A story, for Jenn (and moonbeam).
I'd blogged this in another forum, so I just lifted it and cleaned it up a bit.
I thought just thought I'd share this. I'm not sure if it's funny, or horrifying.
But it's not all that unusual.
Here ya go:
* * *
I went to the doctor's office today--on time for once. Before I walked in, I couldn't help but notice a gray-haired gentleman, his face all contorted, clinging the pebblestone facade of the building. So I walk through the exit door, because the entrance door was now closed (it was the other way around last week) and the place was packed. But...I have an appointment, right? Um...almost.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes," I said proudly. (I almost never have my act together, in case you haven't noticed. Y'think it's a theme?)
"Blah-blah." (Edited to protect my identity. )
"Ah..we don't have you down--didn't anyone call you?"
Well yes, I have received phone calls, but only one was for me.
"No, I didn't receive a phone call--there's a man outside who is sick." I said dumbly, as if I didn't see an entire waiting room of sick people when I came in.
"Your films did not come in."
"There's a man who looks very sick outside."
"Can you come back the same time next week?" Um, well, next week wouldn't exactly be the same time but I said:
So I went outside and lit a cigarette, because I was standing next to the pole for the sneaky exile people who, like me, KNOW they stink of smoke and there is no hiding that kind of stuff from the doctor. I phoned my husband, watching the sick man, get even more contorted, sweating profusely, his hands on his knees, kind of wavering.
My son answered the house phone.
"Tell Dad to just turn around and come pick me up."
(I swear I feel like luggage.)
"Who is this?" WHO IS THIS?
"Don't you dare go back to sleep."
I hung up the phone. Or, rather, I snapped it shut. I despise the damned cellphone. I always hit the wrong buttons. Fortunately I still had it in my hand when it vibrated. (Y'see? I'd hit the vibrate option.)
"Oh crap--I was trying to call Dad." My son was still sleeping, obviously.
"No, son. I have the cellphone." I was watching the sick guy grip the wall again.
"This means you will have to actually remain awake to tell Dad to come get me." I snapped the phone shut again, and tossed into the great abyss of my "go-to-the-doctor" purse.
The sick guy went down to one knee and started wretching.
Oy. This is bad.
I started to go back into the exit door, and my purse rang.
(Y'see? I'd hit that damned button again.)
"What the HELL is the matter with everybody today?"
"Oh. Hi Karen!" It was our friend, 'Bala-blah.'. "Are you screening his calls today?" He asked, referring to my husband.
"I'm at the expletive doctor."
"Well it's about time." Yes, yes, it is about "time" but I didn't want to go into details. I am the queen of bad timing. Bad Timing sums of the very essence of the conception of me.
"I'll have him call you back, there's some guy puking out here."
"There's a man puking in the waiting room?"
"No, I'm not in the waiting room, I'm outside."
"What did the doctor say?"
"I didn't see the doctor today!" I was now clenching my teeth.
"Are you going to see the doctor today?" (This guy calls me every day to yell at me to go see the doctor. He just doesn't get it--apparently.)
"Well if you are already there, don't you think you should at least say hello?" (He considers himself a comedian too.)
ARGHHHHHHHH. Butthole. sigh. But he's a butthole who loves me so I just say--
"I'll call you back, there's a guy puking his guts out here."
"You have the worst luck." Not as bad as some, I thought, looking at the puking guy.
"Can I call you back?" I didn't wait for an answer but snapped the phone shut again, resisting the urge to toss the damned thing, and I went back inside to inform the receptionist, who was putting a "Out to Lunch" sign in the window.
I tapped on that little pane.
"That guy is out there puking now."
"We know." She closed the window and put the sign in place.
And these are the people I am going to for HELP? OY.
"Out to Lunch" No kidding.
I walked back outside to see a car had stopped, and someone was trying to assist the puking man. My husband had pulled up in the truck, and I had to do the twisting maneuver to get in it, because he didn't think to purchase a truck with a running board. (These little minor annoyances, they add up, yanno?)
"There's a guy puking over there."
"They know." I sighed and gave him back his phone. Immediately, the phone rang just as I handed it to him. It was our friend again.
"Hello!" My husband was suddenly cheerful. "Yeah, she's with me now. There's a guy puking in the parking lot."
"He knows." I said. "Let's go try the dry cleaners."
"Yeah, we're going to the dry cleaners now."
We drove off and left the puking man behind.
(I really do worry about everybody...)
* * *
I know that's not an explanation of our healthcare system--or is it?