Sunday, December 7, 2003

A drawback to being brown, short, choosing to speak Spanish even with those who speak English and visiting a clinic that is mostly frequented by Latinos is that they treat one like an idiot. I was at Clinica San Miguel (Van Nuys) on Friday to get a tuberculosis (TB) test. After a wait of about two hours, and seeing a series of staff members, they were almost ready to give me the TB shot. Prior to the shot, however, I was given some instructions.

I was told that I’d be given the shot that day, but that I’d have to return on Sunday so that they could see my arm and give me the result. The staff lady reiterated, “Anytime on Sunday, but not a day before or after.” She said this slowly as she looked in my eyes.

She asked if I had my immunization record with me and I responded that I didn’t, that I only had the form that I needed them to sign. I tried asking her if on Sunday they could imprint the result on both the form and the immunization record, if I brought both with me. I say “tried” because judging by her response, she totally missed my question! She responded, “The result will be the same, whether we imprint it on this form or on your immunization record.” Duh! To make matters worse, her words had left her mouth slowwwwwly.

Seeing how this person was dealing with me, I could not help but chuckle. She was treating me as if I were an old man with alzheimer’s, and carrying in my head nothing more than a brain borrowed from a retarded cow. I even wondered if somewhere in my records they had seen the word “retard” written with big, bold, red letters.

This chuckle, however, turned into a nervous grin when I realized that she’d be the one administering the TB shot. Oy. See, I had given her a hard time earlier, confronting her about her lack of politeness. Double oy. As she loaded the syringe, I was still smiling, almost ready to burst in laughter, not believing my luck.

I returned to the clinic today (Sunday) so that they could give me the result of my test. Again, another long wait. When the African doctor was ready to see me, he said in Spanish, “Venga.” Not even a damn “por favor” (please), just a freaking “Venga” — come here. I went to him.

He took ages to read the couple of paragraphs on the form I handed him. He seemed to struggle with it. Finally, he signed the form, handed it to his aide and asked her to make copies of it. As he wrote something on some document, he asked me where I went to school. I said CSUN. Upon hearing that, his aide turned her head to see me — almost gasping. She found it hard to believe that an idiot-looking guy like me was a college student. Well, whaddayaknow…

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