It’s a rule. Leave an
empty stall between you and the next person in a public bathroom. Don’t double dip the Ruffles. You have thirty seconds to pick up food from
the floor before it becomes contaminated (this is known as the “30-second rule”
and is widely thought to have originated with college students). Calories don’t count if you eat standing up,
and eating directly out of the ice cream box while standing up actually results
in negative calories. And, at all costs, don’t talk to other patients in the
waiting room of the doctor's office. In fact, don’t even look at them. Your eyes
will burn and you will go blind. You might pick up the cold to end all colds. Everyone knows these things. No one has to
tell you. They’re the rules.
So when I heard someone behind me ask how I was doing as I
waited for the receptionist in the doctor’s office to finish her phone call
(how does she type with nails that long?) so she could take my co-pay, I was certain I hadn’t heard correctly. Are you new? Don’t you
know that you’re not supposed to talk to other people in a doctor’s office? My
heart beat faster. She can’t possibly be talking to me.
“Are you doing okay today?
Crap. She is talking to me. She should be averting her eyes and pretending she doesn’t see
me. Why isn’t she staring with fascination at the abstract painting
of…something abstract…on the wall? I don’t understand.
I turned slowly towards the woman, glaring at the
receptionist in the process, who was watching with undisguised curiosity as her
fingers continued to fly over the keyboard (how does she do that?) and she held what appeared to be quite an animated
phone conversation. Clearly, I was on my own here.
“Oh,” I replied, carefully arranging a puzzled look on my
face, “Fine, thanks.” Anyone with any sense
would hear “I can’t imagine why you’re asking.
Be gone with you.” I wished I could add the visual effect of waving my
fingers like I’m trying to brush her away, but it seemed an unnecessary
embellishment to what should be a pretty obvious dismissal.
But I’d forgotten that this woman clearly didn’t know the
unwritten rules and was, evidently, not the sharpest tool in the shed anyway.
Or maybe she was just persistent. Either way, she was not to be deterred.
“Oh, okay." She was unconvinced. Her dark brown curls bounced as she cocked
her head to the side and peered at me from behind her big, round glasses. She seemed rather ordinary, normal even, so I
didn’t know why her upbringing had not included an introduction to
the unwritten rules. She must have been neglected as a child. Raised by a
Honduran nanny, maybe.
The receptionist had now finished her phone call and glanced
at the woman a little uneasily before taking my credit card. Do they train doctor’s receptionists on how to recognize crazy? Was this woman unstable? I
remember practicing in school for emergencies with fire drills, tornado drills,
even bomb threat drills, but I don’t think we had crazy drills. However, I
breathed a sigh of relief that I could now turn away from Crazy Lady and back
to the receptionist. Surely this would
make her take the hint.
Disappointed, Crazy Lady struggled to accept the inattention.
“So, which doctor do you see?” Are you kidding me? What have I done to give you the
impression that I want to chat? I signed my credit card slip and closed my
eyes. Maybe if I couldn’t see
Crazy Lady, she wouldn’t be able to see me.
Or she would disappear by the time I opened my eyes.
“Who's your doctor?” she repeated. My God, this woman just wouldn’t give up. Did
she think I just hadn’t heard her the first time? Obviously, this was going to
require a different approach. I didn’t
have time for etiquette lessons. I looked pointedly at the receptionist (possibly
she keeps her nails this long in case she needs them as weapons against
patients like Crazy Lady) and began to discuss how to get my lab results
with the importance with which one might discuss the next presidential election.
Or AIDS research. Or nuclear war.
This did not go over well with Crazy Lady. “Oh, I see, you
don’t want to tell me.” She stares down
at the floor for a few seconds. NOW she gets a clue. But I’ve hurt her feelings
in the process. Why is this bothering me? I didn’t do anything. Except upset
what is probably a very nice lady who is more than a little bit crackers. That
can’t be a good way to go. Bad karma. Crazy lady, probably already on the verge
of a psychotic break, paused to consider her next question.
The receptionist, with the speed usually found only in
turtles, handed me the card with the lab's web site address. She was no doubt enjoying this
exchange. Probably saw it two or three times a day. So how come she couldn’t
jump in and save me? Did I mention that I don't understand?
Crazy Lady took one last shot. “So, are the doctors here
better with men or women?” What? What kind of question is that? I just moved here and was only here long enough to get some blood taken. How would I know? Wait, maybe
she’s not asking me. Of course. She must
be asking the increasingly amused receptionist. But no, I discovered, glancing
over to my left, she was still looking at me. I looked back at the receptionist, eye to eye,
mentally arm wrestling for the responsibility of having to respond to Crazy
Lady. She held my gaze, slowly pushing my imaginary arm down further. I lost.
I tucked my appointment card into my purse. “I imagine it
depends on who you see” I suggested brightly, zipping my purse and throwing one
last plea for help back at the receptionist. When did it get to be my
responsibility to train others in the unwritten rules? Not my pig, not my farm.
Crazy Lady, a little unsure as to what to do with this
response, stood quietly, waiting for more.
I smiled tightly as I began to walk out of the office. Her education was complete.
