I’m at the Breast Torture Center for my annual mammogram.
As I enter, a Latina in navy scrubs jumps in front of me and says, “Don’t go any further,” as she whips out a thermometer she shoves in my ear.
She then, after asking my name and date of birth, checking me off her list, starts machine gunning questions: do I feel ill…have I been out of the country…have I had or been exposed to Covid-19?
“I haven’t been further than East 59th Street, does that help?” I say, realizing she has no sense of humor.
When I go to sit down, she sharply says, “NO SITTING!!!” Points to a large Purell dispenser and orders me to wash my hands. She then hands me a box of wipes to swab down my handbag as if it spent the night in China.
Think Close Encounters of the Third Kind, since I was waiting for E.T. to come out with a stethoscope.
My patience waning, especially after getting a mask tutorial, for dummies, wants to bolt out the door at the suggestion of my boobs who know what’s coming.
As I’m led to the next weigh station, another nurse in green scrubs, takes my temperature again as if I might have felt feverish in the last 10 minutes.
I look over at the coffee bar with a sign where the espresso machine once was that says…
SORRY….not as sorry as I am.
To keep you more on edge, a massive TV blares, a Botoxed reporter informing us, our Governor has written a book about his virus experience.
Really Andy, you’re making hay out of a plague?
I’m sorry to say, his stock has dropped several quarts.
I’m now sitting near a lady of color in her 70s. We watch women enter, all called in ahead of us.
I get up to ask if perhaps, my name was called and didn’t hear, but told, no.
After another 20 minutes, I go to the front desk and start, nicely, bitching.
Another nurse in mauve scrubs, now convinced there’s a boutique on the premises, comes out to get me.
I point to the woman I’m next to, and say, “What about her?”
Nurse Mauve says, “Don’t worry about her.”
I say, “But she’s been waiting longer than me, so it’s only right you take her first.”
Now Nurse Mauve is getting visually annoyed at Joan of Bark, who’s not budging an inch.
“Just a minute,” she curtly says, leaving in a huff.
In a minute, that feels like an hour, she returns saying, “I can take you both.”
I know what you’re thinking.
Susannah must have gotten a mighty big thanks from the woman.
She says, “Is it cause I’m Black that you think I needed your help?”
I look at her, and in my best Bette Davis snap…
“Lady, don’t insult me by putting limits on my kindness, because if you were green, I’d help ya.”
Nurse Mauve then, shaking her head, escorts us to our neutral corners.
I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves.
My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.