I went to see the Quack for a check-up yesterday afternoon. I was greeted at the surgery not by a receptionist but by a screen on the wall inviting me to record my presence. Or, if I couldn’t manage that, ring the bell on the counter (you dumbo, it might well have added).
Never one to be deterred by a challenge, I touched the screen, as requested, and went through its programmed sequence. Male, month of birth, day of birth … and the message Welcome, Mr John William Napper came up on screen. Another told me who my appointment was with, and when (even though I already knew that), and that my doctor was running …. 0 …. Minutes Late.
Clever stuff. But what do the bloody receptionists do now!? Gossip, drink tea and dunk bickies in the back room, while keeping a vague eye on their screen, I suspect.
I already make appointments online and order repeat prescriptions online. What next? Will I have to administer my own jabs, locate and then relocate a rectal thermometer, squeeze my own testicles and cough?
I could probably manage one of the three without coming over all unnecessary.
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