Wednesday, August 28, 2013


Every time I visit my doctor, strange things happen. Today I walked through the front doors and I saw him getting ready to take some tea and biscuits with two other men. One was a driver, the other one a young Indian priest. I joined them and the priest handed me his cup of tea. We started talking about ways to help balding men grow their hair back. We also touched on mental illness and writing for a bit. Our young priest, apparently, had taken a liking to the written word and so took the opportunity to ask me a few questions about my work. After they left, my doctor and I talked about the proper way to take the medicines. I have probably heard it a hundred times, but I listened and we laughed and... got interrupted by screaming. One of his assistants, a lady I have grown fond of, was reprimanding another assistant at the top of her lungs. They were summoned into the consultation room, all four assistants, and the issue was assessed, discussed, addressed inside. I sat there with my cold tea, in the middle of a "domestic" crossfire. I had a meeting and needed to rush, but I had to wait until things were settled and apologies were offered all around like bread at dinner time. As an afterthought, I was given my packet of drugs. I put my money inside a white envelope and quickly walked out of the clinic, rushing to a nearby restaurant for some soup, pizza and apple cooler.

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