Darn you, Joan of Arc, for leaving me in charge.
I’m at my ENT’s, a nice, middle-aged man who wears a yarmulke but claims, he’s not religious.
It’s a pleasant office with framed pictures of angels in flight, along with one very large Charlie Chaplin strapped to the front door.
Mina, the young receptionist, a favorite of mine, is always polite and helpful, letting me come the same day I call. It’s one area in my life, where I reap what I sow.
I’m accompanied in the waiting room by an older, African American woman, a little middle-aged Greek lady, a tall, Waspy blonde, my age, and a Latino man in his 40s.
We’re quiet, listening to the hum of the plastic waterfall cascading below the…Get Your Hearing Checked Annually, sign.
Suddenly the older woman gets up to take off her coat, and starts dropping things. Her purse, that’s open…a compact, pen, a roll of Lifesavers, so I immediately, like a Golden Retriever, swoop down to pick it all up.
She then drops a small piece of paper. “Leave that,” she quickly says.
“Oh, it’s okay,” said Joan.
“I SAID LEAVE IT.”
Startled, Joan slinks back to her seat.
The Latino man gets up and grabs it, saying, “That’s littering, what’s wrong with you?”
Well, they start going at each other like cats on a roof, screaming, bringing out the doctor who prides himself on the peace of his office.
“What’s going on Mina?”
Poor Mina, who is all but 20, about to cry, points to the nutty woman.
“THAT MAN TOOK MY PAPER!”
“Your newspaper?” asks the doctor.
“HER TRASH,” said the Latino man.
It felt like I was watching a really bad reality show, as redundant as that may sound.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” I say, on everyone’s behalf. “It’s actually my fault for trying to be too helpful.”
“Thats’a bulla-shit,” said the Greek lady who had been quiet up till now. “You are so nice, and she’s CA-RAZY.”
“WHO YOU CALLIN CRAZY?”
“YOU, THAT’S WHO.”
Now the doctor, in his crisp white coat (and yarmulke) says, “Please, this is a professional office and you must behave accordingly.”
I loved how he spoke like we were all school children. Then Wendy Wasp decides to put in her 2 cents, or 2 billion since by the looks of her jewels could have treated us all to an afternoon of PSYCHOtherapy, says, “I’m running late as it is, so could you please take me in and check my ears?”