St. Nikola! it dawns. Yes, the 19th. The saint of travellers and something else…
Sveti Nikola putnik protect you, from Bab regularly for even short little outings.
In the Balkans, down in Boka, it was well short of dawn; those holding the feast had been preparing weeks ahead.
Comfortable enough here in the aircon and front seat with plenty of leg room. God knows whether doc’s arrived and the show rolling. Hour & half wait best guess for No. 5 in the queue, pre-booked yesterday. Overnight a bad, bad itch in another blister sprouting down nearer the heel, scratching resisted somehow for the 1½ hour torment. The literature suggested it spread the infection. Ragged sleep.
Dozen plus in the seats listening to the comedy skit with the receptionist over the marital status.
You not married? You not married? You not married? through the circle in her perspex.
Third confirmation, TIDAH! in a snorted laugh, spread merriment through the audience.
You had to laugh yourself. Refrained from questioning the gal’s interest; certainly her incredulity was clear.
Newspaper trash as always, under 10 mins. today did it. Twiddling thumbs thereafter.
The Skin sign out front confirmed it was more than sexually transmitted treated here. A young schoolboy beside his mother had some kinda facial rash that the lady wanted to have displayed for “uncle”. Lad seemed somehow unembarrassed by that.
… There had been verification of the date on one of the Serbian sites a few days before. St. Nikola for a long-term traveller, now in need of a little heavenly aid.
Jolly glad the visuals demonstrated to all and sundry in the room that the mat salleh isn’t here because he has been screwing the locals, the lasses down along the road on the mall corner for example. Noooo!…
Weeks now the Klinik had been passed without the signage comprehended. It had looked a sorry nook indeed. Pretty ironic now.
Couple days prior at the first reconnoiter the added VD specialisation was noted on the door. Ah! Well sited.
One could have played the guessing game in the waiting room, but not so easily from the front row.
Guy come up with his wife, younger, possibly a No. 2. Not likely he was going to allow any kind of examination behind those partition walls without his presence. Thani the doc must be Tamil; most of the patients Malay.
Thankfully the TV off. Out of order? All the shops had them routinely babbling in the background. A large display board of acne cases with black strips covering the eyes of the pitiful victims.
In fact it was only a dozen in the rows behind.
14 suddenly flashing along with the buzzer.
Hey! What about us? Aduh!… Precisely as anticipated.
Shortly afterward No. 2 coming up returned the semblance of order.
Three quarts of an hour later No. 1 had been seen and sent on her way. Doc rocked up late in no hurry, you couldn’t blame the man.
Well, what kinda scene might be waiting? Will the fellow be smoking at his desk, like old Dr. Clarke in the old days? Calendar on the wall; collar & dust coat. Patients would not buy without the white coat. A tie? Perhaps for an Indian raising himself above the blood, the sweat and the fetid infections.
Not a little unpleasant either having to sing out to the girl earlier the age too. Holding the passport in her hand, there could be no trickery. That was a first, sounding out that damnable, diseased number; owning in full. Preposterous.
She was honour bound to ask of course; no room for complaint. Grrrh...
RM100-120 best guess, all worth it if pristine condition could be returned and pain relief 2-3 days later. Antibiots & cream for the pustules and blisters. Out, out damn spots!
Recalled couple times one or two flattering comments passed by nice girls back in the day on the fine and handsome twinklies. Completely and utterly underestimated their value at the time.
Johor Bahru, Malaysia
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