Our church has been working through a series on the afterlife. You know... heaven... hell... zombies. I'm pretty sure the waiting room at the walk-in clinic is pretty close to what hell will be like.
I had the pleasure of spending three and a half hours in said waiting room yesterday. I asked for a time estimate when I checked in and the lady behind the glass told me "just have a seat and we'll call you when it's your turn." (Note to self: future blog topic - Customer Service Lessons From The Walk-In Clinic).
Armed with only 40% battery on my iphone and half a bottle of water I hunkered down amongst the infected and patiently waited my turn.
The room was pretty much filled to capacity, so personal space was at a premium. I managed to find a seat at the end of a row with my back against the wall. Premium seating.
Over the next 3+ hours I observed the following:
5 kids, 3 adults, 1 Nintendo DS.
Why would you bring grandma, your spouse and FIVE kids to the walk-in? Nevermind the fact you only have one 5 inch screen to entertain them all.
Hyper-Active Children with Apathetic Parents
One kid managed to cover his head with surgical masks and called it his "Zombie Helmet". He then proceeded to do his best special-ops impression and crawl underneath the chairs shooting the rest of the patients/zombies in the waiting room.
Another child ran through the infected crowd slapping knees playing duck-duck-goose. No one was interested in chasing the little rapscallion.
One girl stole the hand sanitizer off the front desk and started to squirt her brother with it. He screamed "I'm meeellllttttiiiinnnnngggggg!"
One more kid climbed up the bookcase and onto the ledge at the check-in counter. He then tried to climb through the window onto the lap of customer-service lady on the other side.
I Became A Germophobe
Just about everyone in the waiting room was wearing a surgical mask, which some people removed to cough/sneeze. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the mask? You've removed the one barrier between me and the parasites that currently reside in your body. Thanks for becoming the waiting room sprinkler.
The story does have a happy ending (sort of). After 3+ hours in waiting room hell, the doctor tells me I have gastroenteritis and they can't do anything for me. "Just take it easy and drink lots of water".
Awesome.
Three and a half hours to ask my a couple questions and give me a non-treatment. I thought that's what Telehealth was for?
