The problem is that if you can’t speak Arabic, then you’re left being transferred from one person to another until your credit has run out or they’ve hung up on you. If by some miracle they do answer, and if by another miracle they understand your accent, and if you’re going for a hat trick you get your third miracle when they give you an appointment on the day you want it, only to diffuse your euphoria by reminding you in a solemn tone, that should your plans change, you must phone the surgery or risk getting a NS on your file. (NS means No Show).
Ok, so you’ve finally made an appointment, as the date draws nearer your phone buzzes to life and on the other end you will find an Arabic lady calling to confirm your appointment. Once she has finished her rapid fire introduction, you are able to get a word in and tell her that you didn’t understand any of what she just said – she thankfully switches to English. The very next day, your mobile rings again and as you hotfoot it out of the shower and down the stairs in time to receive the call you are greeted by another Arabic lady and the process repeats all over again for the next several days until the day of your appointment.
Given the number of times they call you to confirm, you’d think that you had an appointment with John Abraham himself! (For those of you who don’t know who he is, Google him and hit IMAGES, phew!) So you rush to your appointment with all the urgency of missing out on seeing Mr. Abraham, and upon announcing yourself you are asked to take a seat.
There is no NHS in Riyadh, even if you have insurance you have to pay a minimum amount from your total bill, so you can understand when you are kept waiting for more than ten minutes people begin to get irate. Okay, I get irate as I hate being kept waiting. Thirty minutes tick by and you think of your doctor’s surgery back home in London contemplating which one is worse. Then you remember the taxi you have asked to wait outside and begin to wish you had sent him away and taken your chances hailing a taxi on the street for the journey back home. It’s worse when your husband has volunteered to drive you to the surgery – especially if you have kids in the car as you know you will get a serious talking to when you show up after having your teeth drilled or pulled out, whichever is more painful and puts you in the mood to listen to him complain about how the kids drove him mad.
Let me tell you a little secret, a payback of a sort. There is a thing called Walk-ins, no appointment necessary but it disrupts the receptionist’s appointment system and makes her send out for your file from wherever they keep paper records.It’s a win-win situation for you as they make you wait the same time as if you did have the blasted appointment they so badly insist on.
What’s your appointment experiences like? Feel free to leave them below.
