The saga of the clinic of Satan

Here in the 7th Circle of Hell, we take our kids to a little thing called the Troop Medical Clinic, or TMC. Given their clientele, which is soldiers and their families, it's not like I have high expectations for the place. Yet somehow, it manages to outdo itself every single time I attempt to go there. I say attempt. You'll see.
Say I need to call there for something. There is a separate number for appointments, which is a godsend, but just say I need to call for something else, like a doctor's note, to ask about a referral, or some such nonsense. No one knows anything. Worse, they pretend to know things, condescendingly, and then just put you on hold. Indefinitely.
I could give a list a mile long of "TMC Incidents", as I think of them, but let me limit it just to trying to get Bean in for her Well Baby appointments. For all the non-parents, kids should have them at two, four, six, and twelve months. At eight months, Bean has had one. The first appointment I took her to took over two hours. Two hours for wait for a doctor to look at her for two minutes and then to sit waiting for shots. The second time I tried for an appointment, I wasn't seen at all. I sat in the waiting room for almost 40 minutes without even being acknowledged, asked if I was going to be seen anytime soon and was told by the fat sow at the desk that I'd just have to wait. I did not, I left.
So imagine my dismay on the third try this morning, when I showed up at 8:17 for my 8:20 appointment, only to be told by said fat sow that my appointment was at 8:00 and I had missed it because after 8:15 there was nothing they could do. I said that my appointment had been at 8:20, which she denied, and being insanely furious I said nothing to Fat Sow and walked away. On my way home, what do I get but a message from someone at the TMC, apologizing because my appointment really was at 8:20, there had been a mixup and would I like to come in later today?
Would I like to come in later today? Would I? I called that lady back and let her have it. This was perfect, because of course having walked away from Fat Sow without saying a word I naturally thought of many clever and pointed comments to make in the car on the way home. And I got to use every one of them.
No, my kid still hasn't been seen. But I have yet to find someone who will tell me to tough it out at the TMC. Nope, everyone, including an actual doctor and somebody in central appointments, says "just screw it."