...IT ALL STARTS WITH A PHONE CALL...
I hate waiting. I especially hate waiting to hear bad news. Doctors' offices should be split by good news and bad news waiting rooms. People getting good news will simply continue to bask in their good news glory while the rest of us unlucky souls get called back one at a time, waiting our turn for the hammer to drop.
Good news, after all, is worth waiting for. Having to sit through face after smiling face of good news recipients just adds insult to the already injured! Screw you - happy, shiny, good news people - screw you!
Okay, I'm really not that bitter. I'm cool with the fact that someone else gets to walk out with a smile on their face. Seriously, wish it were me waving happily at the bad news people, wondering why they are all flipping me off as I head out the door.
The worst is when you go to the doctor knowing full well you're about to get bad news. You know when you get the call...
"Ms. X, we need you to come in today at two and discuss your lab results."
"Oh shit! Oh crap! It's space herpes isn't it? Damn those anal probing aliens! Who do they think they are?"
A little muffled laughter on the other end of the phone and the receptionist/nurse starts again, "are you going to be available at two today?"
"If I say yes, are you going to be available at two?"
"I'm sorry?" The receptionist clearly didn't pick up on my meaning.
"You know, am I going to get there 15 minutes early only to watch two o'clock come and go, waiting for my particular brand of bad news until closer to three?"
"Um, I'm not sure. Look, are you going to be available at two or not?"
"Yeah, sure! I will be your bad news hostage at two. Are you sure it's not just space herpes?
Good news, after all, is worth waiting for. Having to sit through face after smiling face of good news recipients just adds insult to the already injured! Screw you - happy, shiny, good news people - screw you!
Okay, I'm really not that bitter. I'm cool with the fact that someone else gets to walk out with a smile on their face. Seriously, wish it were me waving happily at the bad news people, wondering why they are all flipping me off as I head out the door.
The worst is when you go to the doctor knowing full well you're about to get bad news. You know when you get the call...
"Ms. X, we need you to come in today at two and discuss your lab results."
"Oh shit! Oh crap! It's space herpes isn't it? Damn those anal probing aliens! Who do they think they are?"
A little muffled laughter on the other end of the phone and the receptionist/nurse starts again, "are you going to be available at two today?"
"If I say yes, are you going to be available at two?"
"I'm sorry?" The receptionist clearly didn't pick up on my meaning.
"You know, am I going to get there 15 minutes early only to watch two o'clock come and go, waiting for my particular brand of bad news until closer to three?"
"Um, I'm not sure. Look, are you going to be available at two or not?"
"Yeah, sure! I will be your bad news hostage at two. Are you sure it's not just space herpes?
LATER ON THAT DAY... a little after 2 o'clock
"Ms. X..."
"Yep, that's me." This is the point where you let them see you checking your watch or the nearest clock. "Wow, have I really been here for 20 minutes already?"
"I don't know, but we need your co-pay, please!"
"Of course," I reluctantly hand over my not so shiny little blue plastic card and pay the lady. There seems to be some sort of tragic circumstance here though. Having to pay to get bad news is just cruel and unusual. Screw those murderers on death row, who's gonna lobby for the "bad news" patients' rights?
"Thank you, have a seat and someone will be with you shortly!"
"Yep, that's me." This is the point where you let them see you checking your watch or the nearest clock. "Wow, have I really been here for 20 minutes already?"
"I don't know, but we need your co-pay, please!"
"Of course," I reluctantly hand over my not so shiny little blue plastic card and pay the lady. There seems to be some sort of tragic circumstance here though. Having to pay to get bad news is just cruel and unusual. Screw those murderers on death row, who's gonna lobby for the "bad news" patients' rights?
"Thank you, have a seat and someone will be with you shortly!"
...30 MINUTES LATER...
By now I am muttering under my breath, possibly to the unfortunate soul who managed to sit too close, despite my overly anxious, ticked off demeanor. "If one more grinning idiot walks out here waving at me - I WILL explode!"
"Ms. X, you can come back now."
Well, I've only been here for nearly an hour now, you would think I would be ecstatic about this bit of news, but not now. Now, I am used to the waiting room. I am people watching, and occasionally trying to figure out who the baby-daddy is on Maury - because Maury Povich is inevitably DNA testing someone every single time I am sitting in a waiting room. I believe his show might just contract with waiting rooms around the country, possibly the world, to make sure we all get to see the baby-daddy drama we never knew we were missing! But I digress, as I have a story to continue here.
