? Like, which clinic this was that turned the guy away, and is did the situation happen exactly as you described, or did the “drunken ramblings” get twisted around?
I’ve been working like mad lately and havn’t had time to talk to the guy since this happened.
It wouldn’t be right if at least one scenario didn’t expose some corporate greed. But I promise, this is my last one.
Dramatis Personae
Josh Snyder. Josh is a “detailer” for Teratox, a large multinational pharmaceutical and hospital supply firm. His territory covers Santa Cruz to Monterey. He’s in his late twenties, wears an expensively tailored suit and always carries a set of golf clubs in the back of his leased BMW M3.
Hank Kubia. Hank works as a buyer for Resurrection Omnimedical. He purchases medical supplies for his company’s clinics in northern California. He’s middle-aged and wears a sport coat and polo shirt.
Scene III
A table at a very expensive restaurant. Josh and Hank are just finishing their meal.
Hank
I gotta say, Josh, that was one of the best lobster’s I’ve had in a long time. Thanks.
Josh
Ah, don’t thank me, buddy, it’s all on Teratox’s tab. Gotta keep the customers happy, ya know. [Changing the subject.] So what’s new at Omnimedical? Your quarterly results sure looked good.
Hank
Yeah, overall, the company’s doing fine. Around here, though, there’s not much going on. We haven’t opened a new clinic in northern California in over a year now, so things are pretty much on autopilot. You know what the “big change” was back in January? They made it official: from now on the clinics don’t do any cash transactions. It’s strictly plastic or insurance. That’s what passes for excitement at the office these days…
Josh
Really? No cash, huh? Don’t you lose some customers that way?
Hank
None that matter. The only people that insist on paying cash are the drug dealers and the whores and it’s not like they’re gonna complain to the newspapers. [They both laugh.] With no cash in the clinics it’s just one less reason for the junkies to try to break in and, actually, our billings go up when the customers can’t pay cash.
Josh
How so?
Hank
Well, if people pay cash, they have to settle up right away and they usually have a pretty good idea what treatment they received. But when we charge the insurance companies or put it on a credit card, then the customers don’t see an itemized bill for weeks or maybe even a couple of months. At that point are they gonna remember how many pairs of gloves the doctor used? Or exactly which tests got ordered? Believe me, turning away cash customers isn’t hurting us any… [Thoughtfully.] I guess we might start taking cash again if we opened an Alzheimer’s clinic, but other than that… [They both laugh.]
Josh
Oh, man, that’s hilarious! But seriously, what happens if someone walks into one of your clinics with a heart attack and they don’t have insurance?
Hank
Oh, well, if it’s an emergency, that’s different. We figured out how to deal with the emergency cases at the clinics a long time ago. You see, we got a strict policy. The doctors and the nurses are forbidden to come up front to the reception area. They have to stay in the back–in the exam rooms or whatever–and the patients all walk back to them. And believe me, patients never get a chance to see a doctor unless they’ve given their payment information to the receptionist.
[He leans toward Josh.] But here’s the beauty part. None of our receptionists know jack about medicine. Seriously. If we so much as see one of our receptionists reading a first-aid manual, we shit-can her ass. So what’s a receptionist gonna do when someone walks in off the street spraying blood out of an artery? She can’t send 'em in to see a doctor without getting their insurance, the doctors won’t come up front, and the receptionist doesn’t know anything about emergency medicine. So what’s left?
The receptionist has to call 911! Let the paramedics and the hospital ER deal with the deadbeats. There’s no way Omnimedical’s gonna get stuck paying for the defibrillator to revive some bum. We’re running a business!
Josh
Man. No wonder you guys make out like bandits. Everybody says Omnimedical’s the smartest company in the biz, and I believe it.
Hey, you want some cognac? [The curtain falls.]
Oh man Chukhung, that was some brilliant characterization! Your first one pretty much nails it for me (along with Doctor J’s comment), and the other two had great entertainment value. Shyrella?!?! 
Every clinic has a Shyrella!
How convenient. I call bullshit.
Adam
Okay, even sven, you’re busy, you don’t see this guy that often, I can understand that. But surely you can tell us the name of the clinic? I mean, it sure sounds like you know which one it is …
chukhung, that’s not how I remember it. ([/Homer Simpson])
Great writing! However, if you really are stopping at three, that still leaves one story left to be told.
I was in the clinic waiting room myself that day, and although your story #2 was right about there being a Vietnam connection, my own recollection of the events was more like this:
Dramatis Personae:
[ul]
[li]Lance Johnson, a 24-year old who lives to surf, but works occasional shifts at the Grateful Bread Organic Catering Company. [/li].
[li]Charlie, aging hippie who runs the Grateful Bread, but doesn’t like to call himself the “Owner” because Ownership is Theft.[/li].
