You wouldn't know it from reading this blog, but from time to time I actually do fornicate with members of the opposite sex. I choose not to write about it because I'm a gentleman, and because this isn't Penthouse Forum. Being the responsible fornicator that I am, though, I get tested regularly to insure that no one gave me anything that will require a trip to the pharmacy. So a few weeks ago, I paid a visit to my doctor, dealt with his bitchy receptionist, and submitted my fluids for review.
The blood work came back okay within a couple of days, but they told me the results of the urine test had not yet been received. I was told to call back in a few days. I did, and still no results. "What's the holdup?," I asked the woman who answered the phone.
"The lab must be backed up," she told me, attempting to rush me off the phone. "Try back in a day or two."
When I called back two days later, and they still didn't have results for me, I asked to speak to the doctor.
"He's with patients now, but I'll leave a message for him to call," the woman said.
I gave him until the following morning not to return my call - then I called the office again. This time I dealt with a slightly less bitchy receptionist who admitted that my test results should have come in a while ago. "No shit," I thought to myself. "So can you call the lab, and find out what the deal is please?," I asked very politely - my pleasant tone masking my desire to want to scream at her, and every incompetent shithead that worked there.
"Let me get back to you," she responded. "Your number is ***-***-****, right?"
"No. It's ***-***-****," I said. "That number you have for me hasn't been good for like two years. I asked the other receptionist to change it when I came in for the tests."
"Okay. Got it," she said, and I hung up, knowing she didn't get it. If she was in fact going to call, she would call the old number - which she did, causing me to call back the next day. This time I got yet another Mensa candidate on the phone who informed me that someone tried calling me to tell me that the lab lost my urine, but they couldn't get a hold of me. I wonder why. In the meantime, somewhere at the lab, there was a cup of missing piss, and it had taken them almost two weeks to let me know about it.
"Come in again," she said. "We'll take another sample. You don't need an appointment. Just come when you can, and we'll see you right away." Wow. Now I was a VIP. "If we lose your urine, you can come in without an appointment." That's a great slogan for their business cards.
When I came in that very day, and announced to the receptionist who I was, she immediately had Holly the nurse take me to a room near the bathroom. I didn't have to say a word. She knew exactly why I was there, and handed me a cup with a bit of a smirk. It was as if I was the talk of the office - the annoying pain in the ass who keeps calling about his piss. I wasn't at all appreciating the vibe I was getting from Holly, and then when I turned around on my way to the bathroom, cup in hand, I noticed a "post it" note hanging on a bare wall in plain view for everyone to see.
The note read:
Marc (my last name) and the word "Gonorrhea" written under it.
This "post it" wasn't hanging on a bulletin board in a private room amongst other "post its" with names of patients and their ailments. It was being showcased in a part of the office where every doctor, nurse, receptionist, drug company rep, patient, and plumber could see it. I was surprised there wasn't a spotlight flashing on it. I bit my tongue, and simply said to Holly, "That's great. Now everyone thinks I have gonorrhea."
She laughed - not with me, but at me, and said, "Don't worry. Nobody comes back here. I just put it up there to remind me what to test for when you came in."
Nobody comes back here?!, I thought. I'M fuckin' back here, aren't I? This "post it" is hanging inches away from the bathroom so everyone who has to give you a urine sample, or take a dump comes back here!
I walked into the bathroom, came out, gave Holly a nice warm sample, and went on my way. This time the lab managed to do what they were supposed to, and eventually billed me $88 for it, which as a side note, I ain't paying. "Lose my piss and make me anxious for weeks, wondering what STD I may have, and you don't get paid." - That's the slogan on MY business card.
Anyway, the results were good, and I'm free to go about and fornicate as usual - responsibly, of course.
However, I can not let Holly get away with publicly embarrassing me like that. How many people out there now think I have gonorrhea? What if a potential date goes to that doctor, and right before we're about to get intimate, she says in a disgusted tone, "Wait a second. Do you go to Dr. Seidman? I thought your name sounded familiar. You're the gonorrhea guy. I'm not fucking you!"
So, Holly, here's where I exact my revenge. Maybe more people saw your "post it" than will see mine, but you never know what can happen on these crazy internets. This shit could go viral...pun intended: