Not only are the good ones booked for months at a time, generally resulting in the agreement to see the doctor's assistant, but once you get there, you've still got a long way to go.
Just like in the famous Jerry Seinfeld bit, when your name is finally called, contain your excitement. You're not going to see the doctor. No. You're going to the smaller waiting room where you'll be waiting for at least another 40 minutes.
That 40 minutes is spent stuck inside one's own head: Have they forgotten about me? How much longer am I going to be trapped in this little room? What is that thing for? Are they going to use that on me? Should I take my clothes off?
And then they knock. They don't even wait for your answer. They just come barging in. Jesus, let me readjust this humiliating piece of paper you call a gown!
