… landed me in the primo exam room: the one with the mural (they usually stick the kids in there, but it was 1am, so not many kids around.)
I’d been in the waiting room for two and half hours. Srsly. Two and a half. It was chock full of people in various stages of dying or wishing they were dead, most of whom were hacking up a lung (me included) or sharing their germs in other blecky ways. A couple girls with a tiny baby sat down next to me. The wee tyke took one look at me, opened his mouth, and began wailing. Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy was tinkling away on Muzak in the background.
The reason I shared all of that was because, by the time I was ushered into the Jungle Mural Room, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I hopped up on the crinkly paper covered exam table and prepared to wait another thirty minutes in a freezing room for the doctor. And that’s when I realized my life could be a lot worse. Because I still have a face.
This poor guy does not.