The Waiting Game

What a way to spend an afternoon.
We got to the doctor’s office before 1 p.m. Then we waited and waited and waited. My mom was finally called in at almost exactly 3 p.m.
I don’t want to go all street on you, or street from several years ago, but: Whassup with that? I mean, are people waiting two hours to see a general practioner?
They are in Riverdale in the Bronx. Granted, the cast of “Cocoon” in the waiting room was not going anyplace. Maybe this is the plus of being a doctor for the geriatric set. I sure as hell would not be waiting even an hour to see my doctor. But then again, I don’t love my doctor as much as my mother loves hers.
Sometimes it’s nice being me. This was one of those times. Not while we were waiting, but when we actually got around to seeing the doctor. The phrase “two hours” came out of my mouth within seconds after saying hello. Actually, I’m not sure I said hello before going for the complaint. She took it pretty well. Later, she even agreed to a profile in the New York Post, if my editor in the At Work section decides he would like an interview with her. And once we were in there, she really listened. Which is what I guess my mom likes about this doctor.
As I said to the doc, though: call and tell me that you are running behind a couple of hours. I’ve even had veterinarians do that much. Alas, when it comes to medical care, my cat is more likely to be treated well than a lowly human ever is.