January 24, 2015

Grecian Eyes, Niagara Falls, and a Doctor's Office...

There are some stories that I find hysterically funny, and (yet) when I tell them to others all I hear is crickets.  My sense of humor is just sometimes at odds with others and other times it's just really poor taste.  I know this because sometimes my closest friends on the planet call me an asshole.  No subtle read-between-the-lines there!

This one, however, is funny.  Funnier because it happened to me.

In all honesty I had forgotten about this until one of coworkers was telling me about her doctor's appointment.  It triggered my memory and I told her the story.  There might have been an emergency run to the bathroom to avoid the laughing-too-hard-I-pee syndrome.  Maybe.

Several years ago, before my amazing doctor passed away, I had a funky mole on my upper arm, so he sent me to a dermatologist to have it checked out.  I was a touch nervous because my grandfather had to deal with skin cancer when I was younger.  Because of this, I got the full treatment.  Let me share...

As I walked into the office, I was greeted by a full room of people.  I checked in and parked myself into one of the few chairs close to the entry.  I'm weird about walking across a waiting room full of people I don't know.  This gave me a premium view of the receptionists' office.  Receptionists are like secretaries in that if you really want to know the vibe of an office, secretly watch them.  They are the true gatekeepers of all important knowledge in any business.

photo: wallpaper2020.com
While I'm doing recon on the receptionist, a gentleman in a white coat walks behind them...Obviously a doctor or PA.  He is lovely.  No, I mean LOVELY! Olive skin, dark hair, eyes that look like the Grecian coast has been bottled inside them.  As I'm reflecting on his godliness, it hits me that I am a new patient.  A NEW PATIENT.  This means I have no doctor or PA.  Oh. My. God. He could be...no, no, no.  I decide at this time that God does not hate me enough to make this happen. After all, I'm being responsible and taking care of my health.  This responsibility demands absolutely no cute doctors doing my inspection.  Right?

No. No, it does not.  

As I'm now sitting in my little (very white, sterile, COLD) room, in walks the Grecian God of Eyes.  Of course he does.  I am in a thin paper gown sitting on an exam table/chair thingy covered in thin paper.  Sigh.

After introductions, I realize this man is quite nice.  Which should be comforting, but I'd prefer he be an asshole like me so that I could hate him a little instead of being in awe of those damn eyes of his.  We start with conversation about why I'm here, blah, blah, blah.  Then the games begin.

The arm part is easy enough.  That's already sticking out of the gown.  Then we move to legs, toes, hands.  Again, easy.  Then he says the words I never expected:  "I need you to stand and take off your gown."  Oh. My. God.

When he initially walked into the room, I began to perspire a bit.  Not like I'd been running from zombies or anything, but enough that I could feel the warmth on my back.  I had sort of forgotten about it because arms, hands, legs, and toes are easy.  Removal of gown?  Not easy.

photo:  freepik.com
I'm sure I would have been a little, um, sweaty regardless of the person performing this glorious inspection, but I immediately developed more than a little glistening of perspiration at this point.  I've never been to Niagara Falls, but I would wager I was within range of daily output in less than 60 seconds.  You can't stop that kinda sweat.  Not perspiration, full-on sweat.

And so I stood.  I stood up to remove the paper gown to stand there in a freezing (yet not enough to stop the waterfall of sweat), sterile, florescent-lit room with Grecian God and two nurses, to bare myself in my obviously-not-chosen-with-care underwear in the sake of my health.

That moment.

When I planted my feet on the floor and began to rise, I realized the sweat was actually acting as a glue between myself and the paper on the table.  And it came with me.

Firmly planted between the cheeks.  Not the cheeks on my face.


I'm not sure if it was embarrassment or relief when I finally heard the paper RIP away from my body and fall back against the table.  I'm sure the heat coming from my face would've powered several electrical grids for days.  So there I stood...no gown, yet still decorated with lovely bits of paper.  

Ain't nothing you can do with that mess.

So, as my friend/coworker that I dearly love and admire tells me her story of being embarrassed by being pretty-much-naked in front of others (she's tall, blonde, and appears a decade younger than her years, mind you.), I say to her, "At least your ass cheeks didn't kidnap the paper by force of sweat in front of the Grecian God of dermatology."

You're welcome.