I went to a doctor’s appointment the other day. And guess what? I had to wait. I know, I know, you’ve never heard of such a thing. That’s why I’m telling you about it.
Over the years, I’ve waited about twenty or thirty minutes for this doctor. So Tuesday, after forty minutes, I tapped on the receptionist’s window and asked, “Is there a problem? I’ve been waiting forty minutes.”
She replied, “I don’t know. The doctor must be running late.” (Oh, duh. Ya THINK.)
I pointed to the sign that hung on her window that read:
IF YOU ARE FIFTEEN MINUTES LATE, YOU MAY BE ASKED TO RESCHEDULE
And said, “Because if we’re fifteen minutes late, we have to reschedule.”
I don’t think she liked that very much.
Within ten minutes, I was called back to the examination room. Where I waited.
After fifteen minutes I was so damn bored.
Then I saw it.
The gooseneck examination lamp.
I reached over and switched the light on and off, and on and off. Then I twisted the gooseneck up and down and around and back again. Then I dropped my hands and swung my legs and adjusted my lovely paper nightgown. But my eyes were drawn back to the lamp.
I switched it back on and aimed it toward the wall where it cast a bright circle of light. I placed my hand in front of the bulb and tried making an animal shadow puppet. I sucked at that. But I was good at making a pretend mouth, though. So I made it talk.
It said, in a deep tone, “Doctors shouldn’t make you wait and if they do make you wait, they should let you know if they are going to be longer than forty-five minutes. And if they are longer than forty-five minutes, you sh—”
The nurse walked in and looked at me as if I had three purple heads.
I flicked off the light, dropped my hands back to my lap, and said, “I had to amuse myself somehow. You don’t have a television back here.”
“There’s some magazines,” she said, pointing to a stack of dog-eared magazines, at least a year old.
“I don’t like magazines. They’re crap.”
After giving me another strange look, she told me the doctor would be with me in a few minutes.
The doctor came back in forty-five.
I guess my definition of few and the medical profession is completely different. Too bad I can’t apply their few minutes to my daily life and mine to doctor’s appointments and work.
Oh, and if you expect me to wait, and don’t want me to play with the equipment—install a television with cable.