I walked into a full waiting room a few minutes late for an appointment. A woman in her 50s was in front of me in line, and she was rummaging around in her purse. She couldn't find what she was looking for, so she proceeded to dump all of the contents of her purse onto the floor. A tampon, candy wrappers, pepper spray, receipts, and something that looked eerily like a big dildo. Maybe it was big or just average; who really knows? A boy who couldn't have been more than 10 years old, sitting with his mom, locked eyes with me. He looked at the dildo-looking object and then back at me with a confused look on his face. I had to ask myself at that moment, did he know what a dildo looked like, or did he have a staring problem? The mother noticed his gaze and redirected his attention back to his iPad. This confirmed in my mind that he did know what it was or had at least seen it in his house, and he is no longer allowed to go through his mother's drawers looking for a charger. This was further proved by how visibly uncomfortable the mom had become. The woman with the purse sprawled all over the colorful carpet lets out a yell, "I found it!" as one might do when they have found buried treasure after a long journey. She hands the clerk her insurance card, leaving all of her purse contents on the floor while this exchange is happening. She finishes up and goes to collect her stuff, finally realizing that the dildo-looking object has been out in the open for several minutes now. She snatches it up and puts it back in her purse with a nervous smile, looking up at me as if everyone in the room hadn't been staring at it for a while now. I get to the front of the line. "My name is Dylan, and I'm here for my first appointment." "WHAT? I can't hear you. Can you say that again?" I was taken aback and looked around to make sure this was still real life, especially because she was not screaming like this to the dildo woman in front of me. I repeat what I said. "Well, why didn't you just say that? What are they seeing you for today?" Oh, I forgot to mention that this appointment was at the psychiatrist's office, so a question like this is not one I was expecting. Quietly, I say, "Umm, depression." "WHAT? Honey, you're going to have to speak up." "Depression, I'm depressed!" My voice cracked toward the end, and I could feel the eyes on the back of my head. The dildo purse woman was already yesterday's news because a guy is screaming that he is depressed in a room of twenty-plus people. I hand her my insurance card, and she tells me to wait for my name to be called. I find an empty seat next to an older couple. The man immediately reaches out his hand. "I'm Dale, and this is my wife, Sharon. We've been together for 47 years. Isn't that right, Sharon?" "Fuck you, Dale." Dale smiles and looks back at me. "What's your name, young man?" "Dylan," "Well, what are the odds of that? My name is Dale, too!" I started to correct him, but I struggled to find the point. "I was named after Dale Carnegie; how about you?" I ponder for a moment and tell him, "Earnhardt." "Never heard of him. Have you met my wife, Sharon? We've been together for 47 years." I crack a smile and look the other way. A woman emerges from the office door. "Dale," Dale looks at me and then roars, "Which one?" I gesture to him, and Sharon says, "His name is Dylan, dumbass. Come on." With Dale and Sharon gone, I take out my phone, hoping to avoid any more interactions. Within 45 seconds of this phone time, a boy who was probably 14 or 15 is also on his phone, and the sound for the voice text goes off, and he says, "Schizophrenia." I obviously clocked this but then went back to what I was doing. He repeats it, "Schizophrenia, schizophrenia." He says this four or five times, and the last time, I swear, he looked at me right in the eyes and said it into the phone, smiling slightly. I'm not entirely sure, but I'm fairly certain. His dad, who is clearly accustomed to this behavior, having not been alarmed the first several times he said it out loud, finally says, "Son, what are you doing?" The boy responds, "I'm looking for a GIF." Of course, you know those classic schizophrenia GIFs we all love. "Dylan, we're ready for you." A wave of relief rushes over me, as I have never been so happy to go into a psychiatrist's office before. A man in his 50s ushers me to the correct room, and the room is barren except for a desk and a small couch. It reminded me of those videos from above where they are interrogating a potential murderer. The psychiatrist's name is Dr. Deeth, and I wish this were a joke. "It's pronounced Dee-th, not Death. Some people think that but don't worry, I'm not Dr. Death." Wow, what a relief, Dr. Deeth. Thank you for that. He opens his laptop and then asks me how I'm doing today. "I'm doing alright. There are some things that I wanted to talk to you about today..." Deeth cuts me off and says, "Dylan, why don't you tell me what's really wrong with you? I have a lot of appointments today, and I can't be beating around the bush." Mind you, I