Anyone who has ever stood in an endless, crawling line of people at the DMV knows that bureaucratic public servants tend to constipate the operations of any government agency.
Two weeks after his sixty-seventh birthday in early 2014, George Howell noticed that his morning constitutional was becoming quite irregular. He was a man of strong habits, and his daily visit to the hall bathroom, newspaper in hand could be measured like clockwork. There must be something radically wrong, thought George. The older one gets, the more urgent minor medical problems become, in our minds at least. He thought that he had better call his doctor and make an appointment as soon as possible.
For a man in his sixties, George was a picture of health. A few pounds overweight, maybe, but he suffered no serious health problems. In fact he had not been to see his doctor in over three years. If it ain’t broke, you don’t need to fix it was George’s motto when it came to medicine. So it was with a certain amount of reluctance that he called doctor Clifton’s office and made an appointment.
“We have an opening in six weeks,” said the receptionist on the phone,”unless it is an emergency, and then you will have to go to the ER at Mercy Hospital.” George saw no choice, and entered the date on his wall calendar.
As he entered the doctor’s office at the appointed time, he saw that the waiting room was jam packed with every shape and size of human being possible. Screaming babies, trembling old ladies, rowdy teens, every strata of society seemed to be represented. George approached the check in window with his Medicare Card in hand.
“Sorry, Medicare is no longer covered by this office,” said the pert young lady in her starched uniform,”do you have your ObamaCare Card?” George related that he didn’t know what she was talking about. He had never received any such card. “Well, you will have to get one before we can see you,” said the girl politely, “here are the application forms. You need to take these home, fill them out, and send to the address on the top of page one. Once you get your card, you can make a new appointment to see the doctor.” She handed George a stapled packet of paperwork that contained over 30 pages.
George dejectedly left the office and thought to himself, the constipation of this process is going to make my constipation worse before it gets better..
Gale…This would be even more darling if it wasn’t so, so true. An excellent observation on bureaucratic constipation !
You clearly are good at finding inspiration wherever you look. Good read!
Thanks for your comments – and compliment. Hope you find time to read my Pick Three entry of a few days ago.
No alteration concerning constipation.
An abomination of bowel procrastination
Painful exasperation and considerable consternation
A subject not fit for polite conversation
A true equalization of the population
For everyone has experienced the limitations of CONSTIPATION.
Well done! “Not fit for polite conversation” my sentiments exactly..
Love you play with words, and can’t resist playing with them too. How about polite procrastination or painful conversation? Or an abomination of the population, and an alteration of equalization? (Or maybe I just need some sleep….)
Writer’s block: A head full of crap that won’t come out right.
Sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn’t. The older I get, and the more writing I do, I have to wonder what combination of factors align (Stars? Food choices? Breaking news? Hours of sleep? Room temperature? Phase of the moon? Family relationship developments? Barometric pressure? Music choices in my headphones? Pleasant anticipation? Chores done or not done? Dread?) to make the words (and everything else) come out easily and right.
Seems to me that a concentration of solidification consolidated in a single area cause constipation. The rest of it happens afterward. 🙂
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by Ann Linquist
Available in paperback or on Kindle