I love football and all, but summer is my favorite season. It's a time to relax and even write Jerks of the Week outside. Yes, I'm sitting outside and typing the words you're reading right now. My shirt is off (calm down, ladies), my dog is trying to dig imaginary holes into my deck, and the annoying rat dog from three doors down is barking at us, trying its hardest to intimidate us. My dog doesn't care - the imaginary holes are more pressing - and I'm more annoyed than anything.
Unfortunately, not every day can be as enjoyable. I have more free time in the summer, so that's when I jam my annual medical appointments, such as going to the dentist, dermatologist, optometrist, etc. My dermatologist was actually booked this entire month, and I'm planning another trip to Vegas in July, so my mom recommended another dermatologist. I made an appointment with them, although I hesitated a bit because they called themselves City Dermatology. While dialing their number, I pictured a weird Asian man answering the phone saying, "This Shity Dermatology, we have shity dermatologist and shity exams at our shity rocation."
A weird Asian man didn't pick up the phone. It was a young-sounding girl instead, which made me relieved. I made an appointment for that following Friday. It surprised me they had an appointment so soon, given how difficult it has been for me to schedule a quick meeting with a dermatologist in the past.
Friday quickly approached, and before I knew it, I was on my way. Google Maps on my phone told me it would take me 10 minutes to get there, so I left 20 minutes ahead of time. I usually don't make it a priority to be punctual, but I wasn't sure exactly where this building was, and as a new patient, I figured I'd have to fill out those bulls*** forms where they ask if I have any allergies to alligator skin, or whom my seventh option to call should be in the event of an emergency.
I figured I'd get there with plenty of time to spare. And I turned onto the road the place was located at 11:20, 10 minutes prior to my scheduled appointment. Google Maps told me it was going to be on my left, and I quickly arrived at 3260 Tillman Avenue. The only problem was that the large brown building I was staring at said 3220.
I was a bit concerned at first, but I thought that one of two things was possible. First, perhaps 3260 was in the back. Second, maybe Google Maps got the address wrong. So, I drove to the back of the building, but still saw 3220. I then went back to the front, parked my car and went inside. I spotted the directory, but was discouraged to see that there was no City Dermatology.
"Maybe this is wrong parking lot," I said to myself as I got back into my car and exited. I turned left and saw 3230. Then, 3250. Getting closer, right? That's what I thought - until the next building said 3300. And then 3320.
I turned around, thinking I missed it, so I scanned the building numbers more carefully. There was 3300, then 3250, then 3230, and then I was back at the big brown building again. I kept going the other way, and saw 3200, then 3150. I slammed my breaks.
"Where the f*** is this place!?"
I called up City Dermatology and told them I was lost. A hot-sounding girl tried to guide me.
"Facing the brown building, you want to go left until you see an Outback Steakhouse, and then we're right there," she said.
Easy enough, right? I ventured toward the Outback Steakhouse, which I saw earlier, and still nothing. No 3260 Tillman Avenue.
It then dawned on me that one of the buildings might have different numberings. So, I drove into every parking lot and scanned each building carefully. In doing so, I nearly hit some stupid woman who wasn't looking where she was going at 3300, which apparently was a building called "School House." WTF is that? School House? I guess it's a school, but who wants to go to a school called School House? That almost makes you sound like a whiny douche wearing some stupid sweater vest.
At any rate, I continued through each building until I stumbled upon one that didn't have a number.
"This must be it!" I exclaimed. I turned into the parking lot and was a bit discouraged when I saw nothing but pickup trucks.
"Maybe all the pickup truckers are getting their moles inspected today," I said hopefully as I parked my car. I got out and went to the entrance. My heart immediately sank. There was a sign that said the building was closed because it was currently under construction. Hence, the pickup trucks and the lack of address.
"WHERE THE F*** IS THIS F***ING PLACE!?!??!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
I drove out and went back from where I came from. I gave the big brown building the middle finger and continued down that path. I saw the decreasing addresses again: 3200, 3150, 3100... and then, there it was: 3260.
WHAT THE HELL!? Seriously, what the hell? Why the flying f*** is 3260 Tillman next to 3100 instead of 3250? Who designed these building numbers, some drunken mathematician? Some a**hole trying to f*** with everyone? I don't get it. I just don't get it.
I parked my car and entered the building. I quickly checked my cell phone and saw that it was now 11:50. Yes, I drove around like a lost soul for half an hour. So much for being early for that stupid bulls*** form.
The hot-sounding girl on the phone lived up to expectations, and as I figured, she handed me the bulls*** form I had to fill out as I walked in. She looked like she might have been annoyed that I was so late, but I explained my plight.
"Oh, happens all the time," she said. "People go to the big brown building all the time when trying to find this place, and sometimes people trying to find that building come here instead."
I don't know how people can miss some big brown building that you can see from a mile away, but whatever. I grabbed the bulls*** form and was very upset when I saw that it was four pages. The girl apparently noticed I was disgusted by it.
"It's just a quick form," she said, perhaps trying to raise my spirits. "It shouldn't take too long."
