See, I don't get that. Why is it that every doctor LOVES to overbook? It's like their patients don't matter. Like our time means nothing. UGH! So there we were. Waiting. Watching the clock not tick away; it was downright teasing us. Meanwhile, I felt like those people in movies that are on the verge of a nervous breakdown, where every single sound and room-filling irritation is amplified, bubbling up inside like a pressure cooker about to explode.
There was the clock that was more like a novelty item, set there to perpetuate the illusion of passing time.
There was the woman with the baby that refused to allow anyone within a ten-mile radius to retain their ability to hear.
There was the Chatterbox who believed she was sitting in her living room, sharing every mundane detail of her even-more-mundane existence with someone who she simply did not allow to speak; I swear, at one point, I even told my husband that I didn't think she was talking to anyone because of how her mouth ran non-stop for forty-five minutes.
And finally, there was the absolutely charging-Bull-of-a-woman who stormed into the office so savagely, she actually slammed the door into my hubby, who was sitting by the entrance. She was a real charmer, that one! And to add a little sugar to her bowl of bitchy charms, instead of apologizing, as any normal person would when they cause pain and suffering to others, she had the audacity to tell my hubby that he shouldn't sit there. It was all I could do not to grab that Bull, drag her out to the street and toss her like the trash she was, under a moving car.
Between the screaming baby, the seemingly-broken clock, the for-the-love-of-god-please-shut-her-up Chatterbox, and the savage Bull, I swear I felt like my nerves were on the verge of giving up. I could literally feel my hands shaking. I didn't know what to do. Should I get up? Pace around? Throw the Chatterbox unmistakable dirty looks? Toss the trashy Bull under a car? And all the while, reality kept nipping at my ass. I was stuck there, with no choice but to wait.
And then, a taste of peace set in for the briefest of moments when the Chatterbox finally ended her loud, annoying, obnoxious, conversation-dominating phone call. I closed my eyes and took in the peace; the baby's mother had shoved a bottle of milk in her mouth, so the baby was back on my she's-so-cute side. And not a second after I closed my eyes, the Bull's phone rang. And she was off.
"Hello?" she said so loudly, I felt it in my bones.
I turned to my hubby and whispered in his ear, "Is there a hidden camera in here or something?"
Believe me when I say, I could actually HEAR a ranting blog writing itself in my head.
He laughed, catching the attention of the Bull, who promptly got up and took her call outside. Yup, in that one split moment, she earned a teensy portion of my forgiveness and whisked away (to a minor extent) the vast array of very disturbing thoughts rumbling around in my head.
I mentioned to my hubby how that was very polite of her, and how rude it was to take a call in front of people who want to sit in peace. Of course, the Chatterbox must've heard me; I could tell by the, "Ugh, whatever," face she threw me. But I didn't care. Hopefully she got the point.
So, all in all, it was a crappy experience, filled with endless waiting, a screaming baby, a trashy Bull, an obnoxious Chatterbox, and the desperate hope that a natural disaster (of the minor variety) would take aim at certain people in that office.
Fun times! So much for the whole, "Friday the 13th is just some silly superstition" thing.
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