The appointment is scheduled for 1pm. I was lucky to be squeezed in. Everyone and their mom is trying to get in their treatments before the holidays.
12:45 and I’m walking through the doors. The receptionist/sales person is in heavy consultation talk.
Hello! And I bolt straight for the bathroom. But before I reach the door, I hear: what’s your name?
I hate that greeting. It’s the only one they are capable of. Why does that question seem so rude to me? Why does it feel so confronting? What happened to: how may I help you? Or hey there, you already had an appointment?
I spell it out for her: M A R S H A and walk into the bathroom.
The toilet paper roll is almost out. I switch it out for a fresh one. Yes, I’m that person.
I finish up and go to awkwardly sit two feet from this graphic consultation and pretend like I’m not there. In all fairness, all consultations in this office are detailed.
Luckily, I don’t have to sit for too long. I get called in by someone I hadn’t met before.
She asks all the appropriate questions: any anti-biotics? Prego? New medications?
Before we get started, she chalks me up. This is new.
She explains she’ll work in sections. Okay. I’m cool with clear expectations.
Minutes later the torture is over. Andddd out. Thanks team.
Two more to go. Let’s make those count.