Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?

During my lunch hour the other day, I went to one of those lab testing places for a drug screening. No particular reason; it's just something I do. If you don't get it, well then that's your problem. Don't go judging me -- I'm sick of being judged by squares.

On this day, I found a cozy little place nestled comfortably under the expressway overpass near my office. Seeing only one other car in the parking lot (whose owner might have been at the check cashing place next door) I strode confidently through the front entrance. "I'm here to give a urine sample!" I announced with pride.

A very old couple in the waiting room halted their whispered conversation as their eyes followed me across the room. The massive woman behind the glass glanced up briefly, then returned to her telephone conversation. I arrived at her desk and smiled. "Hi, I'm LDP," I said.

She didn't look up, or even miss a beat in her phone dialogue. "Yeah," she said into the mouthpiece, "I lost my license . . . yeah, that's right . . . aw, hell yeah! I had to walk! By the time I got there, I was all sweaty and shit!"

"Excuse me, " I said, "but I'm here for --"

"I'm with somebody right now," she barked. "I know it don't look like it, but I am."

I stared. She said, "Go sit down."

"Okay."

I turned and saw the old couple. The man was talking, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice down. The woman stared straight ahead, looking frustrated and a tad dizzy. Her companion got louder. "I don't have herpes," he said.

She folded her arms and said nothing.

"I don't have herpes!"

Silence.

"Come on, now," he said, "I don't!"

The old woman opened her mouth, which I can only describe as jack-o-lantern-esque, and emitted a noise that sounded somewhere between, "Bah!" and the clucking of an angry hen.

"Mom, I DO NOT HAVE HERPES!"

Slowly, methodically, and without making any sudden movements, I took a seat on the other side of the room.

The rest of my appointment was essentially uneventful. Eventually, the woman behind the glass called my name. She turned out to be really nice, although she lacked what we corporate climbers like to call a "sense of urgency." She led me to the back, handed me a clear, plastic cup, and pointed to a small bathroom. "Go to it," she said.

And did I go to it? Oh yes, I went to it. But you wouldn't understand.