Don’t touch that!


Oh the horror!  The total and utter horror!

I just came from having a physical at a .. ahem! .. professional, occupational medical clinic.

This was something I had to do if I ever wanted to retire from my job for any medical reason.  Considering my capacity for almost stroking out daily when dealing with the public, I figured this was a smart move.

If you’ve ever had to pee in a cup in order to get a job, you know the horror of which I speak.

Are these places where the bottom-of-the-class doctors, nurses and other so-called medical professionals go to work?  Because the level of incompetency would suggest so.

And why do they all have those M&M vending machines in the waiting room?  The ones where you get a handful of loose M&M’s or Reese’s Pieces?  I love me some candy-coated goodies but there is no way in hell I would buy those.  I’m guessing they are mostly there to placate wailing children.  At 25 cents a pop.  Be sure to bring those quarters, Mom and Dad!  Shut those kids up!  I’m suffering enough just having to be here.

I was lucky enough to choose a hard plastic chair that immediately suctioned itself to my sizeable ass and was located next to a filthy 7-up machine.  With misspelled graffiti on it.  Sigh.  At least if you are going to deface something you could get the spelling right.  Or be a little clever.  What the hell does “GIBES 1987” mean anyway??

I endured the two and a half hour process (apparently “slow” isn’t just the mental capacity of the people working there) and truly wish they had a decontamination shower facility available at the exit.

After my third trip to the restroom (once to leave a sample, once to take my contacts out to prove that yes, I truly can’t see without them and once to put them back in) I really, really wanted to hurl but was too scared to go near the toilet with my face.  Hovering above it to pee was bad enough.  Guys, do you really have to be so bad at hitting the target AND not putting the seat down in a unisex bathroom?  In public?  Because I’m not your wife/girlfriend/mother and I shouldn’t have to clean up after you.

Probably the worst part of this experience was having to be half-naked in this place.  My clothes are sort of the force field that was protecting me from the sheer ickiness of this place.  The paper gown given to me just doesn’t have the same protective properties.

I kept asking if I was done yet and could I leave.  After my THIRD chest x-ray (Riley, the student murse kept messing them up), I was pleading.

They saved the best for last, which was being told by the “doctor” (you can’t prove to me that he was a real doctor.  I saw no diploma from the medical school he attended in Guatemala to prove he is a real doctor) that I didn’t qualify to become a police officer.  Which wasn’t even the reason I was there!

I was finally allowed to leave and almost, ALMOST kissed the ground outside of the clinic.  I was just too scared that I’d contract a disease and have to go back inside.

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