I just got off the phone with Robert’s durable medical equipment (DME) company. It was two weeks this past Monday since he went into their office and picked out a new wheelchair. The Ti-Lite he’s had since his injury is quite a bit worse for wear and, in fact, I had them replace a wheel bearing on his left front wheel while we were there because it was acting like a bad grocery cart.
I sent a follow-up email to the rehab specialist making sure he had everything he needed; I had made sure he had the doctor’s letter of medical necessity (LMN) and all the doctor’s contact info before we even showed up for the appointment.
We’ve been calling and emailing them asking about the status of things. The last update was Monday when they told us the doctor hadn’t responded to (signed and faxed back) a letter they needed. Robert called his doctor yesterday and was told they never received that request.
Today I call the DME back to follow up and was told that they had the doctor’s fax and telephone information wrong in their “system” and have just refaxed the information to the doctor. WTF? I asked her if she’d gotten the information I provided, which was the signed LMN and a scan of his current business card (for their convenience in contacting him). I thought to myself, maybe I screwed up and didn’t send it. No, she confessed that when she looked in Robert’s file, the correct information was there.
WHAT. THE. FUCK?!?!? So I very calmly asked her, my voice seething with unbridled rage, “You mean to tell me that the whole time, you had the correct information and you never once bothered to READ THE GODDAM FILE?!?!?” Then she really set me off. “Well, doesn’t he HAVE a chair?” Oh, boy, bitch, you don’t know what you’ve unleashed, do you? “Yes, he has a chair, but it’s broken. And in fact, I believe that the very least you can do is fix it so it works again at least while we wait around and twiddle our thumbs SOME MORE waiting for the new chair that he could have had already had it not been for this tomfoolery!” So please arrange it for me and tell me when I can come in to bring the chair for repair. And almost as an afterthought, I added, “And I plan to leave my wallet at home, if you know what I mean.”
So she put me on hold and then returned to tell me that I can come in at 9AM in the morning and they will fix the chair free of cost and they are so sorry. Yeesh. Customer service? I doubt they even know what that is. I’ll bet any amount of money I get down there in the morning and they will be clueless about this whole conversation. (That’s why I just now sent a confirming email to the idiot woman and copied the rehab specialist on it.)
Do your job right and I am likely to write an email to the owner of the company praising you to the heavens. Screw up or jack me around — and especially jack Robert around — I’ll make sure you don’t keep your silly little job. Does that make me a bitch? Probably. Do I care? Not really.