Allow me to explain: I got up at an ungodly hour yesterday morning for a dentist appointment. That was merely the first in a projected series of errands throughout the day which included clothes-shopping and a faraway doctor's appointment. I did not complain, I did not even grumble despite the severe lack of sleep I had gotten the night before. I was the paradigm of tooth responsibility. I grabbed my keys and kissed my parents goodbye as I hopped off to the dentist like a real adult.
But then, I remembered that I had no gas in my car. "Never fear," I told myself, "You can still make it in time! You're responsible. And a fast driver." So I nipped on over to the local Chevron and ignored the palpitations in my already struggling heart as I spied the price of gas. "Being an adult means paying for your own gas. YOU CAN DO THIS." So I grabbed my purse and high-tailed it into the store to pay for my pump. Thus began Encounter Number One.
The dramatic change in light from the gloomy day outside to the fluorescent pandemonium inside made me bitter and disoriented. As I blinked to let my eyes adjust, I noticed there was no one at the counter. "Where are they? I am in need of assistance!" The fluorescent lights began to send tiny little hate atoms into my brain, and I found myself despising whoever was so lax that they couldn't bother to stand behind a gas station counter at the exact moment I needed them there. Not a lot to ask. Finally, I heard footsteps and whipped around to see a uniformed woman shuffling toward me from the bathroom. She smiled cheerfully (clearly immune to the fluorescence), apologized for the delay, and was thankfully quick to take my money. As I returned to the natural morning gloom outside, I settled into a minor stew of self-loathing. I was vulnerable to this intangible thing. It made me irrational and snappy with its false brightness, its poser sunlight. I would not falter again.
I got to my dentist right on time, an unexpected treat that lifted my spirits slightly until I was brought into the back to be greeted by...fluorescent lights (Encounter Number Two). "No problem!" I assured myself, "You can watch TV!!!" But those pernicious lights cast a glare on the TV that could not be ignored...and nothing good was on, anyway. Still, I resolved to stare at that TV come hell or high water. That's when my dentist came in and tipped my chair back so far that I swear my feet were higher than my head. What was there left to look at from this angle but--you guessed it--the fluorescent lights. I closed my eyes and started breathing deeply.
I was at the dentist to get my tooth sealed, a process which apparently required one half of my face to be numbed. Upon seeing that his patient had closed her eyes and was attempting to suck in the entire room's air supply at once, my dentist made the logical conclusion that I was very nervous. What did this mean? More novocaine! This was something I figured out later, as I sat in my room and dribbled down the left side of my body. At the time, I didn't realize what he was thinking because my eyes were closed and I was in a yogic trance. The procedure was short and left a vaguely sour taste in my mouth, which I was completely unable to rinse out because I no longer possessed the capacity to spit. I shuffled out of the brightly lit office a defeated person.
My ambitious plan to spend a solid 3-hour chunk shopping for professional clothes (lest my shabby wardrobe relegate me to the ranks of The Unemployed forever) was foiled. I could not go anywhere looking like a twenty-something stroke victim, least of all to a chic outlet store. I resolved to sit at home and wait it out. When the gnawing hunger in my stomach could no longer be ignored, I attempted to slurp down a peach. It did not go well. Closing my mouth had become a complicated process akin to drawing the strings of a pouch together, without the strings. I wiped myself off and sat alone in the dark silence.
At 12:15 p.m. I decided to bite the bullet (if only figuratively) and go shopping before my doctor's appointment. There was still a telltale snarl to my upper lip when I tried to smile, but the novocaine had mostly worn off. I would just have to be brave, and never find a reason to smile. I arrived at the store with little more than an hour to buy a smashing outfit, a time limit that set me flurrying through the displays like an F5 tornado. When I had gone, the people in the surrounding area looked something like this:
I hurried to the dressing rooms and was met by a rather awkward (but smiley) attendant to whom I attempted to seem inscrutable and dissatisfied--the secret of my paralyzed face must not be revealed. Once I was securely in the dressing room, I was unsurprised (and furious) to see that my own private fashion show would be lit by none other than a fluorescent light. Encounter Number Three had begun. I steeled myself for all the doubt and self-loathing that would inevitably ensue as I tried on clothes in lighting that was practically designed to accentuate one's less attractive features. I probably got the right sizes the first time around, but the fluorescent lights made me second guess how I looked, which was: frumpy, ill, and radioactive. I would have to venture into the land of people again. My inability to canvas the store thoroughly in one go meant that I returned to the same dressing room with the same attendant a grand total of THREE times, a harrying go-round that elicited several apologetic smile-growls from me. Once I had found the right attire, I blindly dumped the rejects in the attendant's outstretched hands, muttering "I won't be back, don't worry," while attempting to hide my face. I bought my clothes quickly and left.
Somehow, I was right on time to the doctor as well. This appointment was not with my usual doctor, so I had to drive a whopping 45 minutes just to get strange bumps on my wrists checked out. As I waited in the doctor's office for his arrival, two very important things happened at once: first, I realized with glee that the novocaine had FINALLY worn off and I no longer had to growl at people by default; second, I registered with the hopeless acceptance of a shark attack victim that I was being bathed in fluorescent light. Encounter Number Four...
The doctor took a long look at my wrists (a longer process than normal because I'm sure the fluorescent lights made the bumps look possessed and cancerous). Finally, he leaned back in his chair with the satisfied sigh of one who has just beaten his long-time rival at chess. I just had a bone spur. It was nothing to worry about. I probably didn't even need to see him. Come back if it gets bigger. I almost cried. I had braved the throng of people to shop for clothes because the doctor's appointment had put me on a tight schedule. I had resolved to keep this appointment despite my stubbornly slack face because I wanted to be a responsible adult. I had subjected myself to fluorescent light for the fourth time that day because I wanted to give my wrists a fighting chance. And now I find out they were fine all along??? YOU'RE TEARING ME APAHT, DOCTAH!!!!
I stumbled home in a haze. How could my day have unraveled like this? I felt like my entire being had been poked and prodded by some invisible little shit that delighted in my misery. I shut myself in my room and rocked back and forth for a while. I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I switched my desk lamp on and off to make sure it hadn't suddenly switched to fluorescence behind my back. I emerged from my hidey-hole for dinner and conversation with the parents, and I forgot about my traumatic day. For a while.
When I returned to my room to get ready for bed, I saw my new clothes on my chair and remembered how much I liked them. When I was brushing my teeth, I noticed that my tooth didn't hurt anymore. When I pulled up my covers, I did so with a flick of the wrist that was no longer condemned. And I had gas in my car! Against the odds, despite the best efforts of those heinous lights, I had succeeded in acting like a responsible adult! Fluorescent lights had no power over me! I had been victorious!!!
I fell asleep with a self-satisfied, fully functional smirk.
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