Trauma

For most men, going to the doctor is a traumatic experience. It leaves emotional scars. You go in, you sign up, and you wait.

The waiting part is easy. It's the reading selection that hurts. There's no rhyme or reason to the magazines in a doctor's waiting area. There's usually one copy of Popular Mechanics and fifty copies of Redbook and McCall's.

The last time I was at the doctor's office, there was one Sports Illustrated in the whole place. And the guy who had it was asleep. All the other men in the room had moved in closer to snatch up the magazine when it fell from his hands.

Suddenly, the nurse appeared and called the man's name. He quickly disappeared through a door, taking the magazine with him. It happened so fast all the guys sat with their mouths open like fish out of water.

Some of the stronger ones tried to follow him, but the nurse stopped them, "One at a time please." That meant we all had to sit still and pretend we weren't looking at each other to see if anyone had a contagious disease.

After I had looked everyone over, I moved to the far corner of the room. I was the only one there that wasn't a health hazard.

But I got bored, so I went to the magazine rack, hoping I had missed something the first ten times. Other than the women's magazines, I found a dog-eared children's magazine. I was checking it out when the sleepy guy reappeared.

He flipped the Sports Illustrated in the direction of the magazine rack, and before I could duck, I was bowled over by the frenzied mob.

"I thought you people were sick,"

the nurse yelled at them. They calmed down and went back to their seats clutching bits and pieces of torn pages.

She was disgusted. "Thank goodness it wasn't the swimsuit edition."

That's when I went to the sliding glass window and gently tapped. After five minutes, the glass peeped open. "Sign your name and fill out this piece of paper," a voice commanded, and the glass slammed shut.

I tapped again. "What?!"

"Look, I was wondering if there might be some other magazine back there. "Everything got quiet and then I heard pages rustling and drawers shutting.

Then the window opened back up all the way. "No, I'm sorry. Those are all we have."

"I'm desperate," I said. "I have money."

She looked around to see if anyone was watching and handed me an Outdoor Life magazine dated Aug. 1984. It was held together with tape and string. My mouth started watering like I was Pavlov's dog.

But when I turned back around, the rest of the men patients were staring at me like a pack of hungry animals. Even the sickest among them had started out of their seats. I scratched on the window and handed it back. "Never mind," I mumbled.

Then I went back to my seat and picked up a Redbook. By the time I got to see the doctor, I had picked up a couple of neat recipes and a great idea for some slip covers in the den.

See what I mean by trauma.