I gotta get a new doctor, I think. The one I see now, I like him, I guess. But it’s hard to get an appointment with him. He’s always away. There’s always some other guy filling in for him. It’s like turning on Carson, and there’s Tony Randall. Tony. Randall. Never mind. Forget it.
The doctor’s alright, when you can see him, but the people who work for him―man, they’re the worst. Every time I go there, they can’t find something. They’ve lost something else. Ma’am we can’t find your records. Ma’am we can’t find your chart. Are you sure you have insurance? We can’t find it here ma’am.
I hate being called “ma’am”. It used to be “Miss”. I hated that too, but “ma’am” I hate more. Sounds like the bleat of some cloven-hooved thing. I’m not crazy about the hoary old bats at the receptionist’s desk, either. Thing One and Thing Two. The remains, I expect, of some Gorgon clan.
So last week I went to Dr. K.’s office. That’s right, Dr. K. Note to self: next time find a doctor who has a last name. Dr. K. isn’t in today, ma’am, said Thing One, and Thing Two said, Dr. R.’s here today. Have a seat, here’s a pen, fill this paperwork out. His first name, I muttered, it better not be Tony. Ma’am?, they said. Never mind. Forget it.
After what felt like a fortnight had passed, Dr. R. breezed in like a bon vivant. Fine, he said, as if I had asked. Well now. Let’s have a look at those feet.
I stared. I blinked. My feet? I asked. Yes feet, he said. Those things at the end of your legs. Let’s see ‘em.
I thought for a moment. Almost leaned over to take off my shoes. I leaned back instead, looked him square in the eye; suspicious, confused, I asked him why.
Feet, he said, are windows to the soul. They say it’s the eyes but it’s really the feet.
You’re kidding, I said.
No. He wasn’t. I slipped off my Skechers. I think it was shock. Your feet are really a strange thing, aren’t they. Not yours, in particular. I mean feet, in general. They’re intimate, somehow. There’s something quite intimate about letting someone else see your feet.
Once it was over, I gathered my things. My shoes, my socks. What was left of my pride. Slunk back to the hellmouth and Things One and Two. I stood. I waited. Thing Two looked up and nodded towards me.
I can’t find her chart, she said to Thing One.
Note to self: no more initials.
Jesus, it’s like you’re all still on dial-up, I muttered.
Ma’am? they bleated.
Dial…never mind. Forget it.
I’ll go somewhere else for a pap smear next time.