Well sure, you can sleep with a doctor if that’s your thing, but that’s not what I meant.
I hate doctors.
I don’t remember the last time I actually had a doctor diagnose something. My ears could be constantly ringing. I could have hives. My leg could be broken off at the knee. Doesn’t matter what I tell them. It could be the simplest of issues or the most complicated multi-tiered disease and they still won’t figure it out. For years I have been calling them Glorified Guessers and as I get older, I start to worry more and more about how important they are going to be to my survival when I’m like, 80 or something.
Nowadays, with the internetz everywhere we go, I don’t even bother going to see a doctor unless my self-diagnosis requires meds. I don’t understand how we have a shortage of doctors in this province when most people I know do the same thing – get Yahoo Answers from some know-it-all in Wisconsin and call it a day.
Today, unfortunately, I felt I required a GG’s assistance so I made an appointment. I went in and without going into too much detail (come on, I barely know you), I was given a plastic cup. You know what happens next.
As if peeing into a cup isn’t degrading enough (don’t act like you don’t get urine all over your hand, too!) at this particular office, they are sadists. The bathroom isn’t behind the door with the offices and check-up rooms. Nope. You have to go back out to the waiting room, cup in hand, past all the other people waiting, and around the reception window to get to the bathroom. Then you have to do your business with people literally sitting, in silence, 5 feet away from your… intimates. Then comes the worst part – walking past them again, this time with a cup of your own urine in your hand. Right there. Hi guys, I just peed into this cup, right over there. You probably heard it. And then heard me washing my hands for 5 minutes and using 827 paper towels to make sure there is no pee on the outside of the cup. God forbid the doctor touches my pee! Yeah, so I hope you don’t mind me walking around with this thing. I need it to, you know, figure out what’s wrong with me. Just try not to stare directly at it. Or me. Matter of fact, please hold your heads down and avert your gaze as I walk through. Thanks.
But it never happens that way, does it? No. There are no rules or etiquette regarding the moment someone fills their cup. You know why these rules don’t exist as common practices? Because someone who is designing the layout of a doctor’s office usually isn’t a moron and this issue probably doesn’t come up that often.
But enough about why. Let’s get right to it. I exit the room, with all the aforementioned shame, and tell myself not to make eye contact with anyone. But being the stubborn, curious asshole I am, I need to look at them to know if they are looking at me, and more importantly, if they know I have my own urine in my hand. As I’m looking I’m also trying to keep the urine away from me (what if I needed an 828th paper towel?) and trying to conceal it as best I can. Remember, this is all happening within about 4-6 seconds. Just as I’m 4 feet away from the door, I notice that an attractive male who looks around my age had entered the waiting room at some point while I was in the bathroom. It is at this exact moment that I am now fully moving the cup of piss behind my back, as we are looking into eachothers’ eyes. Yes. My smooth move was hiding my own pee-pee behind my back as though I was hiding a cookie from a young child. I’m pretty sure I awkwardly smiled in a ‘don’t worry, I swear it’s nothing serious’ way.
Thank Allah when I came back out he was gone. Our Missed Connection would probably read something like this:
You were holding your own pee behind your back. Did you think I didn’t notice? I did.
I was just waiting for my girlfriend. Stop staring at me creepy pee girl.