Today’s urgent care shift was another test of patience. Not mine—well, actually yes mine—but mostly theirs. Every room full, waiting room crammed, and a steady stream of “walk-ins” who are shocked, shocked, that walk-in care involves waiting.
The usual complaints start rolling in. You can set your watch by it. Ten minutes in: “How much longer?” Twenty minutes in: exaggerated sighs and watch-checking. Thirty minutes in: the bold march to the desk. And then comes my absolute favorite move—the hallway lurker.
Instead of just waiting, they pull their exam room door open and step halfway out into the hall. Arms crossed, leaning against the door frame, staring me down like they’re about to frisk me for shoplifting. They don’t say much, just… lurk. Watching. Intimidating. Like their sheer presence will magically bump them to the front of the line.
Spoiler alert: it does not.
In fact, it works in reverse. If you complain, if you lurk, if you try to play hallway security guard, guess what? I’ll intentionally skip your ass and see the person who checked in after you. Because if I rush into the complainer’s room, all it does is condition them to believe whining works. And then they’ll do it every single time. Nope. Not on my watch.
Urgent care is first come, first serve. That’s it. There’s no VIP list, no fast pass lane, and no “if you lurk in the hallway like a gargoyle, you win” rule. You signed in, you wait your turn, just like everybody else.
Sometimes I wish I could hang a giant sign at the front desk: “Complaining = Longer Wait. Hallway Lurking = Double Longer Wait.”
Of course, that wouldn’t stop them. The lurkers believe their method is foolproof. The problem is, I’ve seen it so many times that I’m immune to the intimidation factor. You don’t scare me by leaning against a beige exam room door in your Crocs.
The irony is that while you’re out here staging your silent protest, I’m not thinking, “Wow, this patient is serious, better see them now.” I’m thinking, “Congratulations, you’ve officially entertained me for the day, but also you just guaranteed you’re last in my mental line.”
And Diary, the truth is, I have more pressing things to do than play power games with lurkers. I’m juggling fevers, asthma flares, ear infections, strep tests, and at least one kid whose mom swears has “pink eye again” but definitely just rubbed Cheeto dust into their eyelid. The fact that some grown adult thinks they can speed up the process by creeping in the doorway is almost funny. Almost.
But not funny enough to work.
So we continue: me, the chaos, and the parade of lurkers and complainers who never seem to realize their two hour wait isn’t even close to the 3 weeks their PCP was going to make them wait.
Until next time.
