Hear, Noise, Throat

Hear, Noise, Throat

Before I even made it in the door, I knew there’d be a long wait at the doctor’s office. How long? I asked the receptionist. About forty minutes, she responded. OK.

So I settled in with whatever magazine was available. The only one of interest appeared to be one having to do with Southern women, called, DEEP. I inhaled it lightly, in tiny sips, just like the proper Southern lady I was on my way to becoming.

In the meantime, I was surrounded not by a sleepy ol’ Southern town, but by the bustling, bilingual, bicultural, multinational metropolis that Miami has become. A lady sitting to my left turned out to be the grandmother of the little girl playing at the kiddy table, while the child’s rather corpulent father spent more than a fair share of his time on his cell phone. The girl’s mother arrived at the office, shortly thereafter. Tell me, does a patient need an entourage of three? Only in Miami: but then, again, the child turned out to be the patient.

Meanwhile, a lady sitting to the right of the reception window was screeching into her cell phone in Spanish. Not content with her performance, she continued to speak very loudly to her local audience, within range of the entire reception room. Could I concentrate on y’all come back, now dresses in Savannah boutiques? Barely.

And then a nattily dressed fellow sitting diagonally across from me began his little cell phone routine. Oh, yes, how important for us to hear all about his business. A facile communicator in both languages, he discovered a partner in kind with the loud lady. Soon we all were subjected to a discussion of these two’s ailments. Aah, the slings and arrows of outrageous tonsils.

By this time I’d had to ask the receptionist for change for the meter. Forty minutes? How about, possibly an hour longer—yikes!

Fortunately, the polite young woman to my right, with whom I’d begun to commiserate before she was called into the inner chamber, gave way to an equally polite young man with a slight, yet distinguished, accent. He turned out to be Greek, and to give me free computer advice, for which I am most grateful.

At long last, I was called in. The hydrogen peroxide had worked wonders. I could certainly hear all that noise coming out of all those throats. Y’all come back, now, you hear?

A slightly shorter version of this was published two weeks ago in the Miami New Times. Hip, hip, hooray!