Pretend like you care

To bring you all closure, here's an update on my dermatological issues. Last Friday, I went back to the dermatologist to have the stiches removed and to get the results of the biopsy. The results weren't in of course, even though it had been 10 days since the bride of chucky deformed me for life. Apparently the biopsy had gotten lost in the mail. Which, of course, makes sense. Why should anything in this saga go well? I know that the bureaucracy in France is legendary, even in hospitals, yet somehow I had assumed that doctors would be treated with a little more respect. But as I sat listening, I couldn't help but be amused when the lab hung up on the good doctor not once, not twice, but three times when she was trying to ask why the results weren't in. Finally, they must have realized that they weren't going to get rid of her simply by hanging up. So, they calmly listened to her request to have a technician analyze the biopsy right away and put her on hold for 15 minutes, only to come back and tell her that there was no technician in the lab and hang up on her again. Ah, France.

The best part of the visit though?

Wait for it.

Remember the curtains? Well, not only was I naked again, not only were they open again, but this time there was a guy standing in a window directly across the courtyard. I was going to ask the doctor to close the curtain, but after noting that all of the patients waiting to see her both this time and the last time were ailing octogenarians, I thought, what the hell, the poor guy deserves a break.