Doctors and Douchebags

I don’t like people, it’s true. But the way I figure, it’s a lot like that old joke, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean you don’t have enemies.” In my case, it’s more like, “Just because you are filled with loathing and contempt for the human race doesn’t mean people aren’t really douchebags in a fundamental way.”

There’s nothing like spending a few hours in a medical clinic to bring on a fresh new wave of misanthropy. I admit, I was already pretty much in the mood to kick humankind in the jimmy bubbles after reading in the news online that the Calgary Flames and their families went to a private clinic to get the H1N1 shot, even though the public clinics have been closed to everyone—including first responders and persons considered high priority—since the weekend. My skull nearly shattered with outrage and I immediately commenced to writing angry letters.

My first letter I wrote directly to the Calgary Flames (customerservice@calgaryflames.com), wherein I think I said something like, “Thank you for underscoring so poignantly the vast gulf in priority between a team of over-privileged, overpaid jocks with an enormous sense of entitlement and first responders like cops and firemen, and other people deemed high risk for H1N1. Wouldn’t want you to miss a game; lotta money riding on that. Have a shitty season, heroes.”

Then I wrote directly to the provincial government and in decidedly less vitriolic terms suggested that due to ongoing incompetence, the Premier should demand the resignation of his Health Minister and the Senior Health Consultant. Then I insisted that in view of the gross and appalling mismanagement of this province’s resources, the Premier himself should tender his resignation.

So it was in that kind of a mood that I set out to accompany J. to the mediclinic for what turned out to be dermatitis on her throat. We arrived at the clinic at 7:30. We didn’t get out until 10:40. And in that time, I was subjected to some of the kind of annoying behaviour I’ve come to expect from shitheaps and cretins trapped in a space together.

First of all, there’s nothing like a little pandemic to bring all the Drama Llamas out of the woodwork. If I saw one tool in a surgical mask last night, I saw three or four. And Health Canada advises people NOT to wear them because they are often worn incorrectly and, besides, we don’t even know if the virus is airborne. We don’t know how it is transmitted, but if there’s a chance to look like a douchebag in public, some jerkoff will jump at it.

One of these crisis monkeys was seated next to J. last night. He was simply unable to sit still, only you could tell it was excess energy, and not neuroses, that was putting the ants in his pants. I wanted to slip him a tranquilizer or something. But the thing that made me homicidal was that, behind his fucking mask, he was chewing gum WITH HIS MOUTH OPEN. I just frickin’ HATE that. Shut your friggin’ piehole, Zippy, I don’t wanna hear it! Learn some fucking manners.

Then there was the shitty little yard ape at the other end of the room who ran rampant all over the place. The supervision from his parents was theoretical at best. It was actually pretty fictional, as this little diaper pilot destroyed two boxes of tissues and used the hand sanitizer every fifteen minutes or so until his hands were foaming. And that’s on top of the usual screaming and whining and carrying on that can be expected from those individuals in society who still shit themselves, a qualification not necessarily restricted to children.

The most annoying of all, however, was the ditchpig with the cellphone. I’ve come to the conclusion that cellphones are, even more than communication devices, Asshole Indicators. If you have a cellphone and talk on it loudly in public or while you’re driving…CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! This woman was from one of those African countries that require their womenfolk to wear a hijab on their heads, which is handy for keeping that cellphone attached to your ear while your hands are free to do whatever you have to do with your wide-eyed, rude children who WON’T STOP STARING OPENLY AT ME WHILE I TRY TO EAT A BAG OF CHIPS, WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY IF I AM TO AVOID TELLING YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SHOVE THAT PHONE UP YOUR GIGANTIC ASS. Honest to Christ, that woman talked on the phone for close to three hours, even though she had a companion with her! People were giving her the hairy eyeball and making it as clear as a group of passive aggressive pinheads could that she should hang up now please, but she was far too engrossed.

And that makes her--and the kid and the parents and the chewer--douchebags.