The Waiting Room (Or, My Accidental Re-entry Into the Singles Scene)

It looked nothing like this. Except maybe the plant was the same. But other than that, no similarities whatsoever.

(Waiting room picture from here.)

The circumstances leading up to it aren’t important, but the other morning, I find myself at the Walk-In Clinic.

Generally, I avoid walk-in clinics like, well, the plague.  Because I assume everyone in them HAS the plague.  But I had no choice, so I did what I had to do.

As the name instructs me to do, I walk in.  Grab a number, and scan the waiting room.  The place is packed.  I’m sure these chairs came from some diabolical factory where they make the chairs exactly 80% of the size of the average person’s ass, then sit back and watch the fun ensue.  Miraculously, I find an open seat beside what appears to be the least smelly person there, and I make my move.

I immerse myself in a year-old copy of People (Oh look!  Conan’s gonna take over “The Tonight Show”.  I have a feeling it’ll be real big…), when I get that weird, prickly feeling.  I look up, and into several pairs of eyes.  Man eyes.  Attached to man leers.  Because here’s what I failed to realize:  By showing up there, having showered in the past week, and not sporting a face tattoo?  I’m automatically a pretty fine catch.

The stares aren’t just coming from around the room.  Oh no, Mr. Not Smelly, Relatively Safe has taken to staring from his chair, a whole 5 centimetres away.  I politely smile back.  Which is apparently a universal waiting room signal that I am looking for it.

“Hey, ‘sup?”

“Um, not much.” (Stare at the ground, maybe he’ll get the hint/get bored/whatever.)


“I’m Mike, just here on vacation.  You from here?  You’re from here, right?  I’ve been here for a week, haven’t found any good bars, I bet you could show me around…”

And as I desperately try to pretend he’s talking to someone else (although the only other person in his line of vision is the gentleman in the yellow crocs and Daisy Duke cutoffs who can only see out of one eye, on account of the other one being swollen shut, and I mean, hey, if he is hitting on him, mazel tov and good luck making a go of it, boys, but I just don’t think he’s the intended target, even if that is conceited of me), my brain starts to scream:


Mercifully, the nurse calls me, and I sprint into an office.

When I come out, my potential suitor is gone.

I go into the attached drug store, drop off a prescription, and wait.

And there he is, doing the same.


So I make myself very busy, browsing.

But when you’re trying to browse, with an air of absolute casualness, the universe will mess with you.

And put you in front of every embarassing thing it can think of.

(And really?  By the time you get to the lube, you’re not browsing, no, I’d say you’re pretty darned committed at that point.)

So, what have we learned from my adventures?

1.  If you might EVER get sick and not be able to secure an appointment with your regular doctor, stop showering immediately, so as to decrease your attractiveness.

2.  Sit by that crazy woman with the lipstick around her lips.  She has no interest in you, only the ghost of  Winston Churchill, with whom she is carrying on a lively (yet tragically one-sided) conversation.

3.  “Family Planning” is the most hilarious euphemism ever applied to an aisle.  I’m pretty sure that when you’re stocking up on Astro Glide, your future family is not exactly on your mind.

Take my awkwardness, and use it to enrich your lives.  My gift to you.


29 responses to “The Waiting Room (Or, My Accidental Re-entry Into the Singles Scene)

  1. There for a minute you had me picturing the police station in Ferris Bueller when Charlie Sheen tries to pick up on Jeanie.

  2. Astro Glide is the bomb. I think they should snag Brylcreem’s slogan “A Little Dab’ll Do Ya!” or maybe switch it up a bit to “A Little Dab’ll Get Ya Done!” 😛

    Next time go wearing a burka. Problem solved. Well, at least the first problem. 😐

    • There’s a lot of days when burkas seem like a mighty fine option. Culturally insensitive of me to put one on, maybe, but a mighty fine option.

  3. Ahhh Ginny, how I’ve missed thee.

  4. nicely handled… i’ve taken to talking to myself while eating gummy worms like a baby bird in a crowded airport bar to avoid insurance salesman “mile high love story” maneuvers. get crazy, act crazy. you can do it!

  5. laughing laughing laughing! OH, Thanks for the morning giggle! I can just picture this happening!

  6. Mongoliangirl

    YOU, madame, are hysterical.

  7. I love that you write so we can all be there with you.

  8. So…what you’re saying is, next time I’m really lookin for lovin’ I need to head over to the free clinic and BAM! Sex.

  9. Thanks. My whole life i’ve been going about this all wrong, this whole being polite and trying not to be a disgusting scumbag (which of course is debatable) when i should have been hanging out in waiting rooms leering and making statements like “i bet you like fellatio huh” or “i’m not from here, wanna get drunk and have sex in a dive bar bathroom?”

  10. Nice gift! Thank you Ginny

  11. You. Are. Brilliant.

    Thank you!

  12. OMG, I totally posted about our local walk in awhile back: Read Fah-reak Magnet

    Almost the same experience as you.

  13. Wow Ginny, you just keep on giving, don’t you? You have turned an ignominious event into a brilliantly amusing blog post. Thank you for this hilarity. This post really crystallizes your whole Praying to Darwin theme doesn’t it?

    What you learned were some valuable lessons. And if you should have to go to a walk in clinic again, you’ll be ready. You may want to bring your own magazine along though.

    The pharmacy scene was precious. Too bad it’s impossible to know what might be a turn-off to your would be stalker. Daisyfae has some potentially useful advice that should be easily applicable to the pharmacy setting. Theoretically.

  14. You have such a way with words! Loved this.

    I went to one of those walk-in clinics when visiting my brother in Calgary. On one side was a man whose scent was so powerful I feared for my life whenever I accidentally breathed through my nose. On the other, a prisoner in bright orange jumpsuit and chains. Not exactly the sort of sightseeing I had in mind when I booked the trip.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s