haven't said anything more than the previous unfinished sentence. He stands up from his desk and sits on the side of it with his legs hanging off. "Here's the deal, Dylan. I personally don't believe in all of this psychiatry and psychology nonsense. It's not science; I'm a doctor and don't really trust feelings. That's why my first wife divorced me; she said she couldn't trust my feelings, and I said, Good, I don't trust them either. That was probably the biggest reason that we didn't work out. I did also sleep with my secretary, which she didn't like. You might have actually met her today when you checked in, the older one." In my mind, I'm thinking about the woman who screamed at me a few minutes earlier. Yes, I did, in fact, meet her. He keeps going on and on about his own personal life and how he doesn't see his kids much anymore because they, too, have feelings that he can't deal with. He finishes his spiel with a question, "So what medicine do you want me to prescribe you because this is already running a little long, and I'm supposed to get lunch with a new lady?" He cups his hands around his mouth and says, "Just don't tell the secretary on the way out; she doesn't know I'm seeing other people." He winks at me, and I say, "Um, I'm not really sure about which medicine, honestly. That's kind of why I came to see you." "Dylan, you seem like a nice guy and everything, but it seems like maybe you just don't know what you want out of life. You need to take control of your own life. Have you considered exercising and drinking more water? Actually, yes, I love that. How about I prescribe you your own personal prescription of a little self-love? That's exactly what you need." I'm still sitting there once again, wondering if this is real life. "Ooo, it looks like your insurance is not the best, so this visit is going to be $350 that will need to be paid to the sexy secretary when you leave today. I know that is a lot for you because you don't really have a lot of money." Mind you, I haven't told him where I work or really anything about my life. "Since this may be a lot for you to pay today, I'll knock $25 off, so it'll be a more manageable $325. I think we made great progress today, Dylan. This is the first step to becoming the best version of yourself. We will schedule another appointment for a month from now to see how the prescription is working for you. Does July 25th work for you, around 10:00 a.m.? Ahh, I'm sure it does because you're probably not working anyway. Okay, I'll see you next time. Please exit through the door you came in and visit the front desk to pay your discounted rate." I get up and leave immediately without saying anything to Dr. Deeth. I go straight to the front desk and say that, "I need to pay for a session with Dr. Deeth today. He said it would be $325 instead of the $350 because I'm poor." She smiles and says, "Oh, Dr. Deeth, he has such a great heart". I give her my card, and she runs it and says, "Anything else I can help you with today?" "Yes, Dr. Deeth is sleeping with other people." "Wait, what did you say?" "Ohhh, now you can hear me?" She's yelling at me as I make my way to the door, and I hear, "Dale, wait!"
Raise me from the dead, please. I've been dead for as long as I can remember. My chest hurts, and I can't keep up with my fears. I forgot what I was worried about, which worries me. I haven't formed a thought in years, or at least one that I believe. Years pass, and things seem to have changed, but the pit in my stomach stays. I wish I could tell you what's wrong, fuck I wish you could tell me what's wrong. Nothing can be this terrible. I know this fact, and still, the immovable object holds me down. Even as I am writing this, my stomach hurts. The funniest thing about all of this is that in this very moment, I am still concerned with feeling stupid and discounting my pain as something not real when I am the one who experiences it. That's a warped way of seeing things, I think. I wish I could write about anything else, something about those around me or the state of the world, but I'm unable to. I'm too self-involved and can only concern myself with my interests. This, too, kills me. I want you to feel bad for me, or at least see me in a certain light. A different light than I see myself in, or maybe it's all the same thing. I want this to be funny, and in some ways, it probably is. In reality, there is little funny about a 20-something white guy who somehow thinks that he has real-world pain when everything else would say the opposite. I can only fall so far until I am swooped up by the safety net that I have around me. This is confusing and a bit ridiculous to grasp. There is also the aspect of taking this all too seriously. It is most likely the internal pressure that feeds off the external until they become interchangeable in my sense of self. You can only be a fraud if there is someone actually behind the facade, but what if the facade is who I am? That's not a facade, that's just a shallow person.
Actually, just kidding. I'm fine.
