WhatFinger


Eyes, optometrist, lasers, pupil dialation, Waiting rooms

N-e-e-e-x-t!



Years ago, an optometrist checked my eyes and noticed a condition that needed monitoring annually by laser-equipped specialists in a large city not far away.
Thank goodness the condition hasn’t become problematic, but during my latest visit to the big city for my annual examination, I noticed a lot about the clinic that was definitely problematic, especially with regard to the personnel working there. My observations confirmed at least one reason why America’s health care costs have doubled over the last decade and continue skyrocketing. Punctually, I arrived for the examination, but while signing in, I noticed that three patients who signed in before me had appointments with the same doctor as I did — at the same time. I asked the receptionist about this duplication. Never looking up from her paperwork, she barked rudely, “Have a seat — the doctor will see you shortly.”

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Next … all four of us were ushered to cubicles. Soon an officious inquisitor in green scrubs bustled in and began assaulting me with countless questions about a multitude of ailments — demanding to know whether I was afflicted by them now, had been in the past, or never had. The Gatling gun, staccato swiftness of the interrogation was downright offensive. I gave up trying to recall what may or may not have afflicted me, and simply Gatling-gunned back a repetitious “nope.” Next … a frowning health care specialist who could care less about my health handed me a sheaf of papers and ordered me to provide written answers to the same questions I had just responded to orally. Next … I waited an interminable wait in the waiting room. Finally, after my patient’s patience had long passed its limit, I was ushered to yet another cubicle, where yet another “expert” dressed in doctor’s duds dawdled in. Surely this is the doctor, I thought. But no, his only function was to adjust the vision measuring apparatus to my chin. He disappeared, only to be replaced by yet another pseudo medico, whose specialized task was dilating my eyes. Back to the waiting room. Next … in a room populated by all the busybodies who had already attended me, plus a few extra extras … all in medical garb and all on the payroll, I was seated in the examination chair. At last, the doctor arrived. She peered into each eye five seconds, told me to return next year, and scurried to the next cubicle. Next … I was passed off to the checkout clerk. When I complained that my eyes were still too dilated to read the forms shoved in front of me, an agitated voice said, “Just sign at the bottom — we’ll mail you a copy.” Phew! Never in my life had I felt more like a sheep being led to slaughter. As I groped my way around a corner, heading for the elevators, I bumped into another staffer. “I’m so sorry — please excuse me,” I said. Ignoring me, she blared to those in the waiting room: “N-e-e-e-x-t!”


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Jimmy Reed -- Bio and Archives

Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.

This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.

Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).


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