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♫I've Got a Golden Ticket....♫
Mar. 5th, 2021 05:24 pmNo, not a sooner or closer vaccination one. Although they did just open a new state site in Batavia, a fair piece closer to here than Syracuse, but its appointments all got gobbled up before I even heard about it. Batavia-area residents are grumpy that people from Buffalo beat a lot of them to the prick, but since Genesee County is the heart of local MAGA country, more than the usual are likely to be deniers and antivaxxers anyway. I did confirm that next Wednesday's weather is supposed to be glorious for my drive to get doinked, and I got my doctor's confirmation of my eligibility to hand in at the Fairgrounds. I wonder if they'll have fried dough and a demolition derby when I'm done.
Rather, the Magic Kingdom Pass I acquired earlier today was one I wore as proudly as an I VOTED sticker:
What it took to get that from a suburban hospital security desk, for a five minute visit with a client to notarize a document before he possibly dies, was cruel and unusual. Not cruel to me, because I was working and might eventually get paid for the effort. Rather, to the patient and his wife who I left in tears over the stupid protocols.
A bit of background:
Clients have been in a repayment bankruptcy since 2016. Due to the usual snafus with mortgage servicing, they fell behind, but not as far behind as their servicer said they were. Said servicer waited a year before seeking foreclosure permission from Bankruptcy Court. We were going back and forth over payment records, but then earlier this year, the husband's cancer got worse and his treatment options in this area did not get better enough, so they essentially shifted gears and asked to work out a sale on some agreeable basis so they could move somewhere with better care. The next hearing on that is this coming Tuesday.
I hadn't heard from the missus (the main financial point of contact even before the cancer) so I sent a nag email yesterday and she replied that hubby had taken a turn and was now in a near-me hospital rather than with the downtown oncologists. But she would be in to my office to go over the paperwork late this morning. I also told her I would do, for no charge, a power of attorney document that would enable her to do all the paperwork for both of them. She appreciated that for whatever other reason she might need to have the document.
And there she was, right on time after I dropped off our own financial paperwork for Refi LVCIX or whatever it is. (THAT all looks very good:) I explained where hubby would need to initial and sign the form to authorize her as his POA, and that the horsepital would have to provide a notary. You'd think maybe they'd have one or two on staff for the assorted transactions that people who are, I don't know, SICK AND MAYBE FUCKING DYING!, need to fill out to get their affairs in order. I even gently suggested that she check with the chaplain's office, because in final days, priests and lawyers are often working the same rooms at the same time.
Alas, no such animal at Chez Fillmore Suburban. Rosary, yes; notary, nyet. So I volunteered to come over- it's a 10 minute drive from my office, and I'd have plenty of time after my noon Zoom call (committee meeting- business casual) to stop at home, change at least from the waist up, and get on my 2:30 Teams call (actual appearance- suits usually de rigeur).
I'd done this before at another local horsepital a few weeks ago. Wife was up in the room, came down when I got to the parking lot, watched me clear temperature testing, walked me to his bed, he proved lucid, she helped him hold the pen and sign, and I was out long before the hour of free parking expired. E(asy Pea) CMC. I figured it would be even quicker in the land of suburban free parking.
And it was at first, with the nurse who cleared and checked me in and had me head to the security station for actual admission. Chris the Hospital Cop wasn't having it, though: he already has a visitor. Just one per person. He saw my attorney ID. He did not care. Since visiting hours were almost over anyway, I called the missus and told her to come down. He shooed me back outside, no problem because there was no line, and when she arrived, I went back. Other rule I didn't tell you about: no swapping out. One per person per day.
Now my eyes are starting to turn green and I'm feeling a bit of expansion in my shoes. Don't make me angry, Mr. Mall Security. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. But somehow, I restrained my inner Green Guy. Look, I said, this is where a Karen would demand to speak to a manager, and I don't want to be that person. But is there such a management unit with some discretion here?
