The Awkwardness. I try to keep to myself and stare at my shoes. But everyone is clearly thinking the same thing: Why are you here? I try to imagine everyone sitting in a circle and sharing, like kindergarten. "I'm manic depressive." "I have an overbite." "I've had a cold for the past three months." "My mom forced me to come."
Would we all sing songs at the end? Pass around some Purelle and Kleenex?
My fantasies are usually interrupted when someone sneezes into my shoulder.
The Receptionist. To be fair, my orthodontist's receptionist is very, very nice. She's the only exception. The last receptionist I had the pleasure of being forced to interact with treated every patient in the room like the puppy you were given but didn't even want in the first place. Very inconvenient, very annoying, but you could got to jail for kicking it. I wonder if she'll warm up to us in time. Yes, this is a personal rant. By tomorrow, I'll probably take it all back.
The Occasional Psycho Patient. Several years ago, I waited with my mother, nanny, and four siblings in the pediatrician's waiting room. I was reading a magazine when I heard this woman next to me hiss. Not the discreet stop-that-or-else mom sort of hiss. It was a scary hiss. Like Medusa. Or a cockroach. Her son had sprayed this girl with a water gun. (Why would there ever be a water gun in a waiting room?) I watched her from behind my magazine. Within 10 minutes her hissing turned into screaming. Everyone in the room stopped talking. All the sick kiddos in the room sat quietly next to their mothers. And the poor woman would not stop. Needless to say, every single human being witnessing this moment of alternate reality thanked God for their mothers. As entertaining as this event was, I could have lived very happily without it.
The Smell. Chlorine, hand sanitizer, and bodily fluids. Ew.
I'd take squealing tweens, glitter, and clown makeup any day.
