Diamond goes to the doctor!

29 Sep
I don’t like going to doctors, actually I hate it. But because my new insurance (Aetna) wanted a full screening to check for anything they could possibly use as an excuse to not give me full coverage and jack up my costs, I had to go for a physical. Their first suggestion for my primary care physician was a guy who went to school in the Cayman Islands and wasn’t board certified to practice in the US.
 
Wait, what? Yeah.

 
I demanded another doctor.
 
My unwanted trip to the doctor was cursed from the beginning by elderly drivers attacking from behind the wheels of their large, metal Buicks and Cadillacs. They attacked with horns and screeching breaks, constantly threatening to ram their archaic beasts into my new, beloved Fiat. The parking was all pay lots that only accepted cash and had no ATMs, forcing me to circle the same ten free spaces with elderly bargain hunters, all ready to attack with their land boats.
 
After filling out those forms that ask you questions like, “Have you ever sneezed and farted at the same time–if yes, how many times?” I was taken back to see the doctor where a confused elderly man entered the room without knocking and just said hello to the doctor. I’m not sure, but I think he’s an agent for the Buick brigade sent to keep tabs on the Fiat freak.
 
They sent me for an AKG. The male nurse brought me a paper robe and told me to undress, leaving the robe opening in the front. I did. A female nurse entered and looked at me with equal parts confusion and repulsion, “Why did you take off you clothes?” she asked with biting snark. Ashamed all I could muster was a meek, “Because a guy told me to.” Yes, apparently I take my clothes off at the demand of strange men. We looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, the silence was finally broken by the crunching of the crisp paper robe as I shifted uncomfortably.
 
Then they decided I needed blood work. I was sent to another building where I sat with a collection of people who all looked like they needed a shower. The waiting room was filled with the cheapest bargain plastic furniture Ikea has ever made. Across from an elderly couple graphically discussing why they were there and a next to a family with a young child watching PSY’s Gangnam Style on repeat. Every time the video ended she went into hysterics that were suitable for when the earth is hurling towards the sun and a painful death is only moments away.
 
Basically, it was: the worst.
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