Tenth Musee

Yesterday, I was sitting in the waiting area of my doctor’s office, quietly minding my own business, watching Forces of Nature on the waiting room television.

There was a bohemian-looking couple sitting next to me, speaking rapidly to each other in Spanish, but it didn’t sound like Mexican Spanish.  Slightly different cadence. Anyway, they were a charming couple, chatting away, giggling with each other, when the nurse comes out the door and calls the woman away. The man waited with two seats between us and each of us just kept to ourselves comfortably.

About a minute or two later, the door opens again and this meek, mousy little woman came out. She had thin blonde shoulder-length hair, an oversized windbreaker zipped up to her chin, baggy jeans and coke-bottle glasses.  She started to walk past the guy next to me, then turned to him, rummaging in her pocket.  “It didn’t turn out well,” she said.  “I got herpes and a yeast infection. Here’s your lighter back,” extending her hand.

  Excuse me?

I didn’t want to look over there, lest she engage me in conversation, so I just looked straight ahead trying to determine with peripheral vision if anyone else heard her say that. She didn’t whisper or anything!  She just said it, matter-of-factly, like she was announcing she just bought eggs and butter.

The guy initially reached for the lighter, but changed his mind and said, “Oh, um… my girlfriend has an extra lighter. You can hang on to that.” Then she just turned and walked away without another word. No “thank you”, no “see you”, no “sorry for telling you about the state of my vagina”.  Nothing!

We both just sat there in stunned silence for a few seconds. I finally glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and he had this completely baffled look on his face.  I said, “Well.  That was a lot of information.” To which he replied, “Yes, I know. We only spoke when she asked to borrow my lighter. I had no idea that entitled me to full medical disclosure.”

I am so glad I don’t smoke anymore.