Modern Minstrels

It seems to be an unusually slow day in the doctor’s office for swine flu season. This is speculation, because I do not visit doctor’s offices on a regular basis and generally try to stay far-ish away from any place centered around swine flu activity. There are no more than three patients-to-be at any given time while I sit and wait my turn. They come and go, and I seem to be the only one who has to wait an inordinate amount of time. It feels inordinate, in any case, because I have an ear infection and I am grumpy about this. I want antibiotics for my childlike affliction, and I want them immediately. Please.

However, the supposed ear infection is not the only thing making me grumpy. In fact, it is far and away the lesser of two evils that I battle with (internally) during my wait. The greater evil, and believe me it is greater, is a girl who is in the waiting room but is not waiting. She is playing music on her guitar. And singing. Jewel is going to serenade my trip to the doctor.

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of the idea before. Live music (everyone likes the same kind of music anyway right?), in a doctor’s office (where everyone is always super happy to be and not at all tense and/or displeased to be there). Genius.

Jewel is not good; her repertoire includes several songs that she apparently does NOT deem out of her range. Ah, that age old question- what is range? Unfortunate.

One piece is an original, I find out after the desk attendant inquires, because he “really likes it,” whatever that could possibly mean. I put little stock in this exchange anyway, because Mr. Attendant strikes me as somewhat of an oddball [read: waaaaaaa-ckoooo]. Perhaps he strikes me as such because he likes her music, but I’m going to go with column A and avoid that entire chicken-or-egg conundrum.

The question I find most pressing while enduring this middle school talent show is who could possibly have ok’d this. I can only imagine the conversation going something like this:

Aspiring musician: “Excuse me, Boynton Health Services official, do you think it would be ok for me to play my guitar and sing my songs in your lobby?”

Boynton Health Services official: “Are you any good?

AM: “Oh yes. I like to think of myself as a modern Sheryl Crow, but with…. angst. It’s very emotional.”

BHSo: “Well I’m sure no female singer-songwriter has ever had a skewed vision of her talents. You must be wonderful. And what an appropriate stage for your talents. Go right ahead.”

And go right ahead she does. For the entire thirty-five minutes that I wait to get my (emphasis on HEARING-RELATED) affliction taken care of.

Here is where I insert a disclaimer: Do not take this the wrong way. I’m all about the “arts” (being vaguely modified to include people playing their music even if they’re not good) and individuals expressing themselves because it makes them happy. This is totally fine and dandy for coffee shops and the like (garages being the most preferred). BUT really. Let’s be honest here. If some social researcher presented me with a poll that asked what attraction I would like added to a doctor’s waiting room, live musician would be pretty far down on the list. Comfier chairs, definitely. My own personal minstrel? “No, gracias.”

And why would my very own Tori Amos choose a doctor’s waiting room anyway? Isn’t she worried about getting sick from all the infected people that actually need to be there? I feel pretty confident in thinking that most people don’t go to the doctor for extracurricular purposes.

I have since come to the conclusion that the fates have frowned upon some recent activity of mine. They bestowed upon me not only an ear infection, but an extended wait while in the company of this young lady all for a 5 minute interaction with a student doctor that commented more on my ears’ abilities to make wax (a superfluous amount, apparently) than the infection itself. Stupid Karma.

Stupid wax.

Stupid Jewel.