Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Duress to Impress
For some reason, I feel a strong need for my doctor’s approval. I’m not sure why this is; anybody who types with one finger and decorates his office with old Beetle Bailey strips can’t be that cool, M.D. or no M.D. But I continually find myself going way overboard in an attempt to impress him. For instance, this morning:
Doctor: So, your cholesterol is higher than last time you were in. Have you been exercising?
Jay: Oh yeah. Definitely. I run fifteen miles a day.
Doctor: Really?
Jay: Well, sure, unless I happen to run by a burning building along the way and have to dive in to save some handicapped orphans. Then I might only do ten miles.
Doctor: Well, what about your diet?
Jay: Nothing but oat bran and green vegetables, doc. I think people who eat fried foods should be publicly stoned.
Doctor: Hmmm. I’m going to recommend a psychiatric referral.
And it’s not just the doctor. A few months back I lured my dentist into the web of lies:
Dentist: Have you been flossing regularly?
Jay: Flossing? Oh God yes. You can't stop me. I floss two or three times a day. Two or three times an hour, even. People are beginning to worry about me.
Dentist: Well, good, because flossing is not only good for your gums, but it also prevents heart disease and hurricanes.
Jay: I truly believe that God, if He exists, can be found in a pack of mint-flavored dental tape.
Dentist: It’s highly unorthodox, but I think I’m going to recommend a psychiatric referral here.
And just for good measure, let’s take the trolley to the mechanic’s shop, my own little neighborhood of make believe:
Mechanic: Do you know when you last had this thing serviced?
Jay: Hmmmm. Yeah, that’s tricky. Yesterday, maybe? I’ll have to look at my scrapbook of service records and receipts.
Mechanic: Well, it doesn’t look like the oil’s been changed for some time.
Jay: I can only attribute that to gypsy thieves.
Mechanic: I can’t send you to a psychiatrist, but I can asphyxiate you with exhaust fumes if you don't stop talking.
We’ve all got problems, people. Don’t you judge. Don’t you dare judge.
For some reason, I feel a strong need for my doctor’s approval. I’m not sure why this is; anybody who types with one finger and decorates his office with old Beetle Bailey strips can’t be that cool, M.D. or no M.D. But I continually find myself going way overboard in an attempt to impress him. For instance, this morning:
Doctor: So, your cholesterol is higher than last time you were in. Have you been exercising?
Jay: Oh yeah. Definitely. I run fifteen miles a day.
Doctor: Really?
Jay: Well, sure, unless I happen to run by a burning building along the way and have to dive in to save some handicapped orphans. Then I might only do ten miles.
Doctor: Well, what about your diet?
Jay: Nothing but oat bran and green vegetables, doc. I think people who eat fried foods should be publicly stoned.
Doctor: Hmmm. I’m going to recommend a psychiatric referral.
And it’s not just the doctor. A few months back I lured my dentist into the web of lies:
Dentist: Have you been flossing regularly?
Jay: Flossing? Oh God yes. You can't stop me. I floss two or three times a day. Two or three times an hour, even. People are beginning to worry about me.
Dentist: Well, good, because flossing is not only good for your gums, but it also prevents heart disease and hurricanes.
Jay: I truly believe that God, if He exists, can be found in a pack of mint-flavored dental tape.
Dentist: It’s highly unorthodox, but I think I’m going to recommend a psychiatric referral here.
And just for good measure, let’s take the trolley to the mechanic’s shop, my own little neighborhood of make believe:
Mechanic: Do you know when you last had this thing serviced?
Jay: Hmmmm. Yeah, that’s tricky. Yesterday, maybe? I’ll have to look at my scrapbook of service records and receipts.
Mechanic: Well, it doesn’t look like the oil’s been changed for some time.
Jay: I can only attribute that to gypsy thieves.
Mechanic: I can’t send you to a psychiatrist, but I can asphyxiate you with exhaust fumes if you don't stop talking.
We’ve all got problems, people. Don’t you judge. Don’t you dare judge.
