The Chair

My appointment was for 2:00. As I glance up to look at the over-priced clock, I realize my ass hurts from the uncomfortable waiting-room chair. I also realize it's 2:48.

Interestingly--though no shocker to you--if I'm 48 minutes late to an appointment, I have to reschedule. Part of the rescheduling process involves me explaining that it's raining, and Houstonians suck at driving in the rain, and I shouldn't have to pay for a visit!
...but not today.  No, today I was here at 1:55. Rain and all.

It's 2:51.

My doctor recognizes me as he casts a warm smile my way and calls "John Somethingoranother" to come back.
"Mallin. It's Bill Mallin." It doesn't even sound like "John Somethingoranother." UGH!

I cannot see the clock this time. I even leaned to the right to stretch my back. Stupid chair. I hate this chair.

Perhaps I should join the over-weight lady wearing black leggings and hoolahoop earrings. She's bitching at the emotionally detatched receptionist. She's also blocking my view of the clock.

I hate this chair.

I hate that the lady directly across from me is deaf. I know she's deaf because the volume of the Mexican soap opera she's watching on her phone cannot possibly be turned up any louder. I hate Mexican soap operas.

There are 27 lights in the ceiling. There are four speakers, eight A/C vents, three sprinkler heads...

I hate this chair. 

Hoolahoop ears is walking this way eyeing the chair next to mine...HOLY MOTHER OF GOD...IS THAT PERFUME? Please go block the clock again!

It's 3:06.
3:07
3:07:30
3:07:47
...

It's 3:12:13.

Stinky has just informed the deaf girl she has beautiful hair.
My nostrils burn.
Felix is apparently going to leave Maria (or so I gather from my limited Spanish).
John Somethingoranother apparently has a major illness.
Deaf girl does not have beautiful hair.
My ass hurts.
I hate this chair.