Amy

It amazes me how much physical therapy saps my energy. My sessions are now down to two a week, but last close to three hours. On my “off” days I try to do all the PT things I can, but the home version.

The one thing I cannot do at home is tease or be teased by Amy, the receptionist slash PT assistant slash One Who Must Be Obeyed.

When I talked to Amy on the phone to set up my initial appointment, I tapped into my years of teaching and included her voice in my mental image of her. In my head I saw a blonde, freckled, perky eighteen year old in one of those print blouses receptionists in pediatricians’ offices wear. I made the appointment for St. Patrick’s day, and she told me to be sure to wear green. She’d pinch me if I didn’t. That reinforced my blonde, freckled, perky image of her.

I don’t really own green, at least not emerald green. As a matter of principle I would choose to wear orange on St. Patrick’s Day to indicate my touch of Ireland, but the protestant part.

I was surprised when I went in for my first appointment. Amy’s hair is dark. She doesn’t have freckles. And she’s not exactly perky. She’s a little cynical, a little sarcastic, a lot funny with a sly sense of humor, and pretty much in charge. She isn’t eighteen. She’s in her twenties and has a beautiful little girl whom I met during spring break when she wasn’t in school. And I didn't see any green in her clothes. Her father is from Croatia.

Her sense of humor showed up on April Fool’s Day. “Here, have some chips,” she said and handed me a Pringle’s like can. “They’re really good. I can’t open it, but it’s OK if you do.” I declined. Her eyes twinkled.

“You just want me to open the can of chips so you can eat them. I don’t eat chips,” I told her, realizing everyone’s eyes were on me. I suddenly knew. Later, when the afternoon receptionist came in, she absently opened the can, screeched when the spring snakes popped out and we all laughed. Amy had hit again.

Most of all, Amy is unflappable. When one of the other patients whines at her, “Aaaaammmmeeeeeeeee. I need a magazine to read. No, not thiiiiiis one. I already read it,” Amy smiles and finds her a magazine and then takes it back and brings the current Tribune. The patient can’t have read it yet, and Amy is right.

When one of the other patients talks about his invisible friend Ima, a very mean man who wants chocolate in the bowl on the reception desk instead of little suckers, Amy smiles and explains the chocolate is gone. She finds instead some red licorice and puts it out then takes some to Whiny Tribune Reader.

Ima doesn’t upset Amy – she just laughs. Nor do cancelled appointments, the person who shows up thinking it’s Wednesday instead of Tuesday and complains that she waited for 45 minutes, the jokes her brother Joe, a PT assistant, pulls on her, or the demands of the three or four or five therapists and their patients.

Amy is the perfect receptionist for the physical therapy office. Everything gets done, and we all have a laugh. Thanks, Amy.