The Clinic

   

The burning sensation showed no sign of slowing down as I sat parked in front of the RBJ Clinic. A Mexican Man in his early 40’s wearing a rustic blue collared shirt tried frantically to open the doors to the clinic where his STD’s would be treated. I remember the man’s chest hair was white and black, mainly white with the finesse of a mangled shaggy dog. His tan seemed fake from the bronzer in a bottle squeezed excessively onto his body and I chuckled as I noticed one button desperately trying to release itself from the pressure of his enormous belly that pushed against it. He eventually gave up, though it is important to get there early, he got back into his car to go back to sleep. I was almost certain he had an STD just by how nasty, and filthy he appeared.

I had previously gotten angry with an employee at the clinic on a Friday, three days earlier, because when I called at eight in the morning I got an answering machine that said the hours were from eight to five excluding lunch. I continued to get that message til about 8:15. People, there is a time to be persistent and in the event of an STD, a desire to kill the itch is the most important fixation of all. The people that work at these clinics should understand that their patients could be met with a life and death situation. The well-being of my penis was in danger and if there’s anything I will always protect, it’s my penis… and my balls, those are also pretty important. The point is that they should be on time, it’s just so irresponsible not to be. Anyways, I set my appoint that Friday and on Monday showed up early. It came as no surprise to me that the doors would be locked at eight when I got there for my appointment. About ten minutes later a woman in paper thin blue scrubs walked right through a door I hadn’t tried opening. I walked in and noticed two waiting rooms that mirrored each other. A Hispanic lady, most likely a receptionist was sitting in the Limbo of these two rooms stared at me with a wide grin. She motioned for me to come over, yelling “STD?” at me from across the room. “STD’s are on this side of the clinic, you can check in over here.” When I got to her sliding glass window I told her my name was Jordan and that only my really close friends call me STD. She was oblivious to my sarcasm and went into the details about where in the clinic I would travel to along with the map I would need to find my way.

Unlike Frodo from Lord of the rings, I had zero companions to help me on my quest to Mount RBJ CLINIC WAITING ROOM, or more widely known as “Candy Mountain.” After about ten minutes of searching, I started to imagine I was Gandalf, with a large staff and a light at the end of it, headed to my doom. I would fall miles and miles, past a place where fires burn, into nothingness and back again, landing in a cold dank spot called Clinic Waiting room. I sat there in silence, looking around I could see that this place wasn’t meant for me. There were about five or six others in the waiting room. Two sisters, shouting into one phone, at a man they were both upset with. Apparently he had befriended them both in bed and left them with a similar parting gift. They yelled white trash remarks into their pay as go flip phone, minute were running low. I noticed it was quite, I looked their way to see one of the girls texting extremely slow, trying to understand what words mean. There was a young Asian guy dressed in business clothes as if he was headed to an interview afterwards, a Hispanic couple seemed way to flirty to be in a STD clinic, the ugliest black man on earth with whom I’m sure STD’s originate, and a younger Hispanic kid with his mother and 2 little siblings. He must have been about seventeen, and anyone could tell he was completely embarrassed to be at an STD clinic with his mother. His little brother and sister played on the floor for a while than started screaming and fighting over a pamphlet informing youth about Chlamydia.

I was the only person aware or even disgusted about the STD porno the clinic had airing on the television above our heads. It was a complex story about 4 different people, all worried about getting STD’s, the problem was that the content was rated PG13 at best, there were some “R” rated love making sounds for sure. All of these people were smiling at the end of the video, three of the four ended up being fine. The fourth person, the only one who decided not to use a condom got a couple STD’s, got pregnant and ended up with AIDS by the end of the video… even she was smiling at the end. Because when does Chemo-Therapy not make somebody burst with joy?

An older white woman in her fifties with dirty blond hair called me in to get examined. She asked a lot of personal questions, to which I replied “gezz, what are you, my mother!” Immediately I knew I had fucked up. She had me strip down, completely naked, and inserted a long thin Q-Tip down the length of my penis. It stung and I could tell that this was the highlight of her job. I thought we were done after that, I was wrong. She had me bend over and then she stuck a finger up my butt. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to sex with a woman, and I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy it at all! She gave me pills that made me nauseous and sent me on my way; I was going to be ok! I didn’t have anything that couldn’t be cured and the numb feeling from the Q-Tip was supposed to go away within a few days. As I limped up the Mountain, back into reality, I felt a since of control in my life again. I was worried that I may be just another gay guy with an STD, that thought has stuck with me ever since and I hope I never have to visit Mount STD Clinic ever again.