“For judgment I am come into this world, that they which see not might see; and that they which see might be made blind.” Again the character limit forces me to abridge my review: I had been to the Lutherville location a decade ago; one would think that I would then be in the records of the whole group, but perhaps not. Or, the person I spoke to over the phone at the Mercy Medical Center location was just unable to find me in their system; I do remember her becoming exasperated, and expressing astonishment at my questions. I made it to the office fine, but—as soon as one enters the door, one is accosted by the check-in tablet, which is surrounded by multiple angry signs sporting capital letters, yellow highlighting, images of stop signs, and complaints of how busy they are. The waiting room is slightly separated from the front desk area, so that you are corralled to the tablet before you can disturb the imperious receptionists. The check-in questions are also moody, popping up suddenly and disorientingly, asking you to enter the same thing more than once. Having been accosted thus, I walked slightly forward, rounding the corner to the front desk, and encountered a podium with a stop sign and a sign-in clipboard. I asked the person at the desk right next to the podium if I needed to sign this too—and she gave me a nasty look like I was an idiot, and started questioning me. I said I was there for an eye appointment, and she said, “Letitia says you’re fine; you can sit down.” You might notice that this didn’t answer my question, or tell me who Letitia is. This is bad patient service; one does not throw questions back at patients, but politely explain what’s going on. Letitia, it turned out, was on the other side of the front desk area, behind me, her head only partially visible behind the wall of the reception desk. If you follow the angry signs, you’re led to the optician desks, not the reception desk. Being snapped at and given nasty looks, I told them that they should probably move their check-in tablet so as to prevent confusion. Naturally I was told the “I’ll mention this to the managers” lie designed to mollify and get you out of their hair. The angry signage should go: Saying you're busy and understaffed on these signs is passive-aggressive and primes both employees and patients to be combative. To plaster redundant signs everywhere is overbearing. The transition to technology should not make us inhuman. It is on the managers both that their office is arranged poorly and that their employees are rude. And then I was disoriented again: The nurse who called me to be seen did the usual “follow me” routine—but then rushed ahead of me around the hall corner, and when I rounded the corner she was nowhere to be seen. It turned out there was a little area embedded in the wall corner; if you just walk towards the end of the hallway like a normal human being, you will have no idea where the nurse went. The nurse told me I should know where she was by her voice; this low-level reasoning misses the moment of confusion caused by being led into a hallway and losing the visual presence of the nurse. It is the simplest thing in the world to *stay with the patient and not rush off*, or to *stand outside the secret corner hole so the patient sees you go into it*. The optometrist, Jack Sadovnik, was in such a rush I couldn’t tell which lens he was referring to when he asked if lens 1 or lens 2 were better (confusingly, there were three lenses involved). He also didn’t give me enough time to determine which was better. Once, when he asked me the smallest line of text I could read, I wasn’t sure, so I thought a moment, and he basically told me to hurry it up. I don't trust the lens prescription he came up with. Also I have yet to receive it; I was told they’d e-mail my prescription to me, but the e-mail has not come. My eyes miss very little. I certainly will not buy my glasses at Katzen Eye Group's Mercy Medical Center location. Or schedule another appointment there.
