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.