I hope this is a blog that you cannot relate to now or ever.  Why? Because today we are reviewing the various highs and lows of hospital surgical waiting rooms.  By whatever twist of fate, meaning I really must have pissed off someone in a previous life, I have been given the unique opportunity to spend, what must amount to, a year and a half sitting in surgical waiting rooms.

Ok, cry baby alert.  Yes, I know that by me sitting around a waiting room means some spouse/relative/friend of mine is having some actual part of their body sliced open relatively close to where I am sitting, which happens to be near an overly loud television locked onto the HGTV channel.  At least my significant other has been anesthetized by a licensed physician, while, we, me and my waiting room cohorts, are being anesthetized slowly and painfully by cable television.   I’m certain there is a small subgroup of inter-hospital system employees who gather late at night in some chat room on the dark web laughingly discussing and planning which cable shows cause the most pain and distress among their waiting rooms complete with hidden camera footage showing various relatives and friends of surgical patients twitching and having small seizures in those oh-so-comfortable waiting room chairs. (I’m guessing HGTB is always the winner with Animal Planet a close second).  On the upside, when you’ve not dissolved into a semi-conscious state in the waiting room, the television gives everyone a common focal point.  Something to look at besides giving sideways glances at one another wondering what terrible nastiness is being cut out of their friend’s abdomen. Obviously, we are not going to be looking at any of the circa-2014 magazines lying on the various tables.

Now you may find yourself in one of those older out-patient surgical centers, ones without a television, and, like me, you only arrived with your cell phone for the ninety-minute procedure which, of course, you find out the ninety minutes only referred to the check-in procedures.  Before your significant other is finally wheeled away some two hours after that, your phone has already died, you have no snacks, and one look at the coffee machine even causes your caffeine -infused blood system to squirm.  But you can’t leave to run across the street to Starbucks because the operating room nurse and the check-in receptionist told you not to and you fear that if you leave somehow your medical insurance will be denied and you and your significant other will be leaving the center on a city bus headed to your mother in law’s house because the surgical center now owns everything you ever had.  You don’t even want to leave the waiting room to find a restroom for fear the surgeon will be looking for you while you’re gone and if she can’t find you she may just turn right around and began some experimental surgical technique on your true love involving nanotechnology implants.

Some of the best waiting rooms feature coffee bars with espresso machines and fresh baked goods. Which, of course, when you arrive with your loved one at 9:00am for her scheduled 11:00 am surgery and she hasn’t had food or water since midnight, the smell of fresh blueberry scones may send her into a hypoglycemic fit and she’ll dive across the faux-leather couch and send a table and its Time magazine featuring Sarah Palin flying through the air.  By the time you, the receptionist and the sweet eighty-three-year-old waiting room volunteer pull her off the snack table, her fingers and face are blue from the five scones she managed to eat.  So, this surgery is cancelled, and you leave the building and head to Starbucks knowing you will have another waiting room in your feature.  However, no worries, those nanotechnology implants secretly inserted into your love one’s head at the last surgery are about to turn on and begin remotely transmitting the audio from HGTV through your smart speaker 24/7.

So not having a thousand lobbying groups, high priced financial types, or foreign governments on my contact list to set up speaking engagements, at least not yet, I decided my first paid speaking event would be in front of my children. The subject: Efficient Time Management.

“Why would we want to listen to that?” complained my youngest.

“Because I have knowledge and insight on this topic that you don’t” I replied

“I could goggle that and get lots of different insights” said my older daughter.

“But it wouldn’t be my opinion.” I said.

“Was that what you were doing on your computer earlier? Searching for your opinion?’

“Don’t be ridiculous. Now let’s talk about my speaking fee.”

“What? I thought you were going to pay us to listen to you.”

“That’s not how it works. You pay me to listen and learn from my vast store of knowledge and wisdom.”

“That you found on the internet an hour ago….?”

“I may have searched for some background material to enhance my special and unique knowledge.”

“So if we pay you like a dollar to listen to this, will you promise to take us to the movies next weekend?”

“That would unethical. I couldn’t take your money with the expectation of giving you something back later on.”

“Then we’re out.” My children said and rose to leave the room along with the hopes of my public speaking career.

I sighed inwardly. I doubt the Clintons ever had to deal with this. Plus wherever they spoke probably had really good buffet dinners and open bars.

“Ok, ok. It’s a deal.” My kids sat back down and I grabbed my speaking notes from the table then glanced up at my audience. “Just don’t tell your mom.”