The Waiting Room

No magazines, no pamphlets, just a blaring TV containing screaming greedy loud Americans, banal commercials. Old fart across on the red coach can’t stop playing with his phone, stupid beeping sound, he looks up, I want to scream at him to shut up, shut up, shut up, its bad enough that I have to wait in this pastel hell hole for 40 minutes without your stupid beeping orchestra. I never get over how crappy people look in this surgery, much prefer Dr Puppies – I mean Wong but then I hate the long queues, unavailability, over priced fees and small children but at least they have magazines. Oh so poor looking: cheap jean jackets, old Jewish whingers, Daily Telegraph readers, token Asian person. How long is this going to take? 3 doctors that barely speak to you for 5 minutes before they eject you, collect a Medicare cheque, write a prescription or just tell you to rest at home. Why oh why? Money: the great equaliser. Get a piece of paper with a diagnosis I already knew, I could diagnose myself if not for a lack of authority to get prescription medication – a diagnosis I got 4 days ago but for the money I need a little piece of paper, 2 hours for a tiny amount of money but my credit card is a hungry beast that knows no products I can resist: CDs, DVDs, laptops, courses. If only I could stop spending, makes me want to but that new CD now. I’ll get it after my appointment, 1,2,3 I need the new Britney CD, at least at her concert there was a hot DJ in pants that barely covered her arse that kept me amused. The man with the phone finally stopped, it’s a shame he seems to be so impatient – wrong place to be buddy – wrong place. Pregnant woman rubbing her stomach, like we can’t see your pregnant! Like sand through the hour glass these are the days of my life – how long is this going to take?

The above was inspired by a task set to my class to write a stream of consciousness piece based on a short story we discussed in class.