ArchivedLogs:Lunchtime Networking

Lunchtime Networking
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Rasheed
In Absentia	2013-01-27 Rasheed and Iolaus talk shop.
Location <NYC> Common Ground Clinic - Clinton
A dingy waiting room with a line of rickety chairs, a small glass table with a set of permanently out-of-date magazines, a set of plastic holding racks with a number of informational pamphlets about STIs and partner abuse. This place is not, to be sure, the most cheerful on earth, but for many of its clientele it is the best they have. The Common Ground Clinic's staff provides free and low-cost medical care on a sliding scale to many of Manhattan's poorest residents, without checking for insurance, immigration status or many other things that bar entry for many of them to traditional medical care. There is counselling available, too, and once a week social workers to help people find resources for getting on their feet. The wait times are long, but the volunteer staff here is dedicated (if always overworked.) Earlier the previous day, a phone call had come into the switchboard at the Common Ground Clinic. In that ancient and storied tradition of Things Actually Getting Done, one assistant at Mount Sinai had called another assistant at Common Ground, and the two of them together had reserved a slot for their respective bosses' at lunch time the next day. A little bit before the time he is due, Iolaus steps through the doors of the Common Ground clinic and looks around. He is dressed in a grey peacoat with a white dress shirt underneath. The peacoat, at least, matches his grey slacks, and his black belt matches his equally well-polished shoes. Not, admittedly, the dress of the average patient at the Common Ground clinic. Iolaus steps up to the receptionist and gives the person behind the counter a winning smile. "Hello. Can you let Doctor Toure that his lunch meeting is here to see him, whenever he is ready?" "I'll let him know." The receptionist glances over Iolaus, glances over the computer screen in front of her. He makes a quick phone call to the back, and then returns to a very thrilling game of Angry Birds on his cell. It takes a short while before Rasheed emerges, dressed, too, in slacks -- charcoal -- and a pale green dress shirt. He has a black coat over one arm, though he is /dressed/ currently in a white labcoat; he looks over Iolaus briefly, his smile clicking on only belatedly. "Doctor Saavedro. Hello." He offers a hand out. Iolaus sits down in the lobby, placing briefcase down next to him, and looks around the room. His eyes meet a few of the patients who are waiting, and they are kind and unjudging. When Rasheed emerges, he stands at once, smile warm and inviting. "Doctor Toure. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." he says, clasping the other man's hand in a firm grip and shaking it. "Do you have any preferences for where we should go to eat? I am open for whatever you would like." "There is a quite nice Chinese place not far from here," Rasheed says, pulling his labcoat off and switching it out for his coat-coat. "Come. It is not a long walk." He holds the door open for Iolaus, letting in a brisk chill from outside. "I admit I was surprised, a little, to hear from you. You seemed reticent at our last encounter." Iolaus' steps are quick to follow the other man out, picking up his briefcase along the way. "As much as I pride myself as a scientist on the continual reevaluation of my theories when confronted by new evidence, I'm afraid that I was not quick enough to do so in the case of your advice." he says, gamely enough. "After a long conversation with my attorneys and a fair amount of soul-searching, I believe you are right. I would rather my work die in a blaze of failed glory than a slow death by starvation in solitude, if that is what the fates have determined will happen to it." "Hopefully," Rasheed says, eyebrows raising, "it will not die either of those ways. And you'll have more say in it than the fates. How /has/ your work been going?" He walks brisker once they are outside. It's cold. Boston bred, Iolaus has no trouble keeping up with the other man's fast paced steps. "It has... been going. Fundraising is not nearly what I would like, but I suspect I will be saying that for years to come." he says, with a wry smile. "We've been having... some trouble with the zoning commission getting a building permit. The lawyers are working on it, but I am afraid it will end in a lawsuit before long. Still, things continue, even if the building is tied up in red tape." "This clinic has been open," Rasheed says, casting a hand backwards towards the building rapidly receding in the distance, "over a decade now. And I am /still/ saying that." His hands tuck into the pockets of his coat. He jaywalks. A taxi honks at him, and he walks /slightly/ slower across the street in compensation. "A lawsuit? My. We never had /that/ kind of difficulty. The city was only too happy for a clinic to serve some of the people turning up every week in the E.R." "My population focus is rather less desirable to the honored members of the commission, I'm afraid." Iolaus says, words briefly dripping with contempt. "Perhaps you will, slightly, understand the reasons for my prior reticence when I explain: The clinic I am looking to open is specifically targeting comprehensive health care for mutants." he says, watching the other man's expression carefully, even as he taps his briefcase with two fingers. "I have the full information here for you to read over lunch as well." "Mmm." Rasheed's expression doesn't change -- he is glaring at the taxi. Priorities. He glances at Iolaus once they are back on the sidewalk, and the slight upward hitch of his brows is only mildly surprised. "Yes, I can see why you were concerned." He looks down to the briefcase, then continues his hurried walk through the brisk wind. "That is quite an ambition. We have a good number of mutants come through our doors. There are precious few places in the city they can /find/ treatment. We do what we can, but most of my staff has never treated one before coming to us. A dedicated place focusing on their needs would relieve a lot of the strain on the population here, I am sure." "A population which seems to grow every day, from what my friends