Gucci Girl

So something that really gets my goat is when ill-prepared, grossly disorganised and thoughtless people benefit in a situation, only to the detriment of someone who has actually has taken the time and effort to “sort themselves out”.

Time after time, I have suffered as a result of other people living their life in a chaotic and disorganised manner.

A typical example of this happened this morning at the doctor’s surgery. I ensured I arrived early for my 9 o’ clock

appointment. As I sat patiently waiting, in walked a woman who I can only describe as “Ms I’m Far More Important Than Anyone Else Here”.

Dressed head-to-toe in Gucci (who does that in a doctor’s surgery?) swinging her Louis Vuitton bag and loudly spouting a load of verbal diarrhoea on her mobile, she repeatedly tried to check in on the computer, but to no avail. Tutting loudly, she sauntered over to the receptionist and literally gave her both barrels. “Your computer isn’t working. What type of show are you running? I can’t check in for my appointment!” After checking the system, the receptionist calmly replied, “you can’t check in because your appointment time has passed - you are 15 minutes late.”

I normally hate doctor’s receptionists ( rude, abrupt, patronising.. you know the type....) but in this instant, I could have kissed her.

Any normal person would have apologised profusely and slipped away quietly, hanging their head in shame, but Ms “Up Her Own Arse” offers no apology and simply starts complaining loudly that she MUST see a doctor. The receptionist directs her to a seat and asks her to wait. I check the time and see it’s just gone 9, so I gather my things in readiness to be called. (Again, organised and efficient!) But to my disbelief and disgust, Gucci Girl’s name is called out instead. Seriously? WTF?

“But that’s my appointment time!” I want to scream out loud. Why should that stupid cow, (who’s presumably late due to her inability to get her designer-clad and rather fat arse out of bed) not be made to wait, it’s beyond me. No - instead let’s punish the person who has arrived on time  - because that makes perfect sense.

Well, I blame the receptionist. Why is it when you are on the phone to them, they are real little rottweilers, yet as soon as things are face-to-face, they become chihuahuas.

I sit there, quietly seething. I wish at that moment I was more like Gucci Girl and have the courage to go up and whine to the receptionist at the sheer inequality of the situation. But I’m not Gucci Girl - and in truth, for that, I am grateful.

In any event, thankfully karma has a canny habit of rebalancing situations. “Gucci Girl” came out from the doctor looking rather glum. No wonder - I expect it hurt when the doctor pulled her giant head out of her arse...