Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Adventures in Physical Therapy

Where I go to get my PT isn't a large office but it's enough to where you can still get that personal attention and get worked over well.

The only complaint that I would have is that it does not have a locker room or changing rooms for clients to use (especially if you've worked up a sweat during PT). You find one of the small rooms in the back with a table where they do evaluations, apply heat, give you electronic stimulation, etc. and change in one of them. It's never really been a problem, but there are many times when there are two people sharing a room for changing purposes.

Today it became a small problem. I had just gotten done with the ultrasound and massage work on my foot with the bad case of plantar fasciitis and made my next appointment when I headed back to my room to retrieve my clothes. Now, I was careful in folding my clothes so they didn't take up too much room, was out of the way, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.

I just wish the woman who came in after me had been as considerate. I reached down nder the table where I had stowed my clothes and the first thing I felt was how wet my clothes were.

Now this was a problem. My khaki pants (which I had placed on the floor with my shirt and shoes on top) had a lovely streak of brown liquid right across the ass of the pants so it looked like I had a bad case of diarrhea and didn't make it to the toilet in time. I looked under the table and sitting next this purse at the foot of the table was a still warm cup of coffee that had tipped over spilling its lovely caffinated goodness all over my pants.

I put my rugby shorts back on and walked out to the counter where I asked who else was using the room because I wanted them to know what they had done. The receptionist called out to the only other woman in the entire room outside of the therapists and asked her what room she put her purse. It was in fact my room although she tried to deny the fact that she brought in a cup of coffee with her until the lovely front desk woman said she remembered her having it in her hand when she signed in.

She refused to believe that her coffee cup had tipped over and that I deliberately poured it on my pants. I told her that if she didn't pony up money so I could go get a new pair of pants I was going to go into her purse myself and get the money and/or credit card myself because I had far better things to do with my time than "pour coffee on my own pants so it would look like I shit myself."

Finally, the manager of the entire office had to get involved and told her that she's responsible for what she brings into the office and she should pay me for a new set of pants. It took about another fifteen minutes but finally she took her credit card and ID (because the office manager was holding her purse hostage) and went to the Generic Apparel Place (aka G.A.P.) and got me a replacement pair of pants.

In the wrong size.

But at least they are pants. And I don't look like I shit my pants.

The woman stormed out after coming back with the pants and said she would find a new therapist because she had never "been treated this way in all [her] life" and she would give her "business" (something that made me snicker) to a more "reputable" establishment. I was kinda waiting for her to say that she would call the firm president and have them all fired by the end of the day but I think that was a little too Joan Collins-y for her.

The manager...totally nonplused over the whole thing.
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