I hate what is ghoulishly referred to as “drawing blood” when I go to the doctor. Calling the process “having labs drawn” fools no one. Even a two year old knows that is doctor speak for having some masochistic deviate plunge lances into your veins.
The lab technician begins patting and probing but my veins know what is coming and hide. The tech acts as if it’s my fault my veins won’t come out and make nice.
Lab waiting rooms are grim, dim and inhospitable. The atmosphere is reminiscent of a cattle vaccination run. Over crowded with people squished too close together, seated in chairs that belong in the middle rung of hell.
A tattered copy of People magazine is my guilty escape. Who will ADMIT to wanting to know Who doesn’t want to know how much money George Clooney’s new wife is spending on designer duds and if she signed a prenup? It is a trashy Zen pleasure that diverts your attention from what is about to happen.
I settled down into heretofore-mentioned hard chair with trashy publication in hand. Poised to check out the index page and get to the ugly stories first, I detected a humming sound. Thinking my ears were having an out of body experience, I strained to determine the source.
The woman seated to my right was completely captivated by her ability emulate the sound LED light bulbs make. It was like sitting next to a giant mosquito, the annoying kind that flits around your ear and manages to escape air slaps and taunt you with their mini buzz.
A polite cough failed to halt her monotone buzz. A carefully executed half turn in the chair with my use-in-public stink eye scowl was wasted. Murdering her with a room full of witnesses did not seem prudent. The vampire beckoned to her just in time saving me from committing a felony.
I think diagnostic lab waiting rooms should offer flavored water, soothing music and leave me to discover George Clooney’s new wife’s decorating extravagance hum free.