Hepatitis A, Dorian Gray? (5/9/08)

I found out just last week that I would need a Hepatitis A vaccine to legally enter Turkey, which has left me scrambling, as I fly out in two weeks! I spent the better part of an afternoon scouring the city for a doctor that even offered the vaccine; many places don't, and the majority that do also want to conduct a new-patient physical; read, several hundreds of dollars out of my pocket. So I turned instead to Chicago's Public Health system, and finally found a place that would vaccinate me for a $15 donation-- the HIV and STD clinic in Boys' Town.

I got there within minutes of their opening, but 16 other people had already checked in. I told the receptionist that I wasn't there for testing, that I had called the day before about getting a vaccine. She cut me off, telling me to fill out the form on the clipboard and have a seat. It became apparent that I was going to be there for a while, so I ran across the street and got some breakfast, then returned to the waiting room. After about an hour, my number was finally called. I went into a small room just off the lobby and a very matter-of-fact nurse told me to have a seat. Without even looking up, she started reading a list of questions off her clipboard.

Completely dead-pan, she began asking me about my sexual orientation and quickly moved on to more probing questions such as, "How many times in the last six months have you traded sex for drugs or money?" Most of what she asked me I don't even want to repeat, and my answers ranged from, "What? No! Never! Who does that!?!", the last of which prompted her to pause, look down her nose at me, and nod toward the waiting room. I mouthed a silent "oh" before I tried once again to explain what I needed. All I managed to get out was, "I don't think you guys understand why I'm here...." before she interrupted me, saying that she was the one asking the questions, and without missing a beat, made her way through the rest of the list.

Then she told me to roll up my sleeve and picked up a needle with which to draw my blood. I told her I didn't need to have any blood drawn, that all I needed was... and before I could finish the sentence, she slammed the needle down and exclaimed, exasperated, "Girl, you ain't had no crazy sex! Go sit back down!" I was mortified, yet all too happy to comply. And when I went back out to the waiting room, I tried asking the receptionist again if I really needed to go through this whole process if I wasn't here for STD testing or treatment. She told me that clinic services were first-come, first-serve, and to please have a seat.

By that point, the 20 or so people milling about the waiting room had started becoming somewhat familiar with each other. Aside from the guy who tried (unsucessfully) to get #14's phone number, it was more a sense of comaraderie between patients, that hey-- we're all in this together. Another hour and a half went by before someone came out and called me by my birthdate instead of the number I had been assigned, which prompted the jilted Romeo to wish me a happy birthday. Amid murmurs of congratulations, someone else chimed in about it being the big 3-0 for me; I smiled wanly and walked into the back of the clinic.

The clinic director herself met me back there and apologized profusely for the three hours I had now wasted at this awful place; apparently I should have been given a different number entirely, which would have gotten me in and out within minutes. She called me by my birthdate instead of calling my number out of order, so as not to cause a stir among the people who were still waiting. Moments later, I was in an exam room. I could barely contain my frustration as the doctor asked me the same humiliating questions as the nurse did. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled my sleeve up and sunk a needleful of vaccine into my arm.

Once that was over, I sprinted out of the clinic and hopped on the train to take care of my other major errand that day; the renewal of my driver's license. I arrived downtown absolutely famished, but decided to get in line at the DMV before the loop workers showed up during their lunch hour. For the second time that day, I sat in a waiting room full of people, but thankfully, the process here was extremely speedy; I waited only 10 minutes before my number was called!
The old guy behind the counter took my money and updated my information; he commented on how nice the picture was on the license I was there to replace. I agreed, saying that I really liked the picture and that I almost wished I could keep it! He laughed and looked at me over the rim of his bifocals, and said, "you can't stay young forever, Dorian Gray." I had no idea who that was, but I was pretty sure I should be offended, so I snatched my license back from him and, with a huff, went off to get my new picture taken.

The photographer guy was so quick, that my old license was shredded before I even had the chance to ask if I could hang onto my old photo. My new picture isn't bad, but I still felt a little dejected as I left. It was amazing, the way a couple of colorful state and city workers had managed to make me feel old and prudish, and all before lunch! Guess my day can't go anywhere but up...


[I looked up the name Dorian Gray when I got home-- apparently the old guy referenced an old horror movie where some narcissistic gay guy sold his soul to the devil to stay young forever, and instead of aging, a portrait he had painted aged instead. Thanks for the hedonistic, Faustian put-down, DMV guy!]