[li]Dr. Kilgore, who runs the West Side Immediate Relief Clinic, across Mission Street from the Grateful Bread. Due to its dual specializations in treatment of skin diseases and the relief of chronic pain sufferers, it is popularly known as the “Rash-or-Moan” clinic.[/li][/ul]
Scene I: Charlie’s office in back of the Grateful Bread. Charlie is poring over the accounts with a worried look on his face. From the radio can be heard the sound of Jim Morrison singing The End. Lance enters; his “Endless Summer 2004” surfing T-shirt has blood spatters on it.
Lance: Whoa, I’ve like totally sliced my finger, dude.
Charlie: What do you think this is, Wendy’s? Hmm, doesn’t look too bad. I’d drive you to the ER myself, but The Man - from the County Health Board – is coming round any minute now. If he finds any more code violations he’ll shut us down.
(pauses) Here, take some cash from my stash, and go across to the Rash-or-Moan and get Dr. Kilgore to stitch you up. However, don’t tell him you cut your finger here.
If my worker’s comp rates go up, I’ll have to fire you. I won’t even be able to give you any severance pay, but you can take as much as you want of that energy fruit drink you like so much.
Lance: You’d terminate me? With XTreme Prune Juice?
Charlie: Yes… now get going!
Scene II: The “Rash-or-Moan” clinic. Several patients are waiting inside, many of them groaning. The chair behind the reception desk is empty. Ceiling fans are spinning noisily, chop-chop-chop. An annoyed Dr. Kilgore is just emerging from the back as Lance enters.
Lance: (voice raised so he can be heard above the noise of the fans) Dude, I’ve like totally sliced my finger.
Dr. Kilgore: My receptionist is off sick today, and I’m running behind. I don’t know how to run her patient-scheduling program, so I’m giving each person who shows up a playing card to determine the order. Two of spades, three of spades, four of diamonds… What’s your name?
Lance: Lance Johnson.
Dr. Kilgore: Lance Johnson the surfer? It’s an honor to meet you Lance. I’ve admired your nose-riding for years – I like your cutback, too. I think you have the best cutback there is.
Lance: Thank you!
Dr. Kilgore: I’ll see you right away. You’ll need that hand in perfect shape if you’re going to surf Mavericks this weekend. I’ll get the receptionist to fill out the paperwork later.
Lance: Actually, I was going to pay cash…
Dr. Kilgore: Spend your own money? I wouldn’t hear of it! It’ll be an honor just to treat you. Your money’s no good in my clinic!
(looks at Lance’s hand) Hmm, you may need some stitches in that. I’d do it myself, but my colleague up at Dominican Hospital has got much better equipment and can check for nerve damage. Tell you what – I’ll drive you myself.
Lance: What about your other patients?
Dr. Kilgore: (cupping hand to Lance’s ear and whispering) Not a decent surfer among 'em. They can wait.
(Dr. Kilgore and Lance go into the back part of the clinic)
Lance: Phew! What’s that awful smell?
Dr. Kilgore: Ether. I love the smell of ether in the morning. It smells like… surgery.
(They go out the back door to the parking lot. Kilgore’s black Hummer H2 is there. Two huge subwoofers take up the entire back seat, and many smaller speakers line the cargo area. As Kilgore clicks the doors open, the car responds with the “da-dum-da-da-DAH-dum” theme from Wagner’s “The Ride of the Valkyries”.
Dr. Kilgore: Classical music – scares the hell out of other drivers. We shouldn’t have any problem with traffic!
Lance: (nervously backing away) You know, I think I’ll just go back to the Grateful Bread and get my boss, Charlie, to give me a ride…
Dr. Kilgore: You work for that old hippie Charlie across the street?
Lance: Yeah, Charlie. Thanks anyway… (walks away)
Dr. Kilgore: (calling after him) CHARLIE DON’T SURF!
(Props to chukhung, and apologies to John Milius and Francis Ford Coppola.)
Santa Cruz Medical, maybe? The urgent care facility (also their main office, apparently), is at the bottom of the page. Some of the language on this page is almost identical to sven’s previous posts.
My guess is the same as yours, except not the main office, which is at 2025 Soquel Ave, only about a mile from Dominican Hospital with its 24-hour ER. sven said that the accident occured across town from Dominican, and would have been a long drive in traffic. So, my best guess is that it was the Urgent Care Westside clinic on Mission Street (same page that you linked to, but listed below the Main Office).
Okay, can we cut the jokes and get back to the OP? :mad:
You really didn’t need to kill all those pixels by quoting the whole thing, did you?
Exactly. You see my point. :rolleyes:
Nope, as I thought it was funny the first time. It’s just lame to quote the whole goddamned thing if you’re bored with it. The point behind these jokes is to emphasize the subjective nature of what happened, that we can’t be precisely sure what went on.
And even sven is saying she has no new information, so one might say it’s impossible to “get back to the OP.”
No one’s stopping you from commenting on the OP - go right ahead, dazzle us.