Even on the best of days Renea Mayhew considered her job responsibilities to be something akin to herding cats. It was a Monday morning, just after 10:00AM, and her ‘cats’ (subordinates) were having a day.
Bonnie in the Tigard clinic, bless her ancient bones, always had issues with all forms of technology but, today, technology seemed to be having issues with her. How, Renea could only guess, but every computer in the clinic, apparently, refused to turn on. She tried talking Bonnie through every solution she could think of to fix the problem. Her patience was also tried in the process. Either her proposed solutions did not resolve the issue, or Bonnie failed to execute them properly, and now Renea had to pack up her shit and go to the clinic in person.
On the elevator ride down from her office on the 13th floor of the corporate office building, Renea received and replied to three emails - each claiming their issue was urgent and required immediate attention - and accepted an incoming call from her assistant, Myles.
“There is an issue at the Lake O clinic,” he said in his lifeless monotone.
Underneath his laconic, almost vacant exterior, Myles had a dark sense of humor. It came as a hell of a surprise to Renea when, after a year of working together, he finally began to open up. Even after years of working for the company, Myles Bittibs usually kept a tight lid on anything remotely resembling a personality when interacting with coworkers.
Renea did not reply. She was still tapping away at her phone, professionally and in language that left no room for reproach, she was responding to another passive aggressive email from Carol - the second of the day already - who had stepped into the late Kinsey Fox’s role of being a thorn in her side.
“Derek is probably going to call you to complain about me. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”
That got Renea’s attention. In the three years that the young man had worked for her, she had not received a single complaint about him. Derek, the clinic director of the Lake Oswego clinic, was a fairly easy going guy and Renea rarely had issues with him or his clinic.
“Spill it, Myles,” she said, exiting the elevator and making her way through the lobby and out of the building.
“I… I really don’t know why he is so upset. All I did was tell him that, going forward, he had to send me an update on his drop rate.”
Renea got into her sedan, put her briefcase on the passenger seat, and connected her phone to blacktooth. She frowned, unsure why that would upset anyone, let alone Derek.
“That can’t be it,” she said, turning the ignition and putting the car in reverse. “Derek’s so laid back. There’s got to be more to the story.”
“I know. I’ve never had an issue with Derek. Not sure what his deal is. Anyway, I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to give you the heads up.”
Renea pulled out of the parking lot heading toward her Tigard clinic with all of the haste the speed limit would allow. She ended the call with Myles and was left thinking on the matter for all of six seconds before another call came in. It was Derek. Curious, she answered.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Talk to me, Derek.”
“We need to talk about Myles,” Derek said, sounding more alpha-aggressive than Renea had ever heard him. It was as though, with just that simple statement, he was aiming to pick a fight.
Playing dumb, Renea replied with a jovial tone. “Sure, what’s going on?”
“That… that child is making me send him a report on drop rate,” the next three words he said slowly and with increasing aggravation with each syllable, “every single day.”
Renea swallowed the laugh threatening to escape her lips and subsequently escalate Derek’s frustration. Myles, for all of his competence and ability, was something of a blunt instrument when it came to dealing with people. In her mind, she could see the whole thing play out almost as if she were there.
Derek had probably just finished up an appointment when Myles approached him, papers in hand. Instead of using Renea’s approach of showing that she understood why there was an issue, complimenting the clinic director on something unrelated, and then connecting the something they were doing well with what they were not. Finally, she would explain how things would be handled going forward, she was almost certain that Myles led the conversation with, “Your drop rate is unacceptable. From now on, and until your clinic meets our company standard, you will submit a report to me every afternoon by 2:00pm.”
Still, Renea had made it clear to all of her subordinates that if an order came from Myles, they were to treat it as though it had come from Renea herself. Even if his approach was less, well, easy to swallow than it surely would have been had she been the one to give the order, Renea was not going to let Derek or anyone else talk about her assistant like that.
“Let me stop you there,” she said, tone firm. “Myles is 23 years old and is an incredibly capable and professional adult. Even if he was 18 and fresh out of highschool, I would not tolerate age based descrimination. Understood?”
“I didn’t say…” Derek paused, likely calming himself before saying anything he’d come to regret. “Understood.”
“Alright. That said, I do understand that he occasionally comes off as a little abrupt,” she said, putting it mildly. “He and I have been working on his interpersonal skills.”
“A little abrupt?” Derek spat, his frustration clearly rising again. “He set reminders to ‘Send Myles drop rate report’ on every computer in the clinic to go off every hour until two o’clock.”
Again, Renea had to press her lips tightly together and breathe in slowly through her nose to keep from laughing. It took a few minutes, but she managed to calm Derek down and, by the time she was pulling into the Tigard clinic he seemed to understand why these reports were required and how submitting them to Myles every single day would improve the workflow (as well as revenue) of his clinic.
“Oh good!” Dale said excitedly upon seeing Renea. He was this clinic’s director, and had to be at least 100 years old. Between the fact that he was the clinic director and that Bonnie was his sole receptionist, it was really a wonder that the clinic functioned at all. “You’re here! We can’t get these dang things to work. I remember when everything was on paper. We never had this kind of problem. Technology, technology…” he lamented.
Renea smiled a greeting as she stepped around the front desk. “Let’s see if we can get this figured out.”
Renea set down her bag, sat in Bonnie’s ergonomic office chair, and did a quick, cursory check of the computer’s chords. Blinking rapidly and counting silently to ten, Renea’s professionalism was put to the test. She had dropped everything, packed up her laptop, and driven all the way to Tigard for this. Somebody (Bonnie) had set their purse on the power strip, incidentally flicking the switch from ‘on’ to ‘off’.
Without a word, Renea slid the purse to the side, flicked the power switch into the ‘on’ position, and turned on the computer. It chimed merrily upon awakening. Renea grabbed her bag, got to her feet, and began walking toward the door.
“Of course it works when you try it,” she heard Bonnie say from somewhere behind her.
Renea closed her eyes, reminding herself to always wear her professional face in professional environments. She turned around, smiling pleasantly. “I must have the magic touch,” she said with a little shrug.
Her drive back to the corporate office was a cathartic ritual she had performed on countless occasions. She put in the angriest metal music she could think of, cranked the volume, and tossed the remainder of her coffee down the hatch.
It wasn’t even 11:00AM. . .