Back Like Eminem

“au revoir, madame kaka!”

Yup, I’m with the fam. In france.

In case you didn’t know, that means “goodbye ms. Poop!”

Little sisters are chaaarming.

But really it’s not so bad here. Sometimes sophia (the mean and bossy one, 5) will hold my hand and sing songs for me (about poop). Then olivia (8) will ask me when I’m getting married, and I’ll say never, and she thinks I’m an old hag.

But working on my tan amongst half-naked, skin-cancered, saggy-titted old french women IS priceless. Oh and accidentally seeing my dad’s butt as he exits the bathroom and pretending not to. For my sake, not his. 

However, all of this dims when I come upon the miracle of miracles - that grau du roi, a town designed for old drunkards, now has ONE bar with wifi access. Pronounced “weefee”. I guess they realized that even McDonald’s (“MacDo”) was ahead of the game. So, I’m back again, folks.

Today I realized I’ve never blogged about a certain local harrisonburg gem - the medical community. We all make fun of the health center and its shortcomings, but there is even more disappointment and adventure to discover outside of those freecondombasket-adorned doorways.

I’ve had four distinct experiences within this realm.

1.

Emergicare. Or Emergicrap. This place really blows. Never go there. Although their radio ad sounds quite tempting (“the fastest and most reliable medical care available in rockingham county!”), do not be fooled. The last time I was there, I knew what was wrong with me and didn’t need a diagnosis - just a prescription. (Hint: when you find yourself in this situation, just go to the health center and beg for some roids. It is honestly the better route).  I proceeded to wait for not one...not two...but THREE hours for what claims to be the most elite assistance in greater jokeville. Once in the examination room, I waited for another 30 minutes to be seen. Then it took me 5 minutes to be diagnosed and leave with a signature soon to provide me with drugs across the street at cvs (don’t even get me started on them...avoid port republic at all costs). Failcare.

2.

Ah, the dentist. This story is not even about me, but too good to pass up. Enter joe scott, who is having pain after getting teeth pulled. So I drive him to the dentist. And wait. When he gets back in the car, there is an overwhelming aroma of...ferns? “get that shit OUTTA here! What IS that?” ...then I come to find that instead of giving him painkillers, they mashed up some mysterious herbs and shoved them into the crevices that once held teeth. I made fun of him and said he’d smell like an evergreen tree for the rest of his life. I wasn’t that far off - for the next two weeks, joe smelled like a bad camping experience during the yuletide season. Chewing wintergreen gum accentuated it in a pleasant, earthy way. But the infection my car suffered was not worth it. Need I say, wtf harrisonburg? Oh, and I think he got all of this for free. I doubt  they want to advertise their underground drug trafficking via dental work.

3.

One fateful day during a time of desperation, I went back to Emergifail. However, “no physician was on duty”, aka their one doctor was missing. Mysteriously. Probably some dissatisfied customer gagged him or something. Anyways, they kindly recommended me to another local care center. “Colonial Creek Healthcare” or something. So I get directions and head over. I see some houses, but no healthcare. So I hopefully enter a chiropractor’s office. The lady at the front desk informs me that one of those houses was indeed the place I sought. Huh? So I go by the houses again, and sure enough - there lies my diagnosis location. A sign out front tells me that no insurance is accepted. Just a $50 flat rate. Already suspicious, I go inside. I find myself in the lobby. Which is someone’s kitchen. Yeah, refrigerator, baby pictures, dirty dishes, the works. An old woman approaches me, hands me a clipboard, and directs me toward the sitting room. Rocking chairs, quilts, curtains, old people stuff. What? This is someone’s HOUSE. They LIVE here. I fill out my info. The doctor, an older man wearing...jeans, comes to fetch me and invites me to the back room. This is where most people leave and wait for the Emergicare doctor to be rescued or replaced. But for some reason, this voodoo doctor has me transfixed. I follow him. I’m in a regular household office with one of those crinkly paper tables that I have to sit on awkwardly. This guy is the best doctor in the burg. He is a total suspect and probably a reliable source for marijuana or ecstacy, but it always takes him five minutes to know exactly what is wrong with me and write a hefty prescription, complete with refills so I don’t have to come back. And he calls to check on me! Which is, yeah, creepy, but also a little bit awesome. One time I had a yeast infection in my mouth and he knew what it was. Who knows all of this stuff? Which is an entirely separate question from “who the hell gets a yeast infection in their mouth? ...and how?!” well, I’ll leave that to your imagination since I, myself, am at a loss.

4.

This story is too long to put into words, but next time you see me, feel free to ask about the gynecologist.

So if you’re ever bored of the same old begging for antibiotics at jmu’s worst idea, feel free to do some exploring throughout town. Acupuncture, anyone?