A look at the world through my eyes. Well, just part of the world.
As a junior at this fine university, I feel confident saying I’ve gotten to know my campus pretty well.
But not long ago, I reacquainted myself with a hidden gem: Student Health Services. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s that building next to Shadowroom.
I was joined in the elevator by a mother and her two young daughters, one of whom watched me press the button for the fifth floor and asked me, “What’s up there?”
I wanted to tell her the truth: “A less than helpful doctor’s office that makes you wait two hours before charging you $25 to remove a hold from your account.”
That probably would have just confused her, so I settled for a simplified version: “The doctor.”
When I walked into the waiting room, I was reassured to see a number of emotionless faces there to greet me. The woman at the front desk gave me the condescending label of “Walk-In” and told me to have a seat.
The room was filled with many interesting characters – most of whom looked far too put together to actually be sick. The girl to my right seemed to be using the space as a study room, and the guy to my left was clearly there just for the free condoms.
I began to wonder if anyone actually goes to Student Health Services when they’re feeling ill, or if it’s really just some weird purgatory for students being coerced by the University to see a doctor for unnecessary logistical reasons.
In my freshman year, I was barred from registering for classes until I went to Student Health Services to get a second chicken pox vaccination from some nurse with a Swedish accent.
I will admit it was comforting to see the same decorations two years later. A series of three photographs hung on the wall – each depicting the George Washington statue on campus sustaining visibly different weather conditions. I prayed to God the artist titled these “Seasons of George,” but I felt saddened by the artist’s choice to neglect summer.
When someone from the medical staff finally called my name, I was halfway through ignoring the “No Food or Drink” sign on the counter. I picked up my AppleJacks and followed her into one of the examination rooms.
After she failed to diagnose my reported symptoms, I knew I had to act quickly. I forced out a soft yet soulful burp.
“Ah, acid reflux,” she said. “Do you need a doctor’s note for any missed classes?”
Jackpot.
