Another day at the
Doctor’s office, another slice of humanity.
Another day for observing the great lives that pass through the door.
Awkwardness melted
away as the chairs filled up. Patients were
forced to sit next to a stranger. And
then, one person leaned over to the next and said something. It didn’t matter what, because the forbidden
veil had been torn. People started
interacting, sharing, making eye contact.
Different races,
ages, experiences, and life choices poured out in a flood. Vietnam vet was next to long distance
trucker. An elderly woman sat next to
twenty-something woman. A bicyclist with
torn ACL (or ALC) talked to the sixty-something man who sported a graying
ponytail and a Padres baseball cap.
Everyone was there to
see the doctor for some reason involving pain or illness. Some were clearly in wrenching pain, but
relating the events of the accidents helped them endure the waiting.
What was I doing, you
may ask. I was the one who leaned over
to the person next to me, and started it all.
After that, my journal was open as I wrote, interspersed with conversation.
Just needed to get the
ball rolling.
