An open letter to whoever is in charge of the magazine subscriptions at my doctor’s office.

Dear office assistant,

You might remember me as the handsome, yet nervous, blond gentleman from your waiting room last Wednesday, the 6th of April. If that doesn’t ring a bell, maybe you’ll recall that I was the one sweating profusely – in spite of the cool temperature. You noticed this and very kindly brought me a glass of cold water. This gesture was appreciated, and provided a brief moment of relief, but in the end didn’t quell the rush of perspiration. I realize you’re probably wondering where this is going, so, as not to waste another moment of your precious time, I’ll tell you why I was “sweating buckets”. Because I was terrified of the pending needle and other rubber gloved procedures that awaited me in the unfriendly confines of the examination room. Now I know it’s not unusual for people to be afraid of needles and the other unspeakable things that take place in there – I am one of those people. But normally, I have a copping mechanism to help deal with my fear. So why was I so terrified, you ask? Because, on this occasion, there was nothing to distract me from the horrors my yearly physical promised. This is where you come into to play.

Or, more appropriately, I should say, the lack of what you’re supposed to do comes into play. By this I refer you to the vast selection of magazines the waiting room offers. During past visits, I could rely upon the latest headlines, gossip and what not to take my mind off the impending doom the doctor insists on reigning upon me – my aforementioned copping mechanism. But during this visit, do you know what I found? A Sports Illustrated with a story about the Philadelphia Phillies recent World Series victory. If by recent, you mean 6 months ago, then thank you for that piece of news. Next, I found myself perusing the aged gossip that was Mariah Carey’s marriage, Brangelina’s babies, and Clay Aiken coming out of the closet (like that was a surprise anyway). In a last ditch effort to find something else to think about while being poked and prodded, I picked up a copy of GQ hoping to learn about some fancy gadgets or hot new styles. Instead, I ended up fanning myself with the July 07 issue. I won’t bore you with the remaining details of my visit, but I will tell you some fainting may or may not have occurred.

So, in conclusion, I leave you with this friendly piece of advice: In the future, do try to keep the magazine subscriptions up to date. As without having anything on my mind, I (and who knows how many countless others) end up acting like a little girl – a little girl who sweats like a terrified grown man.

Regards,
Aaron Chown

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5 Responses to “An open letter to whoever is in charge of the magazine subscriptions at my doctor’s office.”

  1. John J Savo, the Authoring Auctioneer Says:

    Last time I went to my barber’s place, he had a magazine featuring the release of Star Wars Episode I from 1999.

  2. Shawn Says:

    That is always the case, right? At least there were decent magazines on your visit. My eye doctor seems to only carry endless issues of Field and Stream and a few Picture Bibles (??).

  3. thinkinfyou Says:

    I think the office assistant take them home for her “on the crapper” time,and then brings them back six months later.

  4. Mary Holy Mackerel Says:

    You poor thing.

    I bring my own reading material for just that reason. And when I notice a good People magazine that is relatively recent, I steal it.

  5. I Shed T h i r t y P o u n d s in Only a Month Says:

    Hi, good post. I have been thinking about this topic,so thanks for sharing. I will definitely be coming back to your blog. Keep up the good work

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