At the doctor's

 

After the dentist, I thought of visiting the optician, the hairdresser, the manicurist, the clothes stylist,(tailor), the shoemaker, and of course the doctor.

I don't like to go to the doctor. No one does, I suppose. So I'd better get it over and done with first.

The receptionist at the doctor asked me, "why do you want to see the doctor?" I told her to mind her own business. She insisted she wanted to know so she can put it on the computer. I told her what if it was a very personal problem relating to something sexual. What about that? Would she still want to know?

She said yes, then explained, "You see, I need to know what is your ailment and put it on the computer here. This gives time for the doctor to Google your condition and find the answer to your problem."

Eventually I went to see the doctor in his insulting room. "Doctor, I have a personal problem," I said.

"Don't worry," he replied biting on a KFC chicken leg, "it will soon go away!"

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes, most problems soon go away just as they have come!" he answered licking his fingers and wiping them on his shirt.

"Don't you want to see it?" I insisted beginning to undress.

"Not really," he said standing up from his desk, "I'm too busy right now. You know how it is. If it is not one thing it is the mother. It's always the mother. And mine has asked me to get her some cinnamon. Do you know how difficult it is to get cinnamon at this time of day? It is at least a half-hour drive to the supermarket with this traffic. If I delay it any longer it will be worse. I really don't have time to deal with your problem."

"But ... but ..." I stammered.

"I don't have time with your butt!" he interrupted heading for the door, "I tell you what ... I can pick up some spices for you from the supermarket. Do you need some cloves, nutmeg, ginger, coriander, cumin? Anything. You name it ... I'll get it for you!" 

"What do you want me to do with them?" I asked angrily, "stick 'em up my butt? I came here for a diagnosis and some treatment; not to purchase a lot of condiments which I do not require, or to listen to your meaningless trivial self-pitying complaints about your mother's most probably reasonable request to do her shopping. Pull yourself together man. You're supposed to be a doctor, not a whining snivelling insignificant excuse for a human being. As a pitiful son it is your job and responsibility to look after your mother. As a useless doctor it is your duty and obligation to look after your patients, not share your frivolous problems with them."

After I finished my uncharacteristic tirade he sat down at this desk again and began to cry, or snivel. He did not even have the strength of character to cry openly and bitterly. I felt sorry for him. I sat down next to him and explained. "Look ..." I said gently, "I have come here because I have got a pain on my knee. Just happened recently. Maybe I am on my knees praying too much. I don't know ... we all have our problems these days. I just came for some advice, that's all!"

He half-smiled and said, "have you tried cod liver oil? It is good for bad joints!"

I patted him on the back and left.

I've tried rubbing cod liver oil on my knee for a week. Those tiny gel capsules are too small and fiddly and contain very little oil. Just a drop. Might as well stick them up my bottom for all the good they do!