The Waiting Room

It smells like piss. And vomit. It smells like piss and vomit in the ER. But what else could it possibly smell like? Sad, sick people are coughing their lungs out. I sit in the corner by myself trying to read. I put headphones on to tune out the crying babies. While everyone sits on the edge of their seats trying desperately to hear the nurse speak to their waiting room neighbor. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions out here?" No one says no. "And how long have you been feeling this way?" Everyone leans in, anticipating the answer.

Everyone marvels at the new arrivals: Broken toe, ruptured appendix, screaming child. I try not to look up. I try to keep on reading. I can still hear muffled coughs, voices, and some guy who has been hiccuping since I got here. I feel worst for him.

The lady next to me just got called back. She's won the lottery. 

I go out to my car and have a smoke. I stand in the wind and the light rain. Ah, this feels better.

I come back and take my seat which I'm thrilled to find has not been jacked. Only to find that I'm sitting next to never-ending-hiccup-guy. I would cry. And then I would hiccup. I would be a fucking crying, hiccuping mess. The Stones help tune him out though. For some reason, there are a pair of crutches in between our chairs. We both don't know who they belong to. He keeps elbowing them over to my side. And I elbow them back. This goes on for quite some time. They're leaning on me now and I can't take it anymore.

I have a new neighbor: a screaming child. Spinal Tap couldn't tune this out if their amplifiers were at 11. 

Never-ending-hiccup-guy is having a vulgar hiccup attack. He keeps saying "oh lord Jesus please take these away" "oh oh god Jesus." He's louder than the damn crying baby now.

Filth. All of them. All of me.