The Kiosk

Maybe it’s me but I’m pretty sure some of these labs are giving up on us, and I don’t mean doodles. I was in one last month for a lab test and it was just an empty room with a few chairs and a little kiosk. I felt like I was John Locke in an episode of LOST.  Just the look of bewilderment on 76-year-old Mary’s face reminded me of how my kids look when I hand them a broom. It’s like these labs are saying ‘you do it – check yourself in.’ Poor Fred, a spry 72-year-old, mumbled a few f-bombs and just up and left. In their defense, Covid may have caused this and the staffing shortage is exacerbating it but it’s brutally frustrating.  “I have an appointment,” said Mary, “at least I thought I did.” We weren’t properly trained on these kiosks – this requires like weeks of instruction. I’m still having nightmares from that red light scanner that tried to take a picture of my ID.   I punched Mary’s birthdate in, 6-14-47, but it just popped back to the home screen. “Does that mean we are checked in?” Mary said. I sighed. “I don’t know Mary. I just don’t know.” There’s a lab now open til midnight near us, which is a story for another day, but earlier this month I went in at 11 pm and decided to do a self training – with no one there, I used my wife’s ID, my son’s, my dads. I made fake appointments the night before and became an expert. I’ve thought about setting up shop from these lab kiosk areas – free wifi, help a few confused souls. Of course the grocery stores aren’t much better. My mom called me on her cell phone at 10am yesterday – “Bry, I know you’re working and can’t talk but I’m trying to pay for bananas for your dad’s leg cramps and it’s not working.”  Um, there’s a lot there to digest, but I could tell from the background noise she was at the market and got sent into the kiosk lane.  “Ma, Ma – put the bananas down – abort mission – just drive over by Rosedale Farm and get them there – they will help you.” “Bry, Bry – buy roses? What, I can’t hear you…”