Ah, to be called "honey" in a professional setting by someone, oh, excuse me, a SUPERVISOR, as I was so pointedly informed, who has been here SINCE 1988, as we were also informed, to whom I have never spoken and who is threatening to call security so she can rifle around in a faculty office to retrieve a patient chart, and this at the end of the work day when the owner of the office has gone home and thusly has not given permission to enter his or her personal space, and that the chart in question has no urgency attached to it, and could have easily waited until the next day to be retrieved, but, apparently, SHE HAS THE RIGHT TO DO SO.
I do so adore being spoken to as though I was a particularly simple-minded, nail-filing, gum-smacking, too-short-skirt-wearing, 1950's era "secretary" who answers the phone "Whadda want?" who had barely graduated from stenographic school. I especially relish it when the SUPERVISOR tells my boss that I denied the SUPERVISOR access to aforementioned faculty-empty office to retrieve the suddenly very popular chart that has to be found RIGHT NOW as work as we know it cannot proceed without it. I love the phrase "denied access". It sounds so forceful. Especially when what I said was, "The assistant who would know where those charts are is out of the office but will return tomorrow. Can I give her a message?" But my memory must be faulty. What I must have done is physically bar the office with my quivering body, ready to chain myself to the knob and hinges to prevent entrance. Sounds like me.