Yesterday we waited 3 hours before asking the receptionist how much longer.
We were coughed on, sneezed on and educated quite thoroughly on Rheumatoid Arthritis and Irritable Bowel Syndrome before leaving.
“I can’t tell you exactly m’am” droned the receptionist, in time with her rolling eyes, “But it will be at least 2 hours still.”
“Boring!” announced my daughter
“It doesn’t hurt that much, I’m going to school.” And she did.
At 8am this morning it did hurt that much so we went to a different clinic.
We caught 4 flues 6 colds and 3 non communicable viruses, ogled babies and criticized wardrobe.
We commented on the renovations, admired the new flat screen T.V., used the bathroom out of sheer boredom, changed seats twice and went out for coffee and a croissant.
We watched what may have been the worst cooking show with the ugliest host and hostess preparing the grossest meals on earth, a terrible french talk show, and a sixteen hour long infomercial for the Derma Wand; In which clients were offered the choice between the wand or $1000.00.
They all (of course) chose the wand. This is intended to prove how awesome the product is but sadly only proves how stupid some consumers are, as the Derma Wand is only four payments of $29.99 each and comes with a free DVD valued at $10.00. So… yeah.
The guy in the chair next to me was a little on the young side but cute enough to look at. Not cute enough, however, to be snuggling up to me the way he was.
First rubbing elbows, then thigh pressed against thigh, then basically just napping on top of me. When I shifted positions he made a call on his cell talking Majhi. He tried to make it look important but was clearly just trying to lure me with his sophisticated exotic tongue. Nice try buddy…
He curls up to the wall to doze off again, pressing his butt cheek against mine and wiggling his way closer to my womb with every fake heaving sigh.
“Chloé Coooozner?” Calls the doctor.
“That’s not your name.”
“What kind of name is Coooozner?”
The doctor is an adorable little Vietnamese man in his 70’s maybe.
“My daughter burned her leg with a stick of incense and it hurts more this week
than it did last week.”
“HA!” He blurts, “What are you? Hindu?”
“What if I was?” She responds dryly.
He pokes her with a finger condom, hands me two band-aids and a prescription
for polysporin and is still laughing to himself and miming a strange prayer ritual as we walk out of his office…
I curse under my breath for the two days lost, over a tube of cream that we already have in the medicine cabinet, wave at the baby who is there because he was bit by another baby at day care, and wink at my new lover on the way out.
Six and a half hours of waiting in waiting rooms, all for two free band-aids.