I saw a tiny Vietnamese terrorist today. She was old and she was angry. And she was bleeding, which I didn’t need to know about.
I never feel ill until I go to the doctors. For a place that is supposed to make you better they sure do a terrible job with ambiance. Like the taxidermied dragon head and the medieval wooden birdcage in the waiting room. Or the unprecedented amounts of florescent lights humming and flickering above my head. I sat in that room for an hour and during that time I think I got cancer and aids.
Live from my journal:
The people here are so fucked up. Pumping the Purell dry engaging in small talk like they are normal but really they are paranoid schizophrenics. That bottle has been empty for the last 20 pumps. People that watch the news and go to church. People that believe the news and listen to the pastor. People that don’t think for themselves but wear their nice pearl earrings for all their appointments.
Somehow these are real people and I’m only reminded of their existence when I have to go to the shitty doctor’s office.
Nasally breathers with terrible tattoos. Unemployment checks in their back pockets. This is the bottom of the human barrel.
Everyone here has a limp from some freak accident. And a cane. They all have canes. Paperwork. Hacking cough after wheezing laugh. But don’t worry, the cough is just from a lingering cold that they’re trying to kick. For the last 27 years.
Tiny Vietnamese woman that started screaming into the glass window. “APPOINTMENT!!!” Then she started taking off her sweater. I don’t know why. But Alexis and I are trying not to laugh out loud because this kind of person sees you laugh and she’ll throw a vase at you.
“Miss, the doctor thinks it’s better if you seek treatment from someone else.”
“But I’m bleeding.”
And I immediately think about her old, rotted crotch and I’m so disgusted it’s like eating a perfectly good burger and your friend says the ketchup is period blood and you can’t eat the burger anymore. But you can still probably have a few more fries if they are crispier.
I finally get called back after waiting an hour. Apparently some derelict jumped out of his chair when they called Kirk the first time.
“But wouldn’t you have realized it wasn’t me after you pulled his chart and he had a completely different name?”
Alexis had to go back to put quarters in the meter. We’re in the system today. Real bad. Doctors and paying for parking. A reality cinder block to the face.
I wanted her to come back to the appointment with me and watch what it’s like for a guy to get his balls fondled by Dr. Landenberg. But she didn’t make it back in time.
Was to my surprise when the door opened and it was a reasonably attractive middle-aged Asian woman. I swallowed my own throat. Uh Oh.
But shortly after she walked through the door so did a gentleman that introduced himself as the doctor.
They get so weird when it’s time to see the biscuits. It gets quiet and awkward. They say, “So we’ll need you to just, you know, pull it down a little so we can check out the region,” and I’m like you wanna touch my balls just ask if you can touch my balls.
“Exactly how would you like me to present myself?” I ask so there’s no confusion.
“Yeah, we’ll need you to pull your pants down.”
And Dr L gets a good feel on everything and I turn and cough a few times and really try to make it an authentic cough, questioning how many times is reasonable to make the coughing noise before I’m just hamming it up.
Dr L looks at the other woman and it becomes clear to me that either she is in training or I have a giant wiener because there is some hesitation.
“Do you mind if she….”
I cut them off, it has become too awkward watching them fumble.
“Have at it,” I say as I lift my shirt back up.
“A woman touched me down there just now,” I say to Alexis.
Meanwhile, Little Nam has slapped an 80 year old man with a walker and made a 6 year old Russian girl cry.
It’s time to go.