We have all been in a waiting room at some point. Whether that be waiting for your car to be serviced, a dentist appointment, or your STD test results. I, too, have been in a waiting room for a couple of those reasons. One of those, in particular, was waiting for my car to be fixed, and as I don't have many friends, I decided against having someone pick me up in favor of sitting in the Ford waiting "lounge". There were televisions and vending machines with only Monster and HoHo's. Awards adorned the walls, including "Best Repair Location of 2004" and "Outstanding Sales Performance of 2000." One of them that particularly caught my eye was the "Most Improved Penetration of 1996". This is shown to be an Excellence in Sales Achievement award, although I am hesitant to believe such a thing. I glance over to the man at the counter sipping his Monster and satisfied from his second HoHo of the day by 9 am. He sees me eyeing this prestigious award and winks at me as if to say that it was his penetration specifically that had improved. While the man and now I guess myself without choice are basking in his glory for his achievement, a man in his 60s had been on the phone for the last 30 minutes who plays the role of someone who may not even have a car here to be serviced but just likes "hanging out" here, began to cough uncontrollably. There are eight people in here, and most glance over but look away quickly. "I'm sure this will end soon, no way that he can continue to cough like this". This assumption was wrong as the man continued to hack away, and I can only imagine what the person on the other end of the phone is hearing, that is, if he was ever talking to anyone in the first place. The polite thing to do would be to speak through coughs to tell the person that they will call them back, but this doesn't happen. This coughing continues for over a minute, and the patrons of the lounge are just about over it. A younger man finally asks from across the room, "You need some water or anything, man?" The coughing man waves him off and smiles through the hacking as if to say I'm fine, though that is up for debate at the moment. The saga continues as a couple who were sitting near the man have now moved across the lounge. Finally, someone says what we were all thinking, "For the love of God man, would you either leave the room or shut the fuck up?" This comes as a shock to the coughing man as he can't help it and to the other patrons as they are shocked someone let their intrusive thoughts win to tell someone coughing to shut the fuck up though undoubtedly, we were all thinking it. The penetration man from earlier brings out a glass of water for the man, and again, he refuses, though it's clear that he needs it. The worst part about it is that he has a water bottle sitting right next to him, but he won't drink it. This ordeal continues, and no one is sure what to do at this point. A woman who had come in about halfway through it all mutters under her breath, "Jesus Christ, man". There are now a few employees who have heard what has been going on, and most of them, who aren't working on cars, are the ones who have come into the lounge as if they could potentially do something to help the situation. The Jesus Christ woman gestures to one of the employees as if to say, "Do something". One of the employees who had been here for quite a while nodded and whispered to another employee. He nodded and proceeded to approach the penetration man. He said to him, "You know what to do". The penetration man comes out from the desk and walks the coughing man behind his counter. Intrigued and invested at this point, all of us in the waiting lounge followed with bated breath to see what they were whispering about and why the penetration man seemed so happy to take care of the situation. Questions flooded our minds including the "Are they just gonna put him down?" Is this how that works? Most of us in that room were at peace with that decision as this had gone on much too long. Then as if some sort of magic, the coughing ceases. The coughing man is nowhere to be seen and the penetration man is standing up behind his desk. Oddly, the penetration man seems to be enjoying himself and thrusting his hips. The penetration man lets out a scream of excitement, "AHHHH it feels like 1996 again". At last, the coughing had ended and we could all enjoy some silence. Well, besides the sex noises from behind the desk that were louder than the coughs were in the first place.
There is a man who wanders the street dressed as a clown, complete with white makeup and a red nose. He rarely goes anywhere without being in full clown garb. He feels more comfortable this way and according to him, he is not hiding anything but rather being his true self. One day he was shocked when he left his house that others on the street were also dressed up this way. He wondered if there was some sort of clown convention that was in town but couldn't find evidence of that. Curiosity got him and he just had to ask someone. There was a couple walking toward him and he stopped them. Why are you guys dressed this way? They both had confused looks on their face as if he was almost insulting them. We always dress this way, do you have a problem with it? He went on his way with an equally confused look as the couple did. He decided to sit down at an outside cafe and watch the people on the street as they passed. Some were laughing, some were sad but all dressed the same way that he was. He started to feel insecure because being a clown was his thing and now he felt that he was ordinary. He couldn't have that so he went to the restroom and removed all of his clown makeup, red nose included. As he is doing this, a familiar face walks up to the sink next to him. He was surprised to see that he too was removing his clown makeup. Hey man! It's been a while. What are you doing? The familiar face looked over at him, didn't say a word, finished up, and proceeded to leave. Tears began to stream down the man's face out of confusion and sadness. What was happening? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore and his true self was now in question. He wonders who he truly is if he isn't different than everyone else and now his old friend doesn't even recognize him without the clown makeup. He gathers himself and makes his way back out the street. He is shocked again as everyone no longer has any clown makeup anymore. He screams out on the street in indistinguishable shouts. What is going on?! Is everyone playing a trick on me? He sits in silence for a while and decides that he has no choice but to go back to his clown ways. He proceeds to return to the restroom to reapply the white makeup and red nose once again. He feels at peace though still uneasy about what had happened today. He is leaving the restroom when someone enters the restroom who too is wearing the same makeup as him. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? He goes back to his seat outside and sees that everyone has now gone back to their clown ways. He wants to be angry but for some reason, he sits in silence. He takes a moment and then finally comes to the conclusion: I guess we are all clowns after all and I'm no different.
