It is 4:00 am and I am waiting for the Ambien and pinot grigio to knock me out kick in. I would appreciate it if you would post this as a warning public service announcement to cell phone divas.
People who use cell phones in waiting rooms
share the same DNA as dingos have the same mental capacity as the open-carry freaks, Westboro Baptist Church and Tea Party.
Today an overdressed for the occasion woman glided into the doctor’s crowded waiting room and announced to the receptionist the doctor would work her in. (Lord help somebody if they “worked her in” before my appointment that was running forty-five minutes behind.)
She had one of those annoying Barbie doll names; Skipper or Skylar Sotheby.
Everything about her demeanor indicated she was going to be a giant pain in the ass had a major sense of entitlement. She was not pleased to be among common folk.
Cautiously settling her Chanel handbag near her feet she retrieved her cell phone from its Coach case with fingers supporting diamonds the size of sand dollars. In a voice capable of reaching the nosebleed zone at Madison Square Garden she called to confirm airline and hotel reservations.
In a nano second the entire waiting room knew her name and that she was going to vacation at an exclusive resort and for what period of time.
Were I a thief I would be salivating to have this opportunity. The entire waiting room turned their attention from the shabby selection of free health publications and the overly caffeinated chef on the food network.
She checked her voicemail and discovered she had a message from the doctor whose office she was sitting in.
Not content to maintain her current level of
stupidity arrogance while she remained seated, twenty feet from the receptionist desk, she called the office and informed them she had arrived (confirmed by a wave of her hand) and waiting to be “worked-in”.
I tried to make excuses and feel sorry for a woman who is so limited she would resort to grandstanding in a doctor’s office.
I am all out of “sorry.”