Your Voice, Our Headlines

Download Folkspaper App with no Ads!


A fast-growing newspaper curated by the online community.

"The Sitting Room."

  • tag_facesReaction
  • Tip Bones

I have been sitting here in this doctor's room to finally see if I have the virus. I keep telling myself I do not have it. Honestly, I just don't believe I have it, but my wife insisted I continue to take every precaution and go get it checked out.

Although, at the moment, I'm commencing to assume I will not have to ever fret again about life in general. Looks like this virus condition was worst than we anticipated.

On the contrary, regardless if you believe it or not, the virus is worst than they say it is. I know this as a certainty because I have very influential friends who are ranked high-up in the military - former law enforcement officers, and the like. And from what they tell me, we are all goners. They just don't aspire to inform us (or do not know how to inform us) the severity of the mess, because they don't want a major panic on their hands - who is panicking? I'm just trying to get the doctor's attention here, but unfortunately, it appears I will nevertheless have to wait even longer. And by the time the bloody doctors get here, I will already be dead.

I'm telling you people, this damn world is going to hell. I feel sorrowful for the kids growing up in today's civilization. They have no idea. I reckon I don't either though. I mean really what the hell does anyone understand? That is what I am trying to find out here in this doctor's office. I am still sitting in the waiting room. I have somehow made it from boys to BigFoot. It’s a talent.

The sun is condescending through the windows behind me, painting everything with a golden hue. Anywhere else, it’d be beautiful, but Medical Centers are not attractive. Then either is I. Some try. I remember when I was a kid, and in this other office, they had tons of artwork on the wall. It was nevertheless not a “pretty” place. This one doesn’t even try. It has faded photo-like paintings of horses. Who thinks “medical center” and says “horses”? A quick Google search reveals horses symbolize freedom. This has got to be a joke. Here you are sitting in a very confined space, prisoner to a waiting list. And you don’t even know who is around you, or who is in front of you unless you have my special talent for matching people to doctors… prey to the fear that something is maybe not okay… you do not feel free.

I mean technically you are free to leave, but those appointments are hard to get. Alternatively, horses mean power. Again… really?

Or maybe it’s a wishful-thinking kind of thing. I show you horses, so your subconscious conceives freedom and power! I call you “patient,” so your subconscious embodies it?

A woman with fun sneakers stands up. They have two sets of polka dots, the side is beige dots on blue, the tongue is blue dots on beige. She is not young but her shoes and her walk are adolescents. She has a very specific swagger as she passes us all on the way to the ob-gyn, the weight shifted slightly back, kind of like boys in teenage rom-coms, as they saunter up to the girl they like. She doesn’t look like a teenage boy, she just walks like one. The door closes and my attention shifts to the other cellmates.

A blond woman walks in, I’m guessing… the forties? She has tiny feet encased in tiny black boots, tight blue jeans and a loose salmon-colored shirt, accessorized with a crystal pendant, and dangly earrings. She thinks she is a fashionable mum. Maybe she is.

The gynecologist leaves the door slightly ajar, between patients. Maybe she feels trapped too. She is, after all, staring into parsimonious spaces all day. They should get some horse photos too.

If we’re talking doctors, there is one thing I’ve noticed. I haven’t made sense of it yet… Echograph and mammogram docs… are the only doctors that look like part of the Grey’s Anatomy cast. Echo doc, numero uno has these-are-totally-my-natural-highlights blond hair, and tanned skin that looks tan, even under these hideous lights, and it may or may not be her real nose, but it’s gorgeous.

Echo doc, numero dos wasn’t in today, but I know him because I saw him when I had to get one. He’s tall and has a haircut that screams LA-movie star, and all the women go crazy for him. The way they strut in, with their makeup and push up bras, you’d think they were going to a high school reunion pre- days.

Mammogram doc isn’t hot exactly, but she’s very cool: ripped jeans, black army boots, cropped curly hair, red-framed glasses, I bet she has some cool hidden talent like opening a beer bottle with a spoon.

No displeasure to the other doctors, but they just look like doctors… ordinary people in white coats.

Anyways, enough about all this shit. Am I just bored? I feel like I’ve been sitting here forever. People come, and people go, and I’m still sitting here. My phone, my only loyal companion through all this, is almost out of battery life. I know someone else who is also out of battery life.

Perhaps I can take a nap, and when I wake up I will be looking straight into the doc's eyes, and he will tell me, 'you are going to be just fine.' What do you think folks? I keep telling myself I do not have it. Truly, I just don't believe I have it.