It is three weeks ago and I am sitting in the doctor’s waiting room. In walks this sales rep and she’s totally great-looking. She is thirty-two years old, slender, with a nice rack and long brunette hair. Short skirt and high heels. She looks like Linda Fiorentino in her prime.
She says to the receptionist, “I’m here to stock your Viagra®.”
(I am not making this up.)
The receptionist tells her to wait a few minutes so she sits down a few chairs away from me. All of a sudden, the sales rep freaks out. She leaps up and she dashes across the room and she starts stomping on a bug.
STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! She is a woman possessed.
Finally convinced that it is completely dead, she returns to her seat without throwing whatever it was into the waste basket, which is a mere four feet away.
So I get up to throw it in the trash. After all, I’m not going to just leave it there on my doctor’s waiting room carpet. Afterwards, I return to my seat and I feel the urge to address the situation.
“It was a centipede. It was searching for water.”
The sales rep senses danger. She gives me a long hard look. She says, “You’re not one of those BUG PEOPLE, are you?" It wasn't exactly a question.
I say, “If you are asking me whether I’m a giant cockroach from outer space like in ‘Men in Black’ then the answer is no.”
She gives me a look of complete and total lack of comprehension. No matter. She’s still totally gorgeous.
At that very, exact instant, the receptionist tells the sales rep that she can go back to stock the shelves.
So what do I do? I just sit there and wait for my turn to see the doctor. Yes, that’s what I do. And at the same time, I also spend the next ten minutes fantasizing about having an extremely large and effective sex organ and presenting it to that sales rep doggie style, treating her to a veritable cavalcade of multiple orgasms, right there on the waiting room floor.
And I am wearing a giant centipede costume.
He would have wanted it that way.