Down the Rabbit Hole

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Every once in a while, Terri makes me go to visit Doctor Smith.

I don’t really mind doing it. It must be refreshing to occasionally see people as sane as myself, and I consider the subsequent morale boost Doctor Smith enjoys my personal contribution to medical science.

And exhausted from the drive up, I was really hoping he would let me stay for a few days. You can’t beat Doctor Smith's hospitality –she has rooms so comfortable, even the ceilings have rubber on them! And this is clever if you think about it: Doctor Smith can never be sued by a basketball player having bumped his head.

But what I hate about visiting Doctor Smith is the waiting room.

The people in there are freakin' nuts.

“How dare you keep me in here with this frothing hoard of lunatics!” I scream. “This man is wearing a Cubs baseball cap!”

Nurse Garrison glanced down her glasses, over the clipboard. “I don’t suppose you would let me administer a shot, would you?”

“Christ no! I would prefer he was sedated!" I point. "Look! He won't stop staring at me!”

“I mean on you,” replied Nurse Garrison.

What happened next is unclear, because at the sight of the hypodermic I fainted. And -falling off the chair I was standing on- I cracked my skull on a floor.

The waiting room floor, ironically, is utterly devoid of rubber.