“This is the pharmacy, how can I help you?” I say, as I roll my eyes. Our phone etiquette training session last month had us all trained to answer phone calls like we are the best customer service ever, even better than those gibbering Indian people who you can’t understand but feel bad to hang up on because they sound so happy.

On the other side of the phone, a nurse taps her pen, or what I would assume was a pen, on the speaker while she speaks to me, with a major attitude, “is this the pharmacy?” It’s Darlene from 9A. I hate Darlene.

“Yes, Darlene! That’s what I just said!” I scream to the phone, only I don’t. I smile, and with my calming voice, “ yes ma’am. What can I do for you?” While I click open a new doctor’s order placed for a new admission. 20 new medication orders, 4 are duplicates, 2 the doses are clearly wrong, and the rest are part of PACU orders that were not supposed to be started on a general admission floor, fml (that’s fuck my life, if you were wondering).

“I’ve called 20 minutes ago about this missing medication, and you said you were gonna tube it, but I still don’t have it.” She said it as if she’s asking me a question and waiting for my answer, with another few tappings on the speaker.

“I’m sorry,” that’s what they taught first thing in the phone etiquette training, apologize, acknowledge the problem, and provide a solution. “Let me look at the patient’s chart to see when we dispensed the medication. Can you give me the patient’s name?” And while I speak, I verify some orders on that new admission, messaged the doctor about the mistakes he carelessly made, and delete with my own liberty which duplicates are not needed.

“Hang on, I don’t remember his last name,” the nurse put me on hold. The music on the speaker is unbearable.

“You call me but you don’t even have the name.” I roll my eyes, grumbling into the music. Typing my message to the doctor:

Dr D, patient Jones was ordered two different pain meds for the same pain scale, can you tell me which one you would like for severe pain?

Dr D replies: yes.

I almost tossed the phone to my cubicle wall. It was not a yes or no question.

“Patient’s name is Smith Johnson. And the med I’m looking for is Amoxicillin.” Still tapping her freakin pen.

“Okay, let me check that for you.” Whenever I say that, I don’t feel like I’m working in a hospital pharmacy, I feel like I work at a shoe store. And no, she did not call 20 minutes ago, last dispenser showed 3minutes ago, by Jake, not me. I don’t sound like a man, I did not promise I would send you anything 20 minutes ago because you did not talk to me, you talked to Jake, a man, 3 minutes ago. But I had my training, I’m a pro at this phone etiquette shit, so I don’t scream at her. “I see here that a dose was dispensed a few minutes ago, so I will find it and send it to you personally, okay?”

“Alright. Click.” I don’t even get a thanks? Why the heck is pharmacy the only department that got this stupid phone training anyways?

Dr D: do whatever feels right to you. I trust your clinical judgement.

I fume a little, because if I want that responsibility I would have gone to med school. But this wasn’t the first time, so I let it go.

“Jenna,” my boss said, out of no where. Has he been behind me the whole time? “Don’t forget we need to do a med history for new patients.”

“Right!” A toothy grin. I’m such a kiss ass. I get up from my seat to talk to a new patient. Get held up in his room because he’s lonely and wanted to talk.

20 minutes later, I come back, I get a call from Darlene again.

“Oh sorry I forgot about the Amoxicillin,” I said.

“No I found that right after we got off the phone.” Great, bitch. “I’m calling because you haven’t verified Mr Jones pain meds.”

Crap! I just want to be a pharmacist that isn’t distracted every 2 minutes. But I can’t say crap, because I’m trained on phone etiquette, “sorry about that. I will get to it now!”