Last week I had my annual visit with the OB/GYN. I challenge any woman to convince me that this is NOT an awkward visit. I don't care how comfortable you are naked, or how unfazed you are by a virtual stranger massaging your breasts, there's really no way to portray it as anything other than awkward.
Especially if you have my knack for enhancing awkward situations.
First off, there was the waiting room. I sat, along with nearly two dozen other women, silently updating my paperwork, eyes darting around trying to guess if anyone else was there for something other than an annual physical. Anyone trying to get pregnant? Anyone trying NOT to get pregnant? Anyone worried about positive test results they'd just received?
I was noodling through the possibilities when - to my embarrassment - a robotic voice loudly announced from my pocket, "Time: 28 minutes."
I've been using "MapMyFitness" to track my walks using the GPS on my phone. The latest version has a computerized voice that will NOT be silenced (or even adjusted using the volume buttons). As she started barking from my pocket, everyone looked around, trying to figure out where the mechanical gym teacher was.
Unfortunately, I knew where she was, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stop her from completing the rest of her long data sequence, including my total mileage. So I did the next best thing: I fished out the phone and sat on it. It was the best I could do to muffle it, but even so, you could clearly hear her announce my pace.
Instead of hanging my head and furiously working on my paperwork, I looked challengingly around the room, deciding to own it. Anyone looking in my direction to figure out why my ass was seemingly announcing mileage was met by a nod that I hope silently conveyed, "Yeah, that's right. I walked here."
Mirror, mirror, on the wall...
Even so, I was relieved when they called my name and I was guided to a room. It was cheerfully set up - nice hardwood floors, cloth gown on the table, stirrups at the ready, mirror, ... WAIT. Um. Seriously? A wall-mounted mirror at the end of the table?
"How often do people point out that that is a very unfortunate place for a mirror?" I asked the nurse. She looked up, surprised, as if she'd never noticed the mirror before. Turns out? I was the first person to say anything. INTERESTING.
Part of me wanted to walk over and lift it away from the wall to make sure it wasn't a two-way mirror, like the kind marketers hide behind when observing a focus group. I was too lazy to do it though, so instead I found myself staring at it during the exam, making subtle hand-gestures - thumbs-up, peace, hang loose - in case I had an audience.
I would've worried that the doctor might see me and think I was odd, but this is the same man whose running commentary while giving a breast exam is, "Great. Good. Perfect. Beautiful. Good. Beautiful." So I don't think I really need to defend my potentially creepy behavior to him.
Fortunately, it was all over in under ten minutes, so I didn't have another opportunity to make it more awkward. Well, other than making an "in-and-out" quip about the speed of the visit. Which - say what you will - really isn't assisted by gesturing at the speculum when you deliver it. Just... don't.
WordPress.com
