Should an Urgent Care facility really be called “Urgent?” I’m sitting in a waiting room, urgently waiting to see someone about this fucking stomach bug I’ve had for the last week. It’s going on 20 minutes. There’s one other guy in the room. He reeks of cigarettes and laundry detergent. It’s a repulsive and stomach turning combo. I’m as far away from this guy ad I can get without sitting outside on the curb. My nostrils keep twitching and my stomach turns every time the guy moves and I get a whiff. All a guy can do is grumble to himself and update his blog.
The door to the back room opens, a lady in red pokes her head out “Are you two here for urgent care? Our provider is out for lunch, do you want to come back later?” Is she kidding? I honestly can’t tell anymore. I’m about to blow a gasket out here, not out of anger, but seriously, poo is about to fly, and she’s asking if I want to come back. This is absurd.
Urgent Care is a misnomer. This is like waiting at the DMV only the end result will be more expensive. This is a special level of hell between bleeding out in an ER with a screaming infant and waiting in line at Walmart while Grandma White Trash tries to return a pair of stretchy stirrup pants with no receipt. If the lack of fluids and nutrients in my system doesn’t kill me, the wait will.
2012 off to a good start!