I meander up to the disgruntled nurse escort that has come to meet me in the waiting room. She sort of smiles and I follow her through the winding corridors, you know, the ones hospitals and clinics use to make it impossible not to get lost!
I lean in close, ready to ask a question, as she first eyes me and then the scale. The SCALE, which has been cleverly placed in the middle of the hallway, where people are lined up and waiting in what seems to be the waiting room overflow area. Why not? Because - being told my weight is already such a joy that I absolutely WANT to share it with all these people too!
"Seriously, you can tell me - is it space herpes?"
"How about we get your weight and blood pressure first, and then I'll go pull your information."
Wait... What? You haven't "pulled" my information yet? So, you don't even know what my afliction is? And now, you're telling me I have to wait... AGAIN?
Okay, on the bright side, I have my own room now. There are no more good news grins walking by giving me the "I don't have the Clap after all" thumbs up! The downside, more waiting and wondering. With all the ailments I have diagnosed myself with by now, the least of which being space herpes, I could be dead before I get these damn results. There has to be a more efficient way of...
*Knock kock* "Hi, how are you?"
"Just tell me if it's space herpes already!!!"
"You're so funny!"
*grumbles*
"Okay, well, I called you in here, because..." BAD NEWS DELIVERED WITH A SMILE, and a squeeze of the thigh in reassurance. "Do you have any questions?"
"Just one, why couldn't it be space herpes? At least then I'd have a cool story. This just sucks!"
That's okay though, I know just what I need to cheer me up. I'm gonna go march back out to that damn waiting room and give everyone a big cheesy grin and a double thumbs up. I'm gonna make those bastards wonder what good news I got while they were suffering through the waiting room blues! Better yet, I'm gonna tell them the good news!
"Good news, y'all!!!" Obligatory thumbs up and cheesy grin, "it's not space herpes!"
*audible gasps* & *audible chuckles*
"Ms. X, you can come back now."
Well, I've only been here for nearly an hour now, you would think I would be ecstatic about this bit of news, but not now. Now, I am used to the waiting room. I am people watching, and occasionally trying to figure out who the baby-daddy is on Maury - because Maury Povich is inevitably DNA testing someone every single time I am sitting in a waiting room. I believe his show might just contract with waiting rooms around the country, possibly the world, to make sure we all get to see the baby-daddy drama we never knew we were missing! But I digress, as I have a story to continue here.
I meander up to the disgruntled nurse escort that has come to meet me in the waiting room. She sort of smiles and I follow her through the winding corridors, you know, the ones hospitals and clinics use to make it impossible not to get lost!
I lean in close, ready to ask a question, as she first eyes me and then the scale. The SCALE, which has been cleverly placed in the middle of the hallway, where people are lined up and waiting in what seems to be the waiting room overflow area. Why not? Because - being told my weight is already such a joy that I absolutely WANT to share it with all these people too!
"Seriously, you can tell me - is it space herpes?"
"How about we get your weight and blood pressure first, and then I'll go pull your information."
Wait... What? You haven't "pulled" my information yet? So, you don't even know what my afliction is? And now, you're telling me I have to wait... AGAIN?
Okay, on the bright side, I have my own room now. There are no more good news grins walking by giving me the "I don't have the Clap after all" thumbs up! The downside, more waiting and wondering. With all the ailments I have diagnosed myself with by now, the least of which being space herpes, I could be dead before I get these damn results. There has to be a more efficient way of...
*Knock kock* "Hi, how are you?"
"Just tell me if it's space herpes already!!!"
"You're so funny!"
*grumbles*
"Okay, well, I called you in here, because..." BAD NEWS DELIVERED WITH A SMILE, and a squeeze of the thigh in reassurance. "Do you have any questions?"
"Just one, why couldn't it be space herpes? At least then I'd have a cool story. This just sucks!"
That's okay though, I know just what I need to cheer me up. I'm gonna go march back out to that damn waiting room and give everyone a big cheesy grin and a double thumbs up. I'm gonna make those bastards wonder what good news I got while they were suffering through the waiting room blues! Better yet, I'm gonna tell them the good news!
"Good news, y'all!!!" Obligatory thumbs up and cheesy grin, "it's not space herpes!"
*audible gasps* & *audible chuckles*


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