captive audiences

i'm in the waiting room this morning and they're running late so i sit and read.

then i see the woman ahead of me is on her way out and she comes up to the counter to pay so i know i'm next.

however she's not through yet.

'i wake up every morning with a headache" she announces as she's paying her bill.

people in the waiting room look up but i'm not in the mood so i just hoist my magazine higher so she doesn't think i'm part of her audience.

i know a mental terrorist when i see one.

i peek underneath my magazine and notice her deep purple crocs and grey socks.

'i've had a cat scan and they didn't find anything' she goes on.

there's a statement that deserves a witty retort. but hey, it's early for me.

'do you grind your teeth?' the lady next to me enquires kindly.

you can tell she's nailed the disorder and is prepared with her own diagnosis.

'Nah!' the headache woman replies dismissively.

' i know what it is. it's just that i'm not getting any."

people are edging forward on their seats.

waiting for more.

the receptionist and her pal behind the counter are laughing loudly.

i hoist my magazine higher.

it's 8.15 a.m. for heaven's sake.

i'm reading about britney's relapse and that's enough reality for moi right now thank you.

'oh yeah.' she continues sensing they're hooked. 'i've told HIM, (HIM we may surmise is her other half/husband/partner) if HE'S not putting out then i should be allowed to go elsewhere."

"AND he agreed." she nods

i can see why i think, glancing at the crocs and socks.

'i've asked him why he's not putting out anymore and he says he just doesn't know."

ask me.

the receptionist and her cohort are sniggering now.

'i have a friend'. she continues. emphasis on the word 'friend'

here we go.

'he says that if HE agrees with it" (HE being the party of the first part) "then he's in. he'll help me out.'

the room erupts and now my magazine is so high i'm having problems seeing the print.

now the sex starved headache woman with the very loud voice moves away from the reception desk.

'there's no harm in that is there?'

the purple crocs have turned in my direction.

demanding not just a response but my blessing.

'what? sorry?" mumble i, pretending i wasn't privvy to the previous conversation, which i'd have to be deaf not to have heard.

and i lean forward and my head goes to the side as if i might perhaps have forgotten to put in my hearing aid.

and, big mistake. because she's off again.

only louder for my benefit.

now what can i do?

'go for it' i say.

hoping she'll be happy now and leave me alone.

"whoo hoo!" say the receptionist and her cohort who are now back at their station.

"that's what i would do." confirms the tall blond one with the fake red nails and dried make up in her wrinkle creases.

"OH I'M GOING TO!" says the headache woman.

meaning, 'don't think i need YOUR approval."

right is might.

right?

'only trouble is he's very short and it's going to be strange doing it with someone so much shorter than me.'

well i can see that....

"but hey i gotta get some don't i? just cause HE doesn't want it anymore doesn't mean i have to go without does it?"

while she's been talking two new people have joined the waiting room and they are looking confused and just a tad uncomfortable.

thank goodness it's my turn now and i'm called in because i think headache woman is about to repeat her story for the third time for the new audience.

i go into the office and sit down.

i make eye contact with the person i'm there to see.

she raises her eyebrows and i raise mine back.

oh we are SO superior.

then we both 'tch tch' and she sighs heavily

and she whispers,

'every week it's something with her.'

"can i change my apt time for next week?" i ask.