I went to the dentist the other day to get a couple of teeth filled, one "the smallest we've done all year," the other, well, a filling.
I was early. I'm always early; otherwise I am stressed. I'm always the one waiting at the front door to leave, fuming because my husband, after he says, "Let's go," always finds three more things to do, plus putting on his shoes. OK, so this is a much healthier attitude to time, but can I help how I am? Two of my kids are like me with respect to time, one is like him. So...
I was sitting looking through the stack of magazines and eavesdropping on a conversation between the dentist's helper and a new receptionist-accountant, which went like this:
"How come there are so many unpaid accounts? This is really a lot of outstanding bills. People are supposed to pay on the way out. The insurance will reimburse them directly." (She is upset; it is her responsibility to break in the new receptionist. There has been a big turnover in receptionist-accountants since the old--but not old in that sense--dentist died very suddenly nine months ago.)
New accountant-receptionist: "This man was in a hurry when he left. He told me to send him a bill..."
Dentist's helper, nice, but clearly unhappy: "When they go to the supermarket, do they tell the cashier, 'I'm in a hurry, send me a bill?"
I paid for my fillings on the way out.