People in doctors' offices have got to be the most depressing group of shit-heads ever assembled. Even worse in walk in clinics. They just sit there starring into the abyss waiting for their names to be called. What the hell is so important about their lives that they need to get back to? The women with front-butt that sits across from me (bingo must be about to start); the man who stares worriedly at the floor hunched over (it must be a tumour); the old women with the mask who keeps hacking into it (why quit now?); the; the absurd lady in the corner (she must have a couple of dead cats in here ten-gallon purse). The poor secretaries in thee places. They all must be on prozac to deal with these fuck-wads day after day.
I used to go to this one "woman's clinic" when I was younger. There, abve the stirrups table was a picture of baby. bunnies. Baby bunnies! Perhaps the picture was suppose to make the frigid metal speculum seem slightly more pleasant. Or perhaps it was justsuppose to remind you that we were still children and shouldn't be there in the first place.
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