A dramatic retelling of my afternoon at the doctor's office.
Standing at the desk paying my co-pay, a woman walks into the waiting room from the inner office swinging a baby carrier. I glance at the baby and then my eyes travel up, straight into the eyes of a White Trash Princess. Greasy two toned hair, odd facial piercings, blotchy, oily face. Cartoon themed t-shirt, sweatpants and dirty feet.
She immediately globs onto me. Which is wonderful since we all know how much I enjoy interacting with people I don't know. She was yammering about her baby and the carrier. I give her a polite smile and general answer, sign my receipt and take my seat. She bebops up to the window and really let loose. She said ri-di-coo-luss at one point. I now know when she's having hernia surgery, why her daughter is taking pills, and how many shots the baby has had. And what's for dinner. And that she enjoys romantic candlelit McDonald's and long walks in the Walmart.
Exit Miss Cheeto Stains. I message Sara (one of my favorite lovies) because I must share. And it had been about 20 minutes since we last messaged. Which is totally normal right? Doesn't everyone talk all day every day?
So after i'm weighed, blood pressured, and why are you here'd, i'm left alone. Oh...what is this? Am I completely overhearing the conversation going on in the next room? Score! So I bust out my iPhone and start giving Sara a blow-by-blow. It went something like this:
Me: I can hear the chick in the next room begging for diet pills.
Sara: I wonder how big she is?
Me: Now she wants Bariatric surgery. She's not that big, I saw her.
Me: She says she walks all day. C'mon.
Me: At least I admit why I have a fat ass.
Sara: I weighed less when I had a job where I was on my feet all day
Me: Oooo hittin the Doc up for Narcs. I'm dying here
Sara: Diet pills, surgery, and Narcs?
Me: I'm so afraid i'm going to burst out laughing. She said I mow the grass!
Me: ...yeah, once a week...
Me: Awww dammit they are done.
She got none of those things.
So the moral of the story is: when you can't get diet pills, trump that shit with major surgery. When that gets rejected, bring it back down to a more realistic request. And then leave empty handed. It was like a fail carnival.
Then it was my turn. Which wasn't as funny as her turn. You know you are totally batshit when they can't find any anti-depressants that can tame the crazy. But, that's a story for another day.