It doesn’t pay to cry wolf.
Even when the big hairy monster is chomping at the heels of your Reeboks, breathing worse-than-dog breath over your shoulder and leaving a trail of slobber all over your floor, nobody listens. Nobody heeds the warning.
Until the day you are standing in the middle of reception, with a waiting room full of horrified patients, screaming your lungs out, threatening murder and mayhem.
I stand back and watch this display as if from a distance. Is that screeching banshee really me?
I warned them. How many times did I say, if one more person pokes me, asks me to do one more thing, or asks me one more stupid question, I will not be responsible for the consequences.
Maybe they’re finally listening now.