This Old Thing?

I finally look up from my phone to notice that almost forty-five minutes have passed since the doctor said he’d be “right back.”

With a sigh, I slip my sneakers on. The rest of my outfit consists of a t-shirt, thin, elastic-banded, disposable shorts that the nurse provided because my jeans didn’t roll up enough to give the doctor access to my knee, and some “fun” yellow socks I wore under my jeans that with everything else make me look a little like I might be on my first day of homelessness.

I approach the nurses station, ignoring the looks I’m getting, and gently ask, “Hey, did somebody forget about me?”