tell me. They're coming from all over the world, and we can barely treat the ones who can afford to pay, say nothing of the ones who can't." Iolaus shakes his head, tutting once. "And you and yours? How have you handled it thus far? It is quite a risky affair, and you do not have the budget allocated for security that I have drawn up. Or lawyers, for that matter." "Security budget?" Rasheed laughs, though the sound is a little tired. He passes a hand across his eyes. "We are thankful each month when we can keep the lights on. We are not a clinic for mutants. We're just a clinic. Mutants can come. For /security/ problems we've had more trouble from junkies than fanatics, to be honest. Though there's always a share of each." "I think the overhead for my clinic will be somewhat more than yours, I'm afraid." Iolaus says, lips pursing in a tickle of amusement. "But I have all of the proposed figures drawn up, and I am happy to share them with you as I do quite freely, these days. And, your advice has helped. Fundraising is a good deal easier when done in public. Easier being, of course, a very relative term." he says. "It always is," Rasheed says, a small smile on his lips. He stops at a door, shabby, nondescript, though the smells upon opening it are rich and spicy. "I might know a few people interested in such a project," he says, thoughtful. "Well. On the donor end. It is certainly unique. I can only imagine the overhead is quite high." "The lawyers alone are consuming a good portion of my budget, now, at least." Iolaus says, breathing in the smells from inside as a hungry look comes over his face. He steps in, smiling warmly as he turns back towards Rasheed. "Long term, I hope it will come down, quite a lot, but there is still going to be costs." As they are seated, Iolaus opens his briefcase and pulls out a folder emblazoned with the logo of the future clinic, which he passes over towards Rasheed. "It will not help, I imagine, that every one of our cases will be rated as the maximum on the complexity scale and require extensive genetic workups." "Really? I think you might be overestimating that," Rasheed says, with a slight quirk of smile. "Just because you're going to be working a lot with mutants doesn't mean that all their problems have to do with being mutants. They get strep throat just like everyone else. And in ninety-nine percent of them, that won't require anything but a normal swab and normal antibiotics. I suspect many of your cases will be routine, from people who simply could not get routine care elsewhere. It's those edge ones, though." He is looking through the paperwork, ignoring the menus the waiter sets down in front of him. "That last one percent will take up ninety-nine percent of your budget." "Perhaps. But unlike so many other patients, if mine /do/ get seriously sick, even the simplest treatments could go vastly wrong in ways that are so specific as to be random without foreknowledge." Iolaus counters, picking up the menu and loking fo veri t curiously. One finger comes up to tap at his nose, slowly, contemplatively. "But, yes. I will not be surprised if a handful of patients consume almost all of the non-administrative budget." "Yes. I am not arguing /that/," Rasheed acknowledges, head tilting. "We have had some cases come through our doors that -- I only wish I had an entire team dedicated to working on those unique issues. But." He shrugs, eyes still turned down towards the papers Iolaus has given him. "For the most part, when we see mutants come through? They want what everyone else wants. Birth control. STI testing. Flu shots. Most of it is as routine as anyone else, though," his lips twitch, here, "with perhaps a higher incidence of lighting things on fire when they sneeze." "I hope they will be all so simple," Iolaus says with a smile and a friendly flash of teeth. He folds his menu and places it neatly beside him. "I am not looking for the complicated cases... though, I suspect they will find me. I just want to make sure there is a place that they can feel safe coming to for help, and know that we can help them with whatever issues they have in an atmosphere where that is not the abnormal." "I suspect they will find you, as well," Rasheed says, returning Iolaus's smile small and brief. He has forgotten about his menu, quite absorbed in Iolaus's documents. "Really, that seems like the most important point. Just knowing there are resources can go so far to helping people find their feet." His finger traces down the page, and at length he looks up with another small smile. "What are your plans for staffing? I imagine it won't be easy finding qualified people willing to --" He sets the folder down, resting his hand atop it. "Take a risk like this." "Quite not. I've put out the word through my own networks, but I am hesitant to put too much work into staffing until the initial permits start going through. Asking, even, is costly enough, if we have to delay..." Iolaus trails off, shaking his head. "I think I have a CEO lined up. Other than that, I've got an architect and a bodyguard. Finding even those positions was a trial." he sighs, once, leaning back in his seat. "We may have to open short-staffed, and I am saying that even knowing how long the path is before opening." Rasheed nods, at this, only now reaching to pick up his menu and open it. "Ah, yes. It will be a long road, no doubt. I can put word out to my contacts, if you like. When you are ready." His eyes turn back to his menu, scanning it for a long moment and then folding it closed as well. "I would appreciate that very much," Iolaus says, smile widening and nodding once. "I'd also appreciate any input you can give me on the medical licensing board. I'm not pushing very hard as of yet, but I'm getting the run-around on even getting all the forms I need." he grimaces. "Not a very good sign, I must admit." "No, I don't imagine they're going to make it /easy/. But there are ways to cut through at least a /little/ of the red tape and get things done." Rasheed frowns, admitting with a trace of apology, "I imagine you'll run into a good deal more difficulty, but I can at least give you a rundown on what to expect --" But now the waiter is coming for their orders, and Rasheed greets him with a quick smile. Business talk will come. /After/ food.