Waiting Room

Waiting room. I hate how they call it that. If there is a scheduled appointment, there should be no need to wait. If I had the audacity to show up later than thirty seconds past my appointment time, I would have to deal with the snarky receptionist telling me that I missed my chance, that I would need to reschedule. The doctor can run late, always runs late, but the patients must have patience. 

My derriere is growing numb, sitting on this hard plastic chair. I wonder how many other posteriors have graced this exact spot, all of us shifting, fidgeting, waiting. The entertainment options are of low quality. The newest magazine is from March, of last year. I didn’t care about the ‘latest spring trends’ back then, and I certainly don’t now. 

My cell phone’s battery is low, I can’t risk draining it any further, I’m on a side of the city I never normally visit, and I need it to help me navigate my way home. It drives Brett crazy that I always let it get so low, but it doesn’t bother me. A little risk makes life more fun. 

Brett should have been with me today, but he claims to have a meeting that couldn’t possibly be rescheduled. Besides, I’m a grown-ass woman, I don’t need my boyfriend holding my hand while I’m poked and prodded. 

I made the appointment for nine forty-five, hoping that the early morning time slot would guarantee less waiting. The clock now reads ten fifteen. I’m still waiting. 

The door opens, a middle aged man, complete with beer belly and receding hairline walks in. He signs his name on the check in seat, and heads my way. There are eleven other open chairs, but he chooses to sit next to me. Such luck. 

A faint odor resonates off him, sour and dark. I squeeze myself smaller, shifting within the narrow confines of my seat, trying to get as far away from him as possible. 

A smile, directed at me, his gaping maw wide and unwanted. “Been waiting long sweetheart?”

“Mhmmm.” The bare minimum reply needed to be polite. 

“Which doctor are you seeing?” His knee knocks into mine, and I try not to cringe. 

“That’s rather personal, I’d prefer to not say.” Strong, but polite. I pray to whatever gods might exist that he picks up on my discomfort and stops talking to me.

“You have the most beautiful lips. I bet you get kissed all the time.”

Fuck. He is persistent, and creepy. “I have a boyfriend, but again, that’s rather personal.”

Eyes narrow, and lips turn down into a frown. “There’s no need to be rude. I’m just making conversation.”

I can’t bear it, I stand and cross the room, heading towards the front desk. “Excuse me,” I ask the bear of a woman behind the glass partition. “My appointment was for nine forty-five, and it is now quarter after ten. How much longer before the doctor can see me?”

I wish I could bottle her glare, and use it on anyone who bothered me. I did my best not to wither, to meet her square in the eyes. I failed. 

“I can’t control how fast the doctor works,” she said. “Please, go back to your seat. There are magazines available if you are bored.”

Defeated, I walk back to the seating area, taking this opportunity to switch seats. I look down, avoiding eye contact with my new ‘friend.’ 

The door opens again. A frazzled looking mother enters, dragging a horde of snot nosed children with her. They run amok in the lobby as she checks in. The shrieking cacophony of her brats pierces my eardrums, and I wince, desperately hoping they don’t approach me, and grab me with their grubby, sticky fingers. 

Another door opens, the door that leads to the exam rooms. A nurse with a clipboard calls out a name. It’s not mine. The middle aged man who does not respect personal boundaries gets up, and follows the nurse. 

I’m stunned. I’ve been waiting for nearly forty five minutes at this point, and him, a mere handful. It’s unbelievable. Perhaps he is seeing a different doctor than me, but still, the injustice rankles me. 

Something hard, and plastic hits my head, breaking me out of my thoughts, landing in my lap. A toy train is now nestled atop my thighs, and before I can react, a small hand, stickier than I had imagined is snatching it, fingers grazing me intimately. 

“Tyler, leave the lady alone,” his mother says, no emotion in her voice,robotic. 

“She stole my train! I had to take it back.” 

The nerve of the little monster! I stole nothing, he threw it at me. “I didn’t steal your train, you chucked it at my face.” I tried to keep my voice down, but didn’t quite succeed. 

“He’s four, cut him some slack, he didn’t mean to hit you.” 

“Keep your nasty little crotch goblins contained” I reply. “I might end up with a black eye from this.”

Like a monster rising from the depths of the sea, the receptionist wades into the center of the room, her pinched face red. 

Good. I thought. She’ll tell that horrible mother off, and hopefully get me into a room. 

“Ms. Brown, your behavior in this waiting room today has been unacceptable.”

Wait. She’s talking to me. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. 

“We are canceling today’s appointment. I will have the doctor call you later about rescheduling, he may want to remove you as a client.” 

She’s got to be joking. I’ve been forced to sit, and wait and endure the hellish clientele that waltzed through here, and I’m the one getting booted? 

“Please, I made this appointment over a month ago, and it was the first available opening. I need to see the doctor.” I hate pleading, but I swallowed my pride.

With a withering glance, she cuts off the rest of my protestations. “Breast implants are not an emergency, nor are they a medically necessary procedure. Please leave, before I am forced to call the cops.”

I leave, fuming. Risking depleting my phone’s battery before it can navigate me home, I leave a scathing review online, detailing my experience.