A Visit To The Doctor
You know your doctor is extremely hotshot and funky-ish if he gives you an appointment three months earlier, at one thirty in the morning.
I was made to sit patiently in the cold waiting room right from eleven o’ clock at night. My mom gave the amazing idea of carrying her laptop so that I have the internet to amuse myself for sometime. So after I exhausted the limited battery life of the technological apparatus, I was back to twiddling my thumbs and getting annoyed by strangers coughing all around me.
It was one by the time I was left with nothing to do, so I decided to go outside and walk the city streets, while the hard wind blew my hair across my face and sent chills down my back. But my dad being my dad, obviously wouldn’t let me venture out alone because it’s Christmas season, so you have all these drunk seventeen year old hotties wannabe guys all standing outside nightclubs and screaming “I had forty pegs of vodka and I’m still good!” To which Pa’s like “Yeah, right.”
So my dad and I, we walked down the road in search of coffee. And everything surprisingly, was shut. So we walked back to the clinic and I offered to plop myself outside on the steps while I checked out Violette.
And Violette, being a silly fragile thing, had nothing to give to me. Alright, not really her fault. But I think I’m going to sue all the eleven radio stations around the city for not playing a single decent song at that time. It’s peak hour ya! Either they play nice old hindi songs, or nice new ones. But no, they play all the weirdest nonsense ever made by mankind. Animal noises, stupid RJs saying whatever the hell they feel like… blu-blah.
Again, lame attempts to sit on the steps, click self portraits for my Godfather, and hoping really hard to listen to one decent song, I kept waiting on the white marble stone steps. Finally, my turn came at some time around two.
I walked into the doctor’s chamber and the first thing, I looked at my mom and went, “He looks like Jack Nicholson!” “Shush!” my mum whispered back. (I felt like Tom Cruise being confronted in A Few Good Men.)
Checked my weight, my knees, my back, my bones, my MRIs, my diet etcetera, and he goes, “There’s nothing wrong with her. Other doctors have just been making her into a guinea pig.”
Yeah, Mr Nicholson, I waited three years, one long night, and what feels like a bazillion rupees, to hear that. Thanks anyway.
Obviously, I wasn’t satisfied. So I dragged my parents and my half asleep chauffeur to take me to Azad Hind, where they comprehensively ripped our wallets off for a couple of rolls.
Back home, and nothing feels better than my warm blanket. Wow, so there’s actually nothing wrong with my knees? Erm, I’m taking up karate or kick-boxing starting next month then.
x EdgyShark x