James is 24 years old and entered the workforce immediately after college. He has two years of experience but carries himself as if he has been doing it for decades. He is the quintessential young professional out to conquer the corporate world one deal at a time. James has a girlfriend who works at his company, a dream of his to have a workplace romance at his dream job. The pair has just moved into a penthouse in the wealthy side of town. This is the kind of place that James always saw himself in. Well, in all honesty, James has always been in places like this, as his father runs the company where he works, and has been living in penthouses his entire life. This was different because James was now a young professional, so this was his place. Daddy still pays for 75% of the rent, but James has to contribute 25%. His first taste of responsibility. The first couple of months, James was unable to pay the 25% so his dad covered it, but soon enough, James will be paying for it himself. He believes in himself, and his father, although he is not entirely convinced, still has faith that his son can follow in his footsteps. James has decided that he wants to carve his own path and get the respect of his peers by doing things on his own. The logical move was to get a job at his father's company, but he claimed that he secured the position on his own through his qualifications. He really believes that. James loves to golf, and when he leaves the house, he tells his girlfriend that he is off to network. For James, golfing is a step in the right direction to gain traction in the business world. He has yet to close any deals on the golf course, but he knows he will. He is also a foodie and loves trying new restaurants. He is rude to the waiters, and his girlfriend loves it. She gets her jabs in as well, making sure that the help knows they are exactly that - the help. It feels good for them to know that they are living better than those who are bringing them their lobster tails. James isn't a bad person; he knows that if he wants to be the person he sees himself as, this is the necessary step. Fake it till you make it, as far as James is concerned. He likes to give the waiters a performance review on the receipt, telling them how they can improve next time. This is his contribution to the community, and he says that if they fix their mistakes, they could eventually be deserving of a 20% tip. He is a 12-14% tipper. It is clearly a power move on his part, and he feels good about it. James asks for the valet to bring his Tesla around even when there isn't a valet at the restaurant. More than once, the restaurant's host has brought his car around because James refused to let his girlfriend walk the 100 feet to the car. After all, he just spent his hard-earned money at this establishment, and he makes it clear that he has many other options to eat, but he made the decision to eat here. They should be so lucky. James has a lot of friends and makes sure that they are just a little bit less successful than him so he that he can be the big dawg as he likes to say but he also heard that you are product of the people that you spend time around so he doesn't hang around with schmucks. He had a friend, Tyler, once who brought over Coors Light to his penthouse, safe to say that Tyler is no longer invited to the dinner parties. Oddly enough, just two years ago James would shotgun Coors Lights until the morning hours but he is a professional now and would die before he concerned himself with Lite beer. James has the biggest penis of all his friends and he made sure this was the case. Immediately after college, he gathered several of his friends and they all dropped their pants to compare. There were a few friends who were larger than him but James couldn't have that so they weren't invited back into the inner circle post-university. James doesn't smoke marijuana, he will never be a loser stoner. His preferred drug of choice is clearly cocaine. James doesn't like snorting it because he never wants to have a coke nose so he is a gum it kind of guy, which is a stylistic choice for him. James and his girlfriend have sex 3 times a week. Usually James will tell her that the dragon needs to be drained so that he can focus on work. She obliges, they do doggy because it is the only way that James can cum. He makes her call him King James, it is unclear if it is religious or not. This brings us to the present day and James had a stressful day at work and luckily it is a sex day so things are looking up. He decided to take a half day at work because the morning was too much for him. He was surprised to find his girlfriend at the penthouse with his former friend Tyler, the Coors Light loser. Tyler was getting out of the shower and was asking girlfriend if she was ready for round 2. James was appalled and asked his girlfriend what the fuck was going on? As one does, she says it is not what it looks like though we all know that it is exactly what it looks like. James sits down in the chair in the corner of the bedroom. He ponders for a minute and then says go ahead for round 2, just let me be here for it. Tyler and girlfriend are confused but what James says goes. James then watches as Tyler and his girlfriend have acrobatic sex for nearly an hour. This is exactly what James needed after such a stressful day.