Every day I send faxes. I fax letters to doctors, reports to social workers, releases to teachers and prescriptions to pharmacies. This is a smooth, uninterupted process in my day. The old reliable xerox springs to life at the touch of my hand and those documents go spinning through cyberspace to land in the hands of the desired recipients! It's a miracle of modern technology-most of the time.
Last week, Thursday, was a particularly busy day for faxes. It seemed that I'd just get one sent and someone else was calling for documentation. I had just about tidied up all the paperwork for the day when one last call for a prescription came in. I thought to meself, "I'll get this sent and be on my way home." It should have taken less than thirty seconds.
After the third "fail" I decided to call the pharmasist and check if, in fact, the document had arrived because sometimes that happens. It hadn't... and the guy on th eother end of the phone had no explanation. "Try again," he urged, "I've been getting faxes all day."
So I tried again - FIVE more times. Each time the machine made the sounds of a smoothly running fax and everytime it would shoot out the printout reporting FAILED.
After all these attempts, I was getting really frustrated. It was now definitely after hours. The office was dead quiet. I was hungry and dehydrated. And "fax wars" was NOT how I had planned to spend my evening.
The pharmasist and I had powered down, rebooted, unplugged, etc. etc. etc our respective machines; idividually and simultaneously to no avail.
"My machine must just not want to talk to yours," I sighed into the phone.
"Yeah, they're just not speaking the same language. What kind do you have?" the pharmasist on the other end asked gently.
"I'm using a xerox," I replied testily. "I've been using this same xerox for ten years. It's old but it's absolutely top of the line and very reliable."
"I've got a brand new Brother. It must be a newer, better, faster technology. It must not recognize your old work horse," he laughed into the phone.
This was not funny. If it had been a pharmacy down the street, I would have driven the fax over hours ago. But this pharmacy was about an hour and a half drive out of town and the prescription was a "triplicate" meaning it had to be recorded "hard copy". I couldn't just give a verbal order. This was NOT FUNNY at all.
Suddenly, I realized that Dr. Rampling had a fax machine right on the other side of my filing cabinet! And I knew his was a newer, cheaper, fussier BROTHER! All this time, all I had to do was walk 10 paces, try the other machine and then we would know for sure that it was the pharmacy's faulty machine that was consuming all my down time. "I'm going to try again from the other machine," I told my buddy on the other end. " I'll send it with Dr. Rampling's brother," I yelled into the phone, amazed with my own brilliance. "I'll call you right back!"
When I redialed, Jim picked up the phone halfway through the first ring. "It's here", he shouted gleefully in my ear.
Relieved, I also raised my voice in joy, "From now on I'll just send it with
DR. RAMPLING'S BROTHER!"
Dr. Rampling, who had been quietly doing paperwork in his office - as he often does later in the evening - literally vaulted through the door with a note scribbled on his prescription pad. "I have no brother!" He was gesturing wildly, pointing at the note, shaking his head, urging me to get off the phone.
I was in such a state of pure joy and relief, I waved him away, finished up with Jim and headed back to his office.
He was quite frantic as he exclaimed, "Lorri, I have no brother! If they're cold calling you, trying to get you to send money or whatever with my brother, it's fraud. DON'T DO IT!!"
Now it was my turn to laugh outloud. I led Dr. Rampling to the reception area and showed him the name on his fax machine. Emblazened across the front, in navy blue was the word BROTHER
He got the strangest look on his face and then he also laughed outloud. We said, "Good night" and I was still chuckling as I stepped in the elevator to head home.
