The Waiting Room

It’s some sad ass shit sitting here in the General Surgery waiting room waiting for my appointment. There’s some hurtin’ folks here. People walking bent over, crooked, slow, sad stuff. The wounded and all. Staff at the reception desk are nice and fire humor like rays of sunshine. Some of us smile, some laugh, some don’t react, must be the pain.

Another thing I’m figurin’ out about these waiting rooms is there are assholes everywhere. Sitting less than 10 feet from me is a man in his thirties and his mother. He has the face of a wrinkled egg with pale moss on top and a slit for a mouth. If I was God I wouldn’t have given him any lips either.

The dude’s cell phone rings. Immediately his tone is unpleasant, nasty. “I told you I’d call you between three and four,” he snapped into the phone. Pauses. Then, “That’s what I told you. You learn to listen. I’ll call you later, got it?” He snaps closed the phone. Looks at his mother, says, “That child needs a foot up her ass.”

I hope the surgeon’s gut him.