Saturday, April 26, 2008

Free Sample Day

Warning: The post you are about to read may contain terms not suitable for people with a full bladder.

Today I went to the doctor with a friend. Going to the doctor is never fun and waiting for the doctor is even worse. Seinfeld once said something like this- The smaller the room is, the closer you know you are to seeing the doctor. First, you start in the large waiting room, then a smaller holding room, then the last, tiny room where you have to sit on that very thin sheet of paper that is supposed to protect you from HEAVEN ONLY KNOWS what is growing on that vinyl exam table.

Those weren't exactly his words because, you know, his were much better because he is, you know, funny.

But, you get the picture.

So we were sitting there in the doctor's office waiting for my friend's name to be called. This was no ordinary doctor, this was a urologist.

Think about the people who go to a urologist most of the time. People with bladder problems, people with enlarged organs of a specific type (not going there.)


And let me just say now before I ramble on that this particular urologist's office has a huge fish tank with a filter that makes a trickling sound so that people with bladder issues can sit there in old, uncomfortable polyester-cushioned seats and stare at a gigantic container of water and listen to the trickling.

Is this some kind of strange urologist joke?

My friend was finally called back and as I waited, I decided to read my copy of Gone With The Wind. Yes, a Southern blogger reading Gone With The Wind. How's that for cliche'?

I was the only one in the room, with Megyn Kelly from Fox News talking in the background, when an older man walked in. He was wearing shorts and his socks were pulled up high. After he checked in at the desk, he took a seat.

Right next to me.

There were at least 10 other perfectly good seats in the room.

My husband says "old people like to talk to you." He is right. No matter where I am, the retirees love me. Whenever I am at the grocery store, they ask me how to find an item. I am usually very nice because I wonder how my grandmother would have felt if she needed help. Plus, one day I know I'll be old and I hope some sappy woman will help me find my prunes.

Old people never talk to my husband. He must give off a strange, non-mothball aura. The truth is that he has a scary look on his face which says, "Don't talk to me. Ask my wife or I'll snatch that free sample right out of your hands."

So, today Mr. Knee Socks sat next to me and immediately started talking...

"Who are you going to vote for- Hillary or Obama?"

(Um, wha??")

"Oh, you have to vote for Hillary. You're a woman."

"I am voting for McCain."

(gasp and scowl of disappointment)

It is usually at this point that I would change the subject. I was taught not to bring up politics or religion with a stranger. It is just considered rude, but because this man is obviously not an elderly gentleman, I decide to go with it...

"I don't vote for anyone based on whether they are a woman or a man. I don't care what they are. I vote for the best person. Besides, I'm Republican. I don't agree with the Democratic Party at this time."

"Well, he probably is the one who is best prepared..."

I then attempt to bury my head deeper into the story of Scarlett and the Wilkes' barbecue, hoping that this man will take a hint. Or at least he would just leave me alone because I'm a Republican and a woman with a brain and I can tell he doesn't like either of those.

But, no...

"Look at these glasses. How much do you think I paid for these glasses?"

"I have no idea."

(bury head in book)

"Take a guess."

"I said I don't know."


"Several hundred dollars."


"I don't know. Five hundred."

"Not that much! Three hundred and they are worthless. Look at that! Now, I have to get them fixed... What time do you think the pharmacy opens at Wal-mart?"

"It's open right now and the line is really, really long so you'd better go so you don't have to wait."

Okay, I didn't exactly say that, but I soooo wanted to.

He got up from his seat and I just knew I was about to be freed from this torture. I looked at the poor fish in the trickling fish tank with complete empathy. Then the man walked over to the receptionist's desk and asked a question.

"How can I get some free samples?"

Oh, yes he did.


Jessica said...

You know, my son's pediatric urologist also has a fish tank. I never thought about the irony there.

PJ said...

Doctors' offices are such wonderful places for the strange and neurotic to hang out. Oh! I didn't mean you!!! The old man!

Roxanne said...

Bless your heart. And a Republican AND a woman AND a brain. . .whooduhthunkit.

On a completely unrelated note, I read "Gone With the Wind" my freshman year in college. I never got through the last 12 pages. I was so annoyed with Scarlett by that point, I just could not bring myself to finish. That being said, I CAN quote the last sentence from the novel. :)

Anonymous said...

HA! That fish tank does seem like a cruel joke in a urologist's office. I remember my mother running water in the sink when my little sister would have trouble "going."

Great conversation! I'm glad you didn't have to go to the little room with the big germs. :-)