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Review: SHS Appointment Just a Series of Chairs You Move to For No Apparent Reason


Photo by Quinn Dombrowski / CC BY-SA 2.0

Wheezing and coughing, I walked into 3535 Market hoping to get a quick diagnosis and some free lozenges. Instead, I encountered a series of chairs.

After checking in, answering the requisite “have you been feeling blue?” question, I walked to the waiting room. My first chair awaited me. This chair, I had no issue with. In fact, I was quite happy to rest upon a nice, firm seat before my appointment.

After a 45 minute wait, I was called back into a care room. I was told to take a seat. Trying to jump the gun, I sat on the operating table. I like how the slight elevation makes my legs fall asleep as they dangle.

Yet when a nurse came into the room, she demanded I return to a regular chair to get my pulse and heartbeat checked. I obliged, but I didn’t quite get the difference. I kept my mouth shut. She checked my heartbeat - perfect, my blood pressure (absurdly consistent), and my temperature (fuckin textbook).

As the nurse left, I got comfortable in my seat. With the room to myself, I spread my legs and enjoyed the plastic-y comfort of that care room chair.

But then the doctor comes in. This big shot looks at how settled in I was and decides, “nope get back on the table.” He wants to put his little stethoscope-thingy in my ear. Apparently that must be done on a table.

Again, I oblige with no comment, but inside I am fuming. My rage only increases with every new chair I am forced to sit on. I get up on the table and he checks my ears. He sees nothing. Perfect, sexy, beautiful ears. His words, not mine.

The doctor leaves. The nurse has to come back now to check on me one last time. I sit on my table, again letting my legs go numb as I relax. You may be wondering why I am made so furious by all of this chair switching.

Well when I was a wee boy, I was sent to Musical Chairs Camp. For eight weeks, I competed against the best musical chairs competitors in Haddonfield, NJ. I didn’t stand a chance. Every day, I faced my defeat, the shame that came along with it. Little boys and girls pointing at me laughing as I wasn’t quick or dexterous enough to ever get my tushy in a chair as the music stopped.

The nurse enters. “You can take a seat over there,” she says pointing to the previous chair I was in. At this point, my fury is at peak levels, but I compose myself. Remember what the therapist said. You’re bigger than this. I go to sit in the chair. The nurse knocks me off my feet before I can even sit down and sits on the chair herself.

“Musical chairs bitch!”

Review: 3/10. I still got the free lozenges.