Fun at the walk-in clinic

So the doctor I saw this morning wasn’t my usual person. Today’s doctor was all about drilling the rules and regulations of the place into my head. This is the exact same thing I’ve gone in for a number of times before: Zap-a-mole and take a quick look at a couple of other things while I’m there.

So this doctor—who was crazy, smoking hot, so I was initially inclined to LOVE working with her—starts off by telling me that 2 is the number of things they’re supposed to see a patient about per visit, not 3, so I would have to Sophie’s Choice one of my complaints. Then she looks at my mole and sighs (I could imagine her eyes rolling), “THIS kind of mole is FINE. [pause] It looks just like the kind of mole that is dangerous and has all the same outward appearances, but [dismissively] THIS is not that kind of mole.”

I go, well, what then? Leave it alone?

She: (sigh) No, I’ll remove it for you, but there is a 98... 99% chance that it is nothing.

Then I decide to have my athlete’s foot situation dealt with, because if I talk about my bruised but unbroken ribs, she’s at best just going to try to push drugs on me because that’s all that can be done until they heal. Long story short, in the end she forgot entirely to deal with my foot deal, which I’ll have my regular sawbones take care of when I go to have my stitches removed next week.

Oh, that’s the other thing. She must have mentioned it about 6 or 7 times: APPOINTMENTS ARE PREFERRED. (Especially if you’re just going to waste my time with non-life threatening injuries that I can’t run into the next room and blab about on social media.)

I think we all know who’s to blame here... ME! No wait, I meant to say, "OBAMA!!!" [shakes fist angrily]