There's a sizeable spot on my right tonsil which has been there for almost a week now. Since I don't have health insurance (a certain company told me I make too much to qualify for their policy) I delayed going to the hospital for as long as possible; however after a few days with a burning sore in the back of my mouth, I figured it was time to suck it up and see a doctor.
I called in to work this morning, woke up after 11, went to the Urgent Care facility. At the entrance of the building a group of old folks stood in a circle, smoking a poorly rolled cigarette, coughing wildly. Their coughs were so rapid and continuous, any doubt that I was at the wrong place was wiped away right there. What I didn't understand was how they could keep giggling the way they did when, by the sound of their hacking, they were so obviously sick. That wasn't really any of my business so I didn't give them too much thought, and continued inside.
A door without a knob had a tattered sign that read, Waiting Room. I put my hand through the hole where the knob should have been and was greeted by a receptionist with a fat cigar hanging from her mouth. "What the hell do YOU want?" she asked. I told her about my mouth situation. She asked if I had health insurance. I said, "no." An obese man in a tanktop, which read FREE MOUSTACHE RIDES---14 AND UP, leaned on his right side, farted and said, "Insure that." To this, everyone in the room laughed hysterically, even the guy with the head wound. I would have laughed too but I'm allergic to eggs and, though I didn't see any, if I inhaled too deeply I would've broke out in hives.
The receptionist lady was still laughing when she handed the questionnaire forms to me, that is, until she started hacking and spat a loogie on the floor. Evidently I gave a look of disgust; she simply shrugged her shoulders and said, "the rats'll eat it." After that I filled out a few forms, gave them back to her, and waited. Thank God I thought ahead and brought my copy of Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson, because it was an hour before I even saw a nurse. Still, with all the hooting, hollering, dancing, and yelling the other patients did I couldn't make it past page seventeen.
When it was my turn to be seen, the nurse called me into her room and did the preliminary examinations; weight, blood pressure, pulse rate, penis measurement. At the last one she just giggled while muttering something about a stack of dimes. I wanted to tell her that I had more than a stack of dimes, that I'd be paying with a credit card and that I could afford the bill, but thought against it. Having finished the tests, she exited the room. Another hour went by and I was beginning to think I'd been forgotten. That's when the door flew open, as if it had been kicked, and in walked Dr. Wolfenstein shouting, "OW! OW! OWWWWWWWWWW! Daddies lock up your daughters, the Doc is IN!" Somehow, somewhere through speakers unseen came the Salt N Pepa song, "Push It" and I got excited. Meanwhile, Dr. Wolfenstein sort of danced around the room, howling and shouting curse words until the song finished. Then, just as quickly as it came, the music died out. It was time for business.
He started asking me doctor questions.
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
Do you drink?"
"No" (I lied.)
"Think you're better than me?" he asked, producing a flask from his back pocket.
"No" (I was afraid I'd offended him.)
"Damn right you're not. Don't forget which one of us is the doctor, twirp."
He checked my ears and eyes before looking in my mouth, and after having done so, told me it was time for a strep test. I misunderstood him and started lifting up my shirt, while lightly grinding into him. He asked if I was some sort of queen acting like that.
I told the doc that's what I thought people did for strip tests and he told me I was stupid and that he said"strep test."
Boy was my face red! He did the test then left. Five minutes passed and he returned, scowling.
"Listen here twirp;you like wasting my time? All you've got is a virus. There's nothing I can do. Get the hell outta my office!" he was near breaking point.
I walked to the receptionist's desk to pay the bill and she too was scowling; apparently word of my not having strep throat spread fast.
With the other patients leering at me, I slunk to the door, opened it, and was gone.
I'm kind of bummed out I didn't get any antibiotics for this sore in my mouth, but on the bright side I got to hear that awesome Salt N Pepa song, so I guess things could be worse. Right?
I called in to work this morning, woke up after 11, went to the Urgent Care facility. At the entrance of the building a group of old folks stood in a circle, smoking a poorly rolled cigarette, coughing wildly. Their coughs were so rapid and continuous, any doubt that I was at the wrong place was wiped away right there. What I didn't understand was how they could keep giggling the way they did when, by the sound of their hacking, they were so obviously sick. That wasn't really any of my business so I didn't give them too much thought, and continued inside.
A door without a knob had a tattered sign that read, Waiting Room. I put my hand through the hole where the knob should have been and was greeted by a receptionist with a fat cigar hanging from her mouth. "What the hell do YOU want?" she asked. I told her about my mouth situation. She asked if I had health insurance. I said, "no." An obese man in a tanktop, which read FREE MOUSTACHE RIDES---14 AND UP, leaned on his right side, farted and said, "Insure that." To this, everyone in the room laughed hysterically, even the guy with the head wound. I would have laughed too but I'm allergic to eggs and, though I didn't see any, if I inhaled too deeply I would've broke out in hives.
The receptionist lady was still laughing when she handed the questionnaire forms to me, that is, until she started hacking and spat a loogie on the floor. Evidently I gave a look of disgust; she simply shrugged her shoulders and said, "the rats'll eat it." After that I filled out a few forms, gave them back to her, and waited. Thank God I thought ahead and brought my copy of Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson, because it was an hour before I even saw a nurse. Still, with all the hooting, hollering, dancing, and yelling the other patients did I couldn't make it past page seventeen.
When it was my turn to be seen, the nurse called me into her room and did the preliminary examinations; weight, blood pressure, pulse rate, penis measurement. At the last one she just giggled while muttering something about a stack of dimes. I wanted to tell her that I had more than a stack of dimes, that I'd be paying with a credit card and that I could afford the bill, but thought against it. Having finished the tests, she exited the room. Another hour went by and I was beginning to think I'd been forgotten. That's when the door flew open, as if it had been kicked, and in walked Dr. Wolfenstein shouting, "OW! OW! OWWWWWWWWWW! Daddies lock up your daughters, the Doc is IN!" Somehow, somewhere through speakers unseen came the Salt N Pepa song, "Push It" and I got excited. Meanwhile, Dr. Wolfenstein sort of danced around the room, howling and shouting curse words until the song finished. Then, just as quickly as it came, the music died out. It was time for business.
He started asking me doctor questions.
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
Do you drink?"
"No" (I lied.)
"Think you're better than me?" he asked, producing a flask from his back pocket.
"No" (I was afraid I'd offended him.)
"Damn right you're not. Don't forget which one of us is the doctor, twirp."
He checked my ears and eyes before looking in my mouth, and after having done so, told me it was time for a strep test. I misunderstood him and started lifting up my shirt, while lightly grinding into him. He asked if I was some sort of queen acting like that.
I told the doc that's what I thought people did for strip tests and he told me I was stupid and that he said"strep test."
Boy was my face red! He did the test then left. Five minutes passed and he returned, scowling.
"Listen here twirp;you like wasting my time? All you've got is a virus. There's nothing I can do. Get the hell outta my office!" he was near breaking point.
I walked to the receptionist's desk to pay the bill and she too was scowling; apparently word of my not having strep throat spread fast.
With the other patients leering at me, I slunk to the door, opened it, and was gone.
I'm kind of bummed out I didn't get any antibiotics for this sore in my mouth, but on the bright side I got to hear that awesome Salt N Pepa song, so I guess things could be worse. Right?
posted by Pretty Awesome @ 12:24 PM
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