Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Dr. Duk Dong, I presume?
This post isn't entirely P.C., so skip it if you're easily-offended. I mean it. I might've offended old people, Asians, and possibly even my fellow ladyfolk. So be it.
Last Summer my doctor retired, which was both a blessing and a curse. It was a curse because now I have to find a new doctor, which is a hassle, but it was a blessing because he was getting super freaking old and it was awkward to see him tottering around at our appointments. He was still mentally sharp, yes, but his wrinkly skin was all liver-spotted and he had yellow teeth and a serious case of Old Man Smell. That being said, I fear change, so I never would have left him had he not decided to head for the golf course full-time and let his patients find new caregivers.
I had my first appointment with the new doctor today and it was cuuuuuh-razy! Allow me to set the scene:
I worked today so I was wearing a nice enough outfit: fitted black top, cute plaid skirt, black tights, black flats. I felt polished and confident and NOT SICK AT ALL, mind you. So I'm sitting on the exam table after chatting with the nurse and in walks a short little Asian dude who seriously looked and sounded exactly like Long Duk Dong. NTTAWWT! Doesn't matter to me, yo. He could look like Barney the fuckin' dinosaur and I wouldn't care as long as he can solve this problem (like Maria) that I've had for over 10 years now. (More on that later -- another post for another day.)
He walks in and does a double-take, then says that I look familiar to him. (insert joke about how he looks like every Asian stereotype I've ever heard here) We go through my medical history, he does a brief physical exam, and all the while I can't help but notice that he's looking at me funny.
You girls know the look I'm talking about -- the kind of look that a guy might give you in a bar? Yeah, that one. So after most of the talking is done he scoots his little stool over to me, so close that he is almost touching my knees, and says in this smarmy tone, "You very pretty! You so pretty, you look so healthy!" I smile and say thank you, and inside I'm thinking, "Ok, this is getting weird."
Then he asked me where I work. I tell him, and he gets all excited and says he lives in the same town. Then he tells me where he lives, right down to the condo number. He looks at me and waits a beat, expectantly. I smile lamely and say, "Um, that's nice." He throws his head back and laughs, scoots his little stool away and starts writing in his chart again.
"Do you smoke?" He asks. "No."
"So you good lady, live a good life?" He says.
"Yes, but I do drink."
Hey man, I'm nothing if not honest.
Another big laugh, "Ha ha! But not too much?" He asks.
"No, not to excess," I say... and I'm thinking, Except for once in a while, but ya know... we all have our moments.
"You fun lady!," He says, "I gonna write on here that you so pleasant to talk to," he says, "I can't say that for all my patients you know!" He laughs loudly at his own joke again, then I swear to God I heard him say under his breath, "Maybe after your treatment done we mumble mumble mumble!"
I just stared at him, too confused to ask him to repeat it. At this point I start to feel really hot and sweaty and I know I'm blushing furiously. He finishes scrawling his lab orders on the paper and hands it to me, and I waste no time in jumping off the table and reaching for my coat and purse. It is now that I see that at 5'7" tall, I am at least a foot taller than he is.
He looks up at me and says - and I am NOT making this up - "You so pretty! You look like model or some sort of Hollywood type!"
In these types of situations I do what comes naturally to me -- I make a little joke. So I said, "Oh thanks! Ha ha! I'll have to come by more often. You're good for my ego!"
Then I ran for it.
Oh, and I get to see him again next week. Huzzah!
Now, just to make sure that my head didn't inflate to the size of Texas I immediately called two friends and laughed about my inappropriate new doctor. Then, after I picked up the kids at daycare/after-school care, I ran over an orange traffic cone in the parking lot and got it wedged under my car. I got out and tugged at it, and it didn't budge. I cursed and tugged some more, this time in earnest. Nada.
I backed the car up a bit and pulled at the cone harder. That bastard wasn't going anywhere. I had to laugh. I mean, why must the universe mock me with moving vehicles every chance it gets?
I GET IT, I'M A BAD DRIVER. Point taken, universe!
After just a few agonizing moments of me laughing at my own idiocy and trying to be lady-like in my skirt while putting all of my meager upper-body strength into removing the squished cone, some dude came over to help me. Thank goodness he did, because even he couldn't get it out right away. Before long he was lying on the cold pavement pulling on the damn thing while I stood there and twirled my hair nervously, cursing myself for being the world's worst representation of a woman-driver. Hello, ugly stereotype! Nice to see ya! Again.
What goes around, comes around, clearly. And now I am drinking heavily, because I am a fun girl. My doctor said so.