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A Tacky Waiting Room With 9 Sick Seniors. Can My Day Get Any Better?
You never know when joy will transform your pain
It was 6:00 am and I was waiting my turn under the x-ray machine. I was one exhalation from screaming with the pain in my back. And I still didn’t know how a technician was going to get me out of the chair, across the room and stretched up and out on the slab she called a “table.”
The day had not started well. I was committed to misery.
I had fallen asleep while writing the night before and I looked like I’d had vigorous conjugal relations with a black felt tip pen. Blotches of faded ink resisted scrubbing. I looked like a chimney.
One look and my husband chuckled, “Oh no, you did it again!” He took another look and said, “You might want to wash your hair.” I suggested that he might want to go fuck himself, and our relationship was off to a great start for the day.
He was right. I should have washed my disgusting hair. Instead, I lacquered it down with expensive hair spray, which was definitely not worth it. Pieces of ink-stained hair popped up immediately after spraying.
“Screw it,” I thought. “I’ll never see any of those people at the clinic again.”
