I casually walk into Student Health and approach the receptionist.
Me: Hi, ma'am! I'm here to see a qualified medical practitioner regarding my damaged anterior cruciate ligament. Here is a referral from the hospital, which specializes in ACL injuries. The doctors left an incredibly exhaustive list of instructions on the referral for your benefit.
Receptionist: Well, hello there young lady! Why don't you go ahead and put on this face mask -- we don't want you getting other folks sick, now do we!
Me: I... what?
Receptionist: There's a good girl.
Me: I'm a dude.
Receptionist: (giggles sheepishly) Oh, you kids! Why don't you have a seat right over there, Dr. Kepowski will be right with you.
Me: Fine.
I shuffle over to my seat, finding Highlights to be the only palatable magazine on the nearby table. An hour later:
Dr. Kepowski: Ms. Collins?
Me: What the hell is wrong with you people? I'm not a girl.
Dr. Kepowski: Well, let's not be too hasty here. We'll do some experiments and let science give us the answer, mmmmk?
Me: Whatever. I tore my ACL two days ago. I need a prescription. The hospital forgot to give me one. Can you help me out?
Dr. Kepowski: Of course we can! We're doctors, after all. Please step into my office.
Me: It's about time.
Dr. Kepowski: If you don't mind I'll just take a quick look-see after you've taken a seat up on the bench here.
I hop up on the bench.
Me: So yeah, I was playing some b-ball at the AFC when I set up a screen and slipped on some swea-
Dr. Kepowski: Well, this is interesting! It looks like you've got a little bundle of joy on the way! Congratulations! You don't need an ultrasound. I've never been surer of anything in my life. I'll write the prescriptions you'll need: Levitra, Viagra, Percocet, what else...
Me: You... you're kidding. I already told you. My ACL. I just need a stupid painkiller prescription.
Dr. Kepowski: Your ACL, eh? What does that stand for, anyway -- Always Complaining Loser? Heh heh heh. That's a good one. Remind me to write that one down and send it to The New Yorker.
Me: I see the medicine cabinet over there. Can I please just go grab some Vicodin and be on my way?
Dr. Kepowski: Vicodin, eh? What are you, some kind of drug dealer? I'm just kidding. Of course you can have your painkillers. Let's just do some X-rays and conduct a blood test to make sure that everything else is hunky-dory.
The doctor draws a quick vial of blood from my arm and performs a few X-rays.
Dr. Kepowski: Now you just sit tight here. I saw you finished the crossword puzzles in Highlights magazine, so here's Cat Fancy for the wait.
Five hours later...
Dr. Kepowski: Well, it looks like we're looking at some pretty dour news for you, Ms. Collins. I'm sorry, but you've only got about fifteen hours to live.
Me: (speechless, weeping gently)
Dr. Kepowski: I know, I know. It's tough. Wait -- hold on, I misread your profile here. It's actually fifteen hours until "Mythbusters" comes on TV. My bad.
Me: (sniffling) How can you live with yourself? You're a monster.
Dr. Kepowski: Sue me. I'm only human. In any case, I discovered in the X-rays that you have a torn ACL. Here's some Vicodin. It's on the house.
He tosses me the pills. Simply astounding.
Dr. Kepowski: You're gonna want to stay off that leg for a few weeks. Pick up some crutches on the way out.
Me: So what in God's name was that whole thing back there? Why'd you wait six hours to give me what I needed?! You can't just play games with people's lives here!
Dr. Kepowski: You know, Brendan, we all have quirks. You enjoy basketball; I enjoy manipulating people and treating them like poop. Now be on your way.
Receptionist: Have a good afternoon, young lady!
Brendan is a Cavalier Daily Life columnist. His column runs weekly on Mondays. He can be reached at collins@cavalierdaily.com.
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