It’s About Time (Clocks)

Back in the 90s, I worked as a liaison to large medical group practices for the Ohio State Medical Association (OSMA). For two of the five years I worked there, my position was co-funded by the American Medical Association (AMA).

For those of you who don’t know (and probably don’t care), every state in the country has a state medical association along with several county (or parish) medical societies. These, along with the AMA, make up the federation of medicine. All of these organizations are non-profit professional membership associations made up of physicians who pay dues for advocacy and representation in government regulations and legislation, payor disputes, public health, etc. Blah, blah, blah.

Because I worked for two associations – the OSMA and AMA – I essentially had two bosses. My AMA boss, Susan, became a good friend of mine. She was my age, was super funny, and we got along great. Susan worked out of Chicago, where the AMA was headquartered, and I worked out of Columbus.

Part of my AMA responsibilities was attending the AMA’s semiannual meetings, one was in June, the other in December. The meetings were basically the same, with the AMA House of Delegates (think House of Representatives) reviewing and debating resolutions. The resolutions that were approved by the House were then adopted as AMA policy. The June meeting – during my tenure, always held at the Chicago Hilton & Towers – differed from the December meeting because in June, elections were held for AMA officers and board members.

The elections were always a big deal. Physicians running for office often spared no expense to persuade delegates to vote for them. Most candidates appointed a delegate to serve as his or her campaign manager. (I know, right?) Often the candidates, along with their respective state medical association, would host cocktail receptions (with out-of-this-world appetizers), dessert receptions and parties to help secure votes. In addition, campaign swag was also distributed to delegates and association staff. The candidates figured, I guess, that the better the party and the more impressive the swag, the more likely the delegates would be to vote for them. (I can only assume that the candidates thought their physician peers were pretty fickle and highly impressionable.)

Even though association staff couldn’t vote, we of course, went to all the parties and collected all the swag too. We weren’t in the business of supporting any one candidate over another either, so of course, it was important for us to attend all of the campaign parties. We rarely spent money during the four-day convention because we were getting free food and cocktails at all the receptions we were attending.

Because of the June elections, just about every morning all the hotel guests who had made reservations at the Hilton using the AMA group number, woke to find new campaign paraphernalia outside their room, either hanging on their door knob or lying on the ground just outside their door. It might have been an invitation to a cocktail reception or maybe a little gift. One time I remember getting a small, black cardboard doctor’s bag with chocolates inside and a note to “Vote for Al as Speaker of the House” or some such message.

Okay. That’s the background.

Finally, a break. I waited at the elevators for an opportunity to sneak upstairs to my room. I only have twenty minutes until I have to be back downstairs for the luncheon. They’ll probably serve something like salmon or something equally offensive to my palette that will have me leaving the luncheon hungrier than I was going in.

I am so tired. Only two more days. Elections will be held tomorrow and the next day we’ll be done by noon. Then the mad rush of all the doctors and staff as we all attempt to secure the next cab to the airport.

These early mornings – we started at 7:30 again this morning with a “caucus” breakfast of my state delegation – are killing me. (I do not miss all this jargon used by organized medicine and apparently copied from the U.S. House of Representatives.) And coupled with all the drinking and late nights, my body is screaming to lie down.

The elevator doors finally open onto my floor and I lumber down the long hallway, my heavy courier bag slung over my shoulder. My bag contains a binder with printed copies of all the resolutions that are being debated by the House of Delegates at this meeting.

I notice something sitting on the floor outside each of the guest rooms. It’s not until I actually reach the door to my room that I see it is a box containing a clock radio. I pick it up and go into my room.

Yahoo! Finally, a campaign gift I can actually use! But who is the candidate? How asinine, to leave such a great gift and not include the candidate’s name! Some campaign manager is going to be in real trouble for this colossal waste of money. Unless, I don’t think any of the candidates has a last name of “Clock,” “Time,” or “Clock-Radio.” If that were the case, this would be a brilliant piece of swag. Hmm. No matter. I can’t vote anyway.

Before I grab a Diet Coke from the mini frig, I put the box containing my new clock radio into my suitcase that I have sitting open on the queen bed I’m not using for sleep.

Note to readers: I know that you know how this tale is going to end. You’re probably thinking, “This girl is just a little bit thick-headed, stupid. Definitely not the brightest star in the sky.” And I can’t argue with you. All evidence suggests that you are absolutely correct.

The next two days pass and I forget about the clock radio until I get back home and unpack my suitcase. I wonder idly whether the candidate who distributed them won his election.

I take the day off after returning from Chicago and return to work on Tuesday. Late that morning, I get a call from Susan. We talk for a few minutes about some of the resolutions that passed the House of Delegates that will have an impact on large medical groups. Just kidding. Instead we recap all the gossip we learned about other AMA staffers.

We’re about to hang up when I ask, “Susan, did the guy who gave out the clock radios win his election?”

“What are you talking about?

“You know, the clock radios that they left outside everyone’s hotel room? I don’t know who the candidate was because the dufus didn’t have his name on the box.”

Again, she says, “Jill, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Didn’t you get a clock radio outside your room a couple of days ago?” I ask.

Silence.

More silence.

“Susan?” I prod.

The silence is broken with an eruption of laughter.

“What?”

“Jill! Those weren’t campaign giveaways!” She laughs. “Those were left for the housekeeping staff to replace the old clock radios in each of the guest rooms!” She howls.

Are you kidding me? I remember now the difficult time I had figuring out the alarm on the clock radio that was in my room. In the end, I had had to rely on the hotel operator for a wake-up call each morning. I am mortified by my stupidity.

“Tell me you didn’t,” she chortles.

I can’t. I did. “Yes, I brought it home with me.” More hysterical laughter.

So, there you have it. Aside from being astoundingly simple minded, I am a thief. (But you know this already if you read one of my previous posts.)

As an aside, the clock radio kept very good time and lasted a very long time too. And if your last name is “Time,” “Clock,” or “Clock-Radio,” and you happen to be running for office, have I got an idea of some swag for your campaign!