I was at a doctor’s office yesterday, and as is often my experience, I was made to wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And wait.  This was an appointment with a specialist and from what I can tell, the more specialized the specialist, the longer the wait.  I know that doctors often double, even triple, book their schedules.  My appointment was at 3 PM.  I figured that getting there twenty minutes ahead of time would ensure that I was going to be the first of the 3 people booked for that same 3 PM appointment.  I was wrong.

After I’d waited, and waited, and waited some more, I saw a man come in, professionally dressed, confident as he strode right past me, chatted up the receptionist with a tone of familiarity, and plopped down on a seat in the waiting area with us commoners.

A few minutes later, a medical assistant came through the swinging door and called, “Dr. So and So?  Come right this way.”  And wouldn't you know it, Mr. Congeniality got up and walked right on back.

I suppose that his getting squeezed in like that was some kind of “professional courtesy”  being extended by my doctor.  As I continued to wait, and wait, and wait, I started to stew over the fact that I was getting the opposite of professional, and the opposite of courtesy.  I most certainly was getting the opposite of respect--as in my doctor clearly had none for my time as I had now been sitting there for one hour (not including the extra 20 minutes of self inflicted waiting I had tacked on in an effort to get seen on time).

Finally the assistant came out and called my name.  She ushered me back to an exam room where I was made to wait, and wait, and wait again.  I tried to keep myself busy, I had brought some magazines along from home knowing that it was a distinct possibility that I would have to wait awhile, and that doctor’s offices often have a really bad selection to offer their patients.  I had been right on both counts.  But, by now I’d already read the ones I’d brought.  I dug through the overstuffed lucite magazine rack attached to the wall in the exam room.  Lots of magazines there, dog eared in spite of their obscure subject matter and boring titles.  I mean who the hell wants to read an entire publication dedicated to trailer boats?  Then, I hit the jackpot--a relatively untouched copy of “House and Garden” magazine.  I am gearing up for some home remodeling soon, and while I do subscribe to several decorating magazines, “House and Garden” is not one of them.  But wouldn’t you know it, that the second I opened it the doctor finally decided to grace me with his presence?  After I’d spent a total of 125 minutes of waiting for him, he spent approximately 5 minutes examining me.  No apology for the wait, no, “Thanks for your patience.”

Since I couldn’t get my time back, I decided to take something of his.  I tucked that issue of “House and Garden” between my own “Redbook” and “Marie Claire” and took it home with me.  If being frustrated is an illness, I'm not sure kleptomania is the cure.  But, it sure did make me feel better.