“You can put your clothes back on now,” the doctor said,
scribbling angrily in his notepad.
“Finally,” I said, putting my arm into one of the sleeves. “Hey, what exactly are you writing anyway?”
“It’s private,” the doctor mumbled without looking up, “Private medical notes.”
I stood and pulled the shirt over my head.
“Private…what’s that supposed to mean?” I said, frowning and walking over, “Let me see it.”
I reached for the book.
“No!” the doctor pouted, pulling it away. “It’s mine.”
“Give me that.” I snatched at the pad, but he held it at arm’s
length. “It’s something bad about me isn’t it? Tell me what it says! What did you write?! Tell me immediately!”
I began to jump for the pad, which he now held high above his head,
“Need I remind you—Hmmph!—of the physician’s—Hupph!—code of ethics?!—hyyup!—the withholding of information—rrrrg!—from any patient—hyyah!—is strictly forbidden—umph—under clause—hyyeck—four-thirteen—dammit!”
“Alright, alright,” The doctor sighed, raising his palms in a gesture of surrender, “I’ll tell you.”
I nodded and stepped back, settling to the floor in a cross-legged position.
“Are you aware,” the doctor hesitated, “Are you aware that you’ve got some extra, uh, tissue…some extra tissue there—” He closed one eye, aiming his pen at my shirt, “—on your chest? Are you aware of this?”
“Am I aware of it?” I squinted.
“Yes,” the doctor said, “Are. You. AWARE of it?”
“Yes…I’m aware of it.” I said softly.
“My, my, my…” the doctor trailed off and began scratching in his notebook, “Along with abnormally large chest pat—”
“Hey!” I shouted, “Hey!”
The doctor sat up, startled. I continued: “Can you help me
or what?”
“Oh I can help you.” He said, closing the pad and inserting it grandly into in his shirt pocket. “But you’ve got to want it, my boy. You’ve got to be committed. It’s lifelong, this thing of ours. Spare no expense. There are a number of events which must take place; you see…a grueling series of trials…” He trailed off and looked at me, raising his eyebrows.
“None of that means anything” I said. “It’s complete gibberish.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He sat, saying nothing. I cleared my throat. He frowned and
clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“Maybe you could just give me a prescription or something?” I said. “I’d really like to just leave.”
“Well it isn’t advisable, but…” he sighed, shaking his head and getting to his feet, “I suppose I could…extrapolate the process for you.” He pulled the notepad from his pocket and began to write.
“Expedite.” I said.
“Hmm, what’s that?” He said without looking up.
“Expedite. You said extrapolate the process but I think you meant ‘expedite the process’.”
“I meant nothing of the sort.” He said, furiously gashing a signature into the bottom of a page, tearing it out dramatically and sending it fluttering into the air.
I snatched it easily.
“Hah.” I said, placing the paper in my pocket.
The doctor paid me no mind. He stood at the sink and mimed rinsing his hands.
“Never question a college man.” He said, rolling up his sleeves and swishing his arms through the nonexistent stream, “You’re looking at more than eight straight years of the finest education has to offer.” He puffed out his
chest, “Anything less…would be uncivilized.” He began to dry his hands on a towel.
“That was quite a speech.” I said, tilting my head to one side, “But that last part was from an old Charles Barkley deodorant commercial.”
The doctor froze. He turned towards me slowly, eyes aflame.
“How dare you.” He roared through gritted teeth, “How DARE you! You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve coming in here and saying a thing like that to a medical man, you impudent son of a whore!” He stalked to the door and flung it open. “Get out. Get the hell out of my clinic you lowlife scum. You wretched scrap of filth.” He stomped to the corner of the room, wrenched a large plastic box from the wall, and returned, placing it in my arms. “Get out, and take your damned Sharps Away Hypodermic Needle Disposal Receptacle with you.” He said.
“Um,” I said, struggling to get a grip on the box, “I’m pretty sure this belongs to the room.”
He scowled and shoved me out into the hall. I tumbled backwards, hitting the ground hard. The box sailed from my hands and I heard the sound of shattering plastic behind me. I immediately curled into a ball, as I had been trained to do.
I closed my eyes tightly and awaited the blows I was certain would soon begin to rain down upon me.
In time, I heard the door slam. All was quiet. Standing up and rubbing my eyes, I noticed the Sharps container had shattered, peppering the hallway with a variety of used syringes.
“Yikes,” I said, picking my way carefully towards the waiting room, “That’s probably not safe.”
As I headed out the door of the clinic and into the parking lot, I pulled out the piece of paper the doctor had “given” me. I unfolded it, reading as I walked.
“Why doctor Menzel….” I said aloud, “You wily old fox…”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” asked an elderly woman.
“FUCKING GODDAMN SHIT YOU OLD BUZZARD!” I snarled.
“Well I never!” The old woman said, adjusting her pillbox hat, flipping one of her breasts over her shoulder, and turning on her heel.
I climbed in the car, twisted the key, and gunned the engine.
This was going to be a good day.