I am standing at the medical desk trying to convince the receptionist my physical was indeed scheduled today and not yesterday. Surely my handwritten pocket calendar is far more accurate than her computer. I see by her badge that her parents named her Meghann not Megan which means every time she gives her name to someone who is writing it down she will need to spell it. Thanks a lot, mumsy, probably why I never attained anything higher than receptionist.
"Can you call back and see if they have an opening?" I whine. Meghann sighs and picks up the phone. "Dawn Giegerich is here and she was a no show yesterday. You can't see her, right?" Jesus, Meghann, could you please rephrase it like you actually want to solve my problem?
"Did you have any specific concerns?" Meghann asks. Other than the fact I am having this conversation with you, no, uh-uh.
I slink out the door with my new appointment card for two months from now, jeesh, what is wrong with the medical profession? Good god, cannot believe that question even formed in my head.
Seventeen miles later I'm picking out corn at a garden stall and I realize I left my kindle back on that ill-fated medical desk. Groan. I consider if it would be less embarrassing to just leave the thing and purchase a new one. By the time I get there they will have scanned my book list and realize I am not just forgetful but dangerous to the public at large. Titles like The Psychopath Inside ( how to recognize the psychopath in you) and The Secret World of Saints, just another mentally ill Catholic, yes, they surmised that correctly. They may also wonder about the preponderance of Jewish Buddhist authors. That's just the way it happened. I can offer no further explanation.
I decide it is not a good time to drop 400 bucks on something I already own so I head back in the direction of Meghann. I'm listening to an interview on public radio and it involves a doctor with an Indian accent, my favorite inflection. He is an expert on Parkinsons' disease and he's talking about the therapy of aerobic exercise but he says instead, "erotic exercise" and I am instantly in a good mood again. God, I love this country.
"Can you call back and see if they have an opening?" I whine. Meghann sighs and picks up the phone. "Dawn Giegerich is here and she was a no show yesterday. You can't see her, right?" Jesus, Meghann, could you please rephrase it like you actually want to solve my problem?
"Did you have any specific concerns?" Meghann asks. Other than the fact I am having this conversation with you, no, uh-uh.
I slink out the door with my new appointment card for two months from now, jeesh, what is wrong with the medical profession? Good god, cannot believe that question even formed in my head.
Seventeen miles later I'm picking out corn at a garden stall and I realize I left my kindle back on that ill-fated medical desk. Groan. I consider if it would be less embarrassing to just leave the thing and purchase a new one. By the time I get there they will have scanned my book list and realize I am not just forgetful but dangerous to the public at large. Titles like The Psychopath Inside ( how to recognize the psychopath in you) and The Secret World of Saints, just another mentally ill Catholic, yes, they surmised that correctly. They may also wonder about the preponderance of Jewish Buddhist authors. That's just the way it happened. I can offer no further explanation.
I decide it is not a good time to drop 400 bucks on something I already own so I head back in the direction of Meghann. I'm listening to an interview on public radio and it involves a doctor with an Indian accent, my favorite inflection. He is an expert on Parkinsons' disease and he's talking about the therapy of aerobic exercise but he says instead, "erotic exercise" and I am instantly in a good mood again. God, I love this country.