He grunt-gesticulates to the other guy in the booth- SERGEANT Hospital Cop, per his bitchin' epaulettes. I at least get an apology out of him about not making the rules but having to follow them. I again pull my Lawyer rank, which may be lower than Sergeant for all I know, and say, they told his wife to come down so I could go in to execute a document affecting his legal rights. There may be protocols that take effect when it gets out that somebody died or lost their home because of the other protocols. And why did I not go through this last month when I did the exact same thing at another hospital in this same county?
Dr. Banner succeeded where his alter ego might not have (though the Hulksmashing of the gift shop would have been therapeutic), and after a phone call from Sergeant Shultz to Colonel SOMEBODY, I had my Golden Ticket printed, with exactly five minutes to find the fucking room.
Hubby could barely hold the pen- theirs, which of course barely worked. It was a struggle to get a swoosh in the initial box and something resembling an X in the signature line. But I saw it, and notarized accordingly. I got out (taking the elevator to the basement where I swear I was almost in the morgue) before I got chased, passing the chaplain's office on my way out where I think SOMEONE should be paying attention to this kind of cruelty. Missus Client was in tears when I brought her the final document. She'd had her own runin with the Pass Police earlier in the week, when she got That Call from hubby's doctor you never want to get: Um, you'd better get down here.
"Down here," for her, is a good hour away, for they live out in Genesee County, where vaccines are rejected and sheep are nervous. On her arrival, the following dialogue ensued:
Wife: I came as soon as they called.
Mall cop: Sorry, visiting hours don't start until noon.
Wife: But his doctor called and told me to get here right away!
Mall cop: And how do I know that?
If I'd been there for that, I'd be naked except for my purple stretch pants and there'd be traces of green all over the donor plaques in the entrance hall.
----
Speaking of naked, I wasn't. I only had time, after a stress-eat stop at Mickey D's (fittingly topping it with a Hulk-colored Shamrock shake), to stop home, set this laptop on and call into the Teams meeting in all my business-casual glory. I apologized and explained, and everyone was perfectly understanding about it. That was my last business of the week, but I am determined to contact the management of the hospital, and somebody at the local bar association, to see if we can coordinate an effort to get at least a few people in those buildings qualified as notaries so we don't have to go through this bullshit ever, and particularly during a pandemic.
Rather, the Magic Kingdom Pass I acquired earlier today was one I wore as proudly as an I VOTED sticker:
What it took to get that from a suburban hospital security desk, for a five minute visit with a client to notarize a document before he possibly dies, was cruel and unusual. Not cruel to me, because I was working and might eventually get paid for the effort. Rather, to the patient and his wife who I left in tears over the stupid protocols.
A bit of background:
Clients have been in a repayment bankruptcy since 2016. Due to the usual snafus with mortgage servicing, they fell behind, but not as far behind as their servicer said they were. Said servicer waited a year before seeking foreclosure permission from Bankruptcy Court. We were going back and forth over payment records, but then earlier this year, the husband's cancer got worse and his treatment options in this area did not get better enough, so they essentially shifted gears and asked to work out a sale on some agreeable basis so they could move somewhere with better care. The next hearing on that is this coming Tuesday.
I hadn't heard from the missus (the main financial point of contact even before the cancer) so I sent a nag email yesterday and she replied that hubby had taken a turn and was now in a near-me hospital rather than with the downtown oncologists. But she would be in to my office to go over the paperwork late this morning. I also told her I would do, for no charge, a power of attorney document that would enable her to do all the paperwork for both of them. She appreciated that for whatever other reason she might need to have the document.
And there she was, right on time after I dropped off our own financial paperwork for Refi LVCIX or whatever it is. (THAT all looks very good:) I explained where hubby would need to initial and sign the form to authorize her as his POA, and that the horsepital would have to provide a notary. You'd think maybe they'd have one or two on staff for the assorted transactions that people who are, I don't know, SICK AND MAYBE FUCKING DYING!, need to fill out to get their affairs in order. I even gently suggested that she check with the chaplain's office, because in final days, priests and lawyers are often working the same rooms at the same time.
