Get A Clue

The Clueless Princess

I am currently enjoying my second bout (in a month) with bronchitis. After a long day at the cubicle hacking up a lung, I decide to hit the “Little Clinic” on my way home since they are open late, and generally have a short wait time.

When I walk in, I see one lady checking herself in via the patient kiosk, and a mid-twenties- something stunner talking to the receptionist.  Behind her there was a small line forming of people that look just like they feel- awful, and impatient.

I mosey up to wait my turn in line, when two of the people in front of me decide that they are going to urgent care, because they “can’t take it anymore”.  This perplexes me as they were next in line after the blonde-bombshell. But clarity came quite swiftly after that.  The receptionist made sure every couple of minutes to politely interrupt “Barbie” (Hey- it is the look she was obviously aiming for- so don’t blame me for giving her that tag. I am not the one with the “brick shit house” via surgical enhancement look. Normally I would say “Good for you girl!” but she irritated me, and when I am irritable, I am not charitable.) and look around her to me and the new line of people behind me to say, “I’m sorry for the wait folks- I’ll be with you shortly”.  Not once during any of these interruptions did Barbie look behind her and clue in to the fact that there were sick people that needed to get in and get out.  The conversation went a little like this:

Barbie: “Well, how long have the doctors been here?”

Receptionist: “Like I said, Ma’am, there are only two doctors on staff. They are not here today.  We mostly have Nurse Practitioners on staff. This is how we keep our costs low.”

Barbie: “But, like- aren’t they the same thing?”

Receptionist: “No. But a Nurse Practitioner can make an assessment and write prescriptions.”

Barbie: “Um, but for ALL prescriptions?”

Receptionist: Big Sigh. “Most prescriptions, yes.”

Barbie: “OK, How about Z-pack?  That is really all I need. And, like how long have the nurses been working here?”

Receptionist: “Antibiotics, yes. The Nurse Practitioners have been here at least a few years. Did you want me to sign you in now? There are several patients behind you that also need to be seen.”

Barbie: “Well, it kinda depends. You see, My Mom isn’t here. She’s back in LA and she said she would call here and pay with her Visa for my visit and prescriptions. The nurses can give me Z-Pack?”

Receptionist: By now, the strain is showing in her smile. “The Nurse Practitioner can write a script for antibiotics, and yes- this includes Z-Pack. No, we would need the physical card.”

Barbie: “Oh no.  If I wait for the transfer from her bank to me, it will be too long of a wait for my Z-pack and then my boyfriend will know.”

Wait.  Know what? HMMM.  Now, it could just be my overactive imagination- but why would she not want her boyfriend to know she is going on an antibiotic?  She didn’t look or sound sick.

Chlamydia.  Dollars to donuts that is what this is all about. Judging from the look on the receptionists face, she drew the same conclusion.

Receptionist: “Ma’am.  I am terribly sorry, but if you aren’t going to make an appointment, then I need for you to step aside so that I can help people that do need to make an appointment.”

At that remark, Barbie does this dismissive gesture by waving her left hand at the rest of us peasants standing behind her.

Barbie: “Well, when I am seen here, how long before I can get my Z-pack and get out?”

Receptionist: She looks like she is ready to start banging her head against her keyboard.  “I am not sure I understand what you are asking?  You mean the prescription?”

Barbie: “Right. How long before I get the actual medicine in here.”

Receptionist: “You would have to go to the pharmacy for that. It’s just to your right.”

Barbie: “Is that like, an Arizona thing? Because every other doctor’s office that I have ever been too is ALL INCLUSIVE.”

-And that right there boys and girls sums up why you don’t give your kids every damn thing they ever wanted. For the love of GOD, if you call them your princess- don’t make them think THIS is what princesses are: weak minded, unable to care for themselves, self-centered simpletons.

REAL Princesses actually have to be well educated, diplomatic and they work.  Not like us peasants, but they aren’t completely useless. But, I digress.

This vapid excuse for a young woman, although very fashionable and built like a blonde and carmel colored, young version of Sophia Vergara with giant fake boobs, has become this pathetic excuse for a woman. No courtesy, and no clue.

I mean, who in their mid to late twenties has to have to have Mommy pay for your STD meds? PUHLEEASE!  Can’t afford to pay for the doctor, but can afford a superb outfit. Standing there in her Roberto Cavalli jeans, paired with what were probably Louis Vuitton (killer) heels and sequined/sheer blouse, complete with war paint and “beach curled” hair to die for…at 5:30 in the evening. In the Fry’s grocery store. Holding her Luis Vuitton hand bag (I know this because I could actually see the LV on the bag), which matched her shoes perfectly, by the way.  Everything about her shouted “High maintenance”.

Sure, there is a small bit of female envy for how striking she was, and the sheer amount of cash that ensemble racked up- but the minute she opened her mouth all I could see was a spoiled rotten, tittering moron.

Funny thing.  Guess what else Z-pack is also good for? Bronchial infections. BAHAHAH.  AND- I didn’t even have to call my Mama to pay for it ($4 whole dollars by the way). Boosh.

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