A quick form? How the f*** is a four-page form a quick form?
As I suspected, the thing was dumb. It asked me if I smoke or drink, as if that has anything to do with any of the moles on my body. It asked me for my pharmacy location, which was annoying to look up on my phone because their Internet was slow as hell. It asked me for three emergency contacts, which was four less than my predicted total, but still an egregious amount. Seriously, what the hell could possibly go wrong in this office that they would need three emergency contacts for me? What was I going to do, slip and fall, and break my head open while trying to slip into the gown they give their patients? Was one of my moles going to suddenly emerge and declare himself as the alien overlord Zarlox and enslave everyone in the office? I don't get why I need three emergency contacts for a f***ing dermatologist.
It seemingly took me 15 minutes to fill out the bulls*** form, and by the time I was done, it was well past noon. But that wasn't all. The hot receptionist came up to me and handed me some sort of tablet.
"This is for insurance policies, so please read it and sign it," she said.
I didn't bother reading it. I didn't care at that point. I could've signed my life away, for all I cared. They could've forced me to attach my mouth to someone else's anus, and it wouldn't have mattered to me. I was just tired of filling out forms, so I signed it.
Or, at least I tried to. I kept clicking the pen, but nothing came out.
"Use the black side," she said.
The black side? What black side? I kept clicking the pen, and nothing happened. There was nothing to sign with.
"The black side," she said, now sounding annoyed. "The black side is on the other side of the pen."
Oh. She was asking me to sign with the other side of it, and what do you know, it's black.
She walked away, shaking her head in disgust. She must have thought I was the dumbest person she had ever met. And based on how this day was going, I couldn't have really disagreed with her.
The appointment went well, though it took me like 10 minutes to figure out how to put on the gown. "Open in the back, closed in the front," the semi-hot attendant said when leaving the room. Despite this tip, it still took me about five tries to figure out how to make it so the back was open and the front was closed. I thought it was a bit awkward that some mischievous gay dude could sneak into the room and boink me in the buttocks - not that there's anything wrong with that - but I supposed that made more sense than having my wee-wee hanging out.
Anyway, I left the building and figured that I had enough time to make it to the gym. Last week, I wrote that because I'm a member of LA Fitness, I can go to any of their locations. Mr. Ghetto Potato Head, whom I referenced in that entry, told me that there's an LA Fitness near Oxford Valley Mall, which was somewhat close to City Dermatology. So, I opted to go there instead my normal location, and I figured I could use Google Maps to find this place again.
Both turned out to be grave errors.
First of all, Google Maps f***ed up again. Once I was in the vicinity of Oxford Valley Mall, it told me to go down Cabot Blvd. and then turn right onto Queen Anne Road. So, I followed its directions, and turned onto Queen Anne. Its next step?
"Make a U-Turn, then turn left onto Cabot Blvd."
Uhh... what? Turning left onto Cabot Blvd. would take me back to the exact location from where I came. What the hell was the point of that? It eventually led me to LA Fitness, but it took me five minutes longer to do so because it asked me to make some completely unnecessary U-turn. It was the dumbest thing ever. Well, second-dumbest thing after the numbering on Tillman Avenue.
At any rate, I got changed and went out to the pool. There was one other person swimming - some tall guy in his late 30s - and he was quite good. He stopped after a lap and looked at me.
"This is the most-chlorinated pool I've ever swum in," he said. "My freaking eyes are stinging."
I told him about my situation from a week ago, where I swam at an LA Fitness pool that was also heavily chlorinated.
Me: I guess I'll try it. If anything I'll only do a third of my workout and then get out.
Tall Guy: Good luck, I'm about to get out. I can't handle it anymore.
Remember last week when I said that my mouth felt chalky from all the chlorine after four laps at that horrible pool? Well, that occurred after three laps here. My throat already started hurting during the fourth lap. And if that wasn't bad enough, the pool area was so dark that I nearly bumped into the wall a couple of times. It seriously felt like I was swimming in a cave.
"I'm done! I can't do this!" I yelled after completing my fourth lap, struggling to do so because of the poisonous chlorine. The guy, who was using the pool phone - there was no lifeguard on deck for some reason - looked at me and nodded. He then hung up the phone.
"I called the front desk, and they said they were going to send a guy over to turn the water on so the chlorine content isn't as high," he said.
So, we waited. And waited. Ten minutes passed by, and nothing. No one showed up, and it was becoming apparent that no one was coming either.
"It's that damn Aqua Fit," he said, referencing the Water Aerobics people I discussed two weeks ago. "I hate it more than anything. All it is are Asian women moving noodles back and forth. Some even look like they're doing karate. Hi-ya! Hi-ya!"
Any micro-aggression douche would've found this offensive, perhaps even seeking grief counseling in response, but I thought it was hilarious. I live to offend people, and this guy apparently shared my philosophy.
I thought about asking him to be my friend, but he announced that he was leaving the locker room. I could've followed him to seal our new friendship, but I opted for the hot tub instead. Hot tubs are more important than friends anyway.