The stale scent of something seemingly close to alcohol wafted around him as he led me to the exam room.

Surprisingly but not really, he said almost nothing as he performed the exam and when finished whacked me in the chin with the fancy medical machine “on accident” and barely managed to mumble an apology.

I’m not a conversationalist myself but if you’re in a profession where it’s super important to discuss things with say, your patients,and you just don’t, well in my opinion you kinda FAIL at a huge part of your  job description.

He had never even introduced himself to me.

Sitting at the second of two chairs that had been squeezed into the room I caught him sweep his finger across his smartphone and read the message contained in the text bubble on the screen never once trying to conceal what he was doing from me, most likely because he felt it was perfectly okay.

Sitting silent and waiting for further instruction from him, the doctor, I busied myself with thoughts.

I battled the voice in my head, trying to convince it that the awful boozy smell wafting around the room was just his poor choice in cheap aftershave.

He fussed with the papers in my file.

Time crawled and awkwardness crept in, filling in the remaining pockets of air.

With 4 fingers to go on the “let’s see how many words he utters to me” hand survey that I was secretly conducting he mumbled something to me as he headed for the door.

Not understanding if his mumbling was directed at me or just an incoherent mutter I stayed in the exam chair with an eyebrow raised in confusion until he motioned to me like we were partners in a game of charades.

I stood and followed on his heels as he led me across the hall to an empty desk where he left me with an eye roll that not even a teenaged girl could pull of with such flair.

–

Now I’m not one to openly complain about poor customer service while out in public or at least I never used to be.  I’m more the wait instead type, till I’m safe in the confines of my home.  Once out of the public eye I’ll write an email to someone “higher up” or it most cases do nothing at all except vent about it, relentlessly, to the miserable pleasure of those closest to me.

Apparently being blown away by someones complete lack of professionalism causes me to do funny things because when a woman returned to the desk I had been discarded at I immediately questioned her if the doctor I had just been examined by was in fact a real doctor then launched into a full fledged complaint driven rant.

There were no looks of surprise or gasps of shock, only her head nodding in agreement.

The fact that see seemed bored by my tyrant only made me burn hotter.

Her laughter joined in with mine, once I’d cooled to a simmer and we moved on and past the spectacle.

Then the exam door opened with a loud click and all of a sudden he was a real doctor.

–

With a welcoming smile that seemed a bit rehearsed yet genuine he greeted me as if it was our first meeting.

His manners were professionally curt and he spoke using full precise and intelligible sentences.

He closed the door behind us and although we were in the very same tiny closet exam room it felt as if the walls had been expanded and we had ample room to stretch and become comfortable.

Seconds before I convinced myself that the behavior of this “doctor” mere minutes before must have been due to exaggeration on my part I heard a female voice begin to cackle.

I glanced his way.  He sat straighter then before, his smart phone dark and no where near him and while he still smelled sickeningly  sweet he acted sober and attentive.

The cackling came again so loud it seemed she might be sitting in the very same room with us.

He finished up the paperwork, personally escorted me out to the front desk, wished me a good rest of the day and made his way back towards the exam room where he paused for a second

before closing the paper thin door behind him.