Alas, no such animal at Chez Fillmore Suburban. Rosary, yes; notary, nyet. So I volunteered to come over- it's a 10 minute drive from my office, and I'd have plenty of time after my noon Zoom call (committee meeting- business casual) to stop at home, change at least from the waist up, and get on my 2:30 Teams call (actual appearance- suits usually de rigeur).
I'd done this before at another local horsepital a few weeks ago. Wife was up in the room, came down when I got to the parking lot, watched me clear temperature testing, walked me to his bed, he proved lucid, she helped him hold the pen and sign, and I was out long before the hour of free parking expired. E(asy Pea) CMC. I figured it would be even quicker in the land of suburban free parking.
And it was at first, with the nurse who cleared and checked me in and had me head to the security station for actual admission. Chris the Hospital Cop wasn't having it, though: he already has a visitor. Just one per person. He saw my attorney ID. He did not care. Since visiting hours were almost over anyway, I called the missus and told her to come down. He shooed me back outside, no problem because there was no line, and when she arrived, I went back. Other rule I didn't tell you about: no swapping out. One per person per day.
Now my eyes are starting to turn green and I'm feeling a bit of expansion in my shoes. Don't make me angry, Mr. Mall Security. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. But somehow, I restrained my inner Green Guy. Look, I said, this is where a Karen would demand to speak to a manager, and I don't want to be that person. But is there such a management unit with some discretion here?
He grunt-gesticulates to the other guy in the booth- SERGEANT Hospital Cop, per his bitchin' epaulettes. I at least get an apology out of him about not making the rules but having to follow them. I again pull my Lawyer rank, which may be lower than Sergeant for all I know, and say, they told his wife to come down so I could go in to execute a document affecting his legal rights. There may be protocols that take effect when it gets out that somebody died or lost their home because of the other protocols. And why did I not go through this last month when I did the exact same thing at another hospital in this same county?
Dr. Banner succeeded where his alter ego might not have (though the Hulksmashing of the gift shop would have been therapeutic), and after a phone call from Sergeant Shultz to Colonel SOMEBODY, I had my Golden Ticket printed, with exactly five minutes to find the fucking room.
Hubby could barely hold the pen- theirs, which of course barely worked. It was a struggle to get a swoosh in the initial box and something resembling an X in the signature line. But I saw it, and notarized accordingly. I got out (taking the elevator to the basement where I swear I was almost in the morgue) before I got chased, passing the chaplain's office on my way out where I think SOMEONE should be paying attention to this kind of cruelty. Missus Client was in tears when I brought her the final document. She'd had her own runin with the Pass Police earlier in the week, when she got That Call from hubby's doctor you never want to get: Um, you'd better get down here.
"Down here," for her, is a good hour away, for they live out in Genesee County, where vaccines are rejected and sheep are nervous. On her arrival, the following dialogue ensued:
Wife: I came as soon as they called.
Mall cop: Sorry, visiting hours don't start until noon.
Wife: But his doctor called and told me to get here right away!
Mall cop: And how do I know that?
If I'd been there for that, I'd be naked except for my purple stretch pants and there'd be traces of green all over the donor plaques in the entrance hall.
----
Speaking of naked, I wasn't. I only had time, after a stress-eat stop at Mickey D's (fittingly topping it with a Hulk-colored Shamrock shake), to stop home, set this laptop on and call into the Teams meeting in all my business-casual glory. I apologized and explained, and everyone was perfectly understanding about it. That was my last business of the week, but I am determined to contact the management of the hospital, and somebody at the local bar association, to see if we can coordinate an effort to get at least a few people in those buildings qualified as notaries so we don't have to go through this bullshit ever, and particularly during a pandemic.