Customer Disservice?

Humming a little tune as I rounded the corner and headed down the homestretch of my afternoon in the office, I plucked a chart from the wall outside of room 14. Carol Todd, a woman of 48, had come to see me about “cellulitis of the scalp.” My nurse had scrawled a question mark after her history, and then an exclamation point. I shot a quizzical look into the nurses' pod at her. She rolled her eyes at me and mouthed the words, “You'll see.” I knocked on the door and entered the examination room.

Mrs. Todd, a short, stout woman, pursed her bright red lips into a scowl as she saw me. I introduced myself, welcoming her to our clinic. She brushed me off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Are you really old enough to be a doctor? You look just like a kid.” I started to answer something about medical school, residency, years of experience, but she just shrugged at my response and snapped, “I'm in a hurry, doctor, so if you wouldn't mind I'd like to get to my problem. I spent 30 minutes in your waiting room surrounded by coughing people, and I'm in no mood for small talk.” I sat back in my chair and asked her to describe her symptoms. “I don't have symptoms, I have cellulitis. Didn't the nurse tell you? …