Errors In Punctuation and Other Intimate Mistakes

The Doctor part II

In giving me directions on the phone The Doctor had said “I’ll tell you something that will help, enter from 19th”. Even though it sounded a bit cryptic at the time and since the address was on 116th, I just took the note and asked no questions but I was wishing I had. I was at 116th and 19th but, where was his office? It was a residential looking street. I looked across 116th and there were some offices over there, medical looking anyway, so I drove into the first parking lot. This wasn’t it. The addresses were one hundred too high. Crap. Next parking lot up, 10 too low but there was a driveway around back. Sneaky I thought, hiding an office in the back of the building. Still though, none of the addresses matched what I needed back there.
After stumbling around for a while I finally gathered my courage, went into one office and asked hoping whoever I contacted would be able to help because I was now running late.
In general I consider asking strangers for any information at all a brazen act. I hate asking someone for something even as simple as the time. Asking for directions is considered an act of war. I suppose it’s because of my reaction when someone asks me for information. They ask politely enough usually starting with “Excuse me.” But then, they always ask about someplace I have never heard of. “Do you know where I can find All About Hair? It’s a store where the sell trimmers for nose hair. I have these hairs, see………?”
Great I think. I’m now forced to communicate with this stranger and I know more than I want to about what bothers them. Nose hair bothers me too but it’s near the bottom of my “conversations to have with strangers” list.
I’m polite of course.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where that is” I say.
Then the silent, incredulous stare. It’s always the uncomfortable silence during that stare that gets me the most. I can see thoughts register in their eyes. The first look says “Oh wonderful. Of all the people I could ask I pick Mr. Stupid.” Then, it’s a look of “what am I going to do now”?
At this point the requestor of the directions will probably try to jog my memory as though I have been to Al’s Atomic Hair hundreds of times before but for some reason, I just don’t remember it.
“It’s near a gas station” they say pleased with themselves they were able to reveal such a lucid clue. This chance for redemption they have thrown me surely will do it they think. They wait for the light bulb to flicker on.
Meanwhile I’m thinking there’s a gas station on every corner in this section of American suburbia. Why did you pick this as the notable landmark no one could miss?
I say “well, I always go to the 76 up the street and I don’t recall seeing Hair World there.”
At this point I can sense that the exchange is almost done. The look of disbelief has been cast and they have decided their first instinct was correct. I’m Mr. Stupid in the flesh and any more trying will just cement their impressions more firmly.
“I’ll try in here – thanks” and they are gone.


The receptionist seemed a little upset that I would dare walk in and ask something so common.
“This is not the address you want” as I showed her The Doctor’s address on the card my therapist had given me. I covered his name with my thumb so she wouldn’t know who I was looking for. I thought that if she did see the name with all those letters behind it she would instantly wonder why an insane person was walking around unattended in broad daylight.
She had no help to offer and curtly indicated so. On the way out I thought to myself that it was interesting that I was the stupid one whether I was asking for or being asked for directions.

I finally found the office. It was as the Doctor had said, on 19th hidden in plain sight in the residential neighborhood I had started with.
I walked in, filled out the forms and waited.
The Doctor appeared suddenly and quietly. He was just there and I was at a loss to explain how he had materialized beside me. It will remain a mystery I suppose but I’ll be more aware next time and watch for him.
He was a tall slender man with thinning sandy colored hair probably in his mid 50’s somewhere. He spoke softly in even tones as if he was purposely avoiding any display of emotion what so ever.

His office was a large room unremarkable in most ways walking in but, when I sat on the small sofa along one wall I noticed the immense space between where I was and his desk. I also noticed he seemed much taller when he sat down. If this man didn’t have the power to proclaim me unsafe for human interaction of any kind and locked up on the spot I would have risked asking how he did that.
“Say, Doc. How is it you are taller when you sit down than when you are standing? And while I’m asking stuff, how is it you can just appear in a room?”
“Ah, I appear and disappear for you do I? I see. Orderly!”

There was a long moment of silence as The Doctor wrote upon one of the forms I had filled out. Again, there was that notable absence of emotion even as he moved his pen. His hand guided it much in the same way he spoke. Very even and clean with few hints of any peaks or valleys. No abrupt movements at all. He probably learned early in his career not to startle his prey.
Finally he looked up and asked “what brings you in today?”
I was a bit slow on the uptake. Actually I was nervous about disturbing the quiet with my voice.
“My therapist said I should, uh, come to see you.”
“I see, and what did she say?”
“She said I was depressed.”
Immediately upon my admission I may, underline “may” be depressed he launched a list of questions. There were about 20 or so. Lots of yeses, a few no’s and one kinda later he confirmed my therapists diagnosis. I was depressed, no two ways about it. The treatment was of course medication.
“What about side effects?”
“There are some side effects to consider, especially the………………
SEXUAL ONES!”
I was distinctly upset that he had chosen those words to emphasize and show some modicum of emotion with.
“Sexual………? You mean negative performance impact? Sexually?”
“Yes”
“There is one medication that reports incidents of sexual dysfunction as low" he said.
“Low but possible correct?”
“Yes, possible.”
Oh no. God no. Not only must I struggle with serious depression but I may also not be able to make love to my wife.

I had mentioned to her a couple of weeks ago that I might be depressed.
She said I could be depressed all I wanted but I should, under no circumstances take medication since I was an alcoholic – clean and sober for 15 months, but still an alcoholic- taking medication could set off a chain reaction and coax me to drink again.

She was serious and I did not want to throw any kind of curve into our already strained marriage. I love her without end but the way I hurt inside was bad and getting worse and The Doctor had spoken.

posted by Knot @ 9:43 PM