Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Eighty-Three

The mingled, inharmonious sounds of over-enthusiastic claps, whistles, and general cheers burst throughout the reserved hall, signaling the end of the latest “dance to it” song by the sketchy looking band on stage. I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes for the fifth time since we walked through the doors.

Cheap, festive décor drape the walls and stage, and brown and orange tapestry lace the long table behind me. The floor is covered with a mix of red, orange, and brown leaves, and there are some sort of triangular hay structures—whose purpose completely eludes me—that are randomly set up throughout the area. Carved pumpkins of varying sizes are dispersed all over, some with lit candles inside them, adding a deeper, warmer glow to the sharp indoor lighting. Unfortunately, they do absolutely nothing to help remedy the fact that I’m pretty much freezing my ass off in here. It’s less than ten degrees outside and apparently the damn heater is broken.

Just fucking perfect.