Mercurial Appointments

Heading out the door to go see a doctor, regular check, no big deal, I got about three different specialists I keep in rotation, now, and heading out? I was reminded about a former primary care doctor I had. Sort of inherited him, and I’m pretty sure he was classmate with an uncle of mine, but I never got the two connected. Or reconnected.

Never can tell, though.

It was through that primary care doctor that I got used to the idea of a waiting room being a waiting room. As one girlfriend used to admonish me, “You did bring an activity bag, didn’t you?” In a more manly manner, it’s called an EDC, Every Day Carry, and to some, a man-bag, or, to me, a purse. No, I don’t call it a “murse” as that’s still an undesirable melange of two monikers. I keep cables, chargers, notebook, and an iPad.

When I popped into the doctor’s office the other morning, though, I didn’t have my toys, so I was left ticking items off on the phone.

But it was the first primary care guy that made me learn how to work in a waiting room. An aptly named room for his patients who had to be patient. In my case, if I was there at the appointed time, I could wait anywhere from 15 minutes to 2 hours, maybe more. Didn’t bother me, once I figured out the order. An aging auntie used to go to the same doc, and she was always served quickly. Me, on the flip side of that equation, being younger, stouter and obviously healthier, I could afford to wait.

Never complained. I did learn, though, to bring an activity bag. Which is what I was thinking of — Mercury in Retrograde — as I was sitting in the skin doc’s office. Waiting room. Usually fast and efficient, this one was taking a little longer than usual. Should’ve brought a toy bag.

Nothing is wrong with re-checking old complaints and miseries, over and over, and this is even better if it’s all attended while Mercury is its distressed deshabille condition.

It’s the best use of time.

“You know I’ve been married fifty years now,” the doc was telling me, “and I asked her if I was the one.” He held up a finger, “One.” “She looked at me,” the doc said, “and told me I was always 1. She’d had some eights and nines, but I was definitely a one.”

Mercurial Appointments

the Portable Mercury Retrograde

Portable Mercury Retrograde – Kramer Wetzel