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Let's talk about the waiting room at the doctor's office. It's like a black hole where time stands still. You walk in, and they hand you a clipboard with a form longer than the Game of Thrones series. I'm sitting there, trying to remember my family's medical history like it's a pop quiz. "Uh, heart disease? Yeah, sure, let's go with that." And then there's the awkward moment when the nurse calls you in, and you're not sure if you should shake her hand or just follow her like a lost puppy. And don't get me started on the magazines in the waiting room. It's like a museum exhibit of outdated celebrity gossip. I'm pretty sure I read an article about Y2K on my last visit.
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You ever try to diagnose yourself on the internet? I swear, WebMD turns everyone into a medical expert. You type in a little symptom, and suddenly, you're convinced you have a rare disease that only three people in the world have. I looked up a headache once, and the internet told me I might need a brain transplant. And then there's that disclaimer at the bottom: "If symptoms persist, see a doctor." Well, guess what? My symptoms persist because now I'm stressed about having the bubonic plague! I go to the doctor, and he's like, "You have a tension headache." Tension from reading WebMD, doc!
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Have you ever listened to those pharmaceutical ads on TV? They spend 10 seconds telling you about a miracle drug and the next 50 seconds listing side effects that sound like a horror movie trailer. "May cause dizziness, nausea, hallucinations, and spontaneous salsa dancing." I'm just waiting for them to say, "Side effects may include turning into a werewolf during a full moon." And why do they always have happy people in those ads? "Try Med-X, and you'll be dancing in a field of daisies in no time!" Yeah, right. I tried it, and the only thing I danced with was the toilet bowl. But hey, at least I know the drug is working, right? If I'm not suffering, it's not doing its job.
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You ever notice how doctors give you advice like it's the word of the Almighty? I went to the doctor the other day, and he looks at me with this serious face and says, "You need to exercise more." I'm like, "Doc, I exercise plenty." And he goes, "Well, do you take the stairs instead of the elevator?" I said, "Yeah, if it's a one-story building!" I mean, come on, doc, give me some realistic goals. I'm not climbing Everest on my lunch break. I'm just trying to survive a flight of stairs without getting winded. But hey, it's doctor's orders, right? So now I'm doing jumping jacks every time I hear an elevator ding. I call it "eleva-size.
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