Wouldn't a smarter man simply walk away?

Even though he has a bad ponytail and wears lots of fleece and has strange facial hair and he over-uses the terms "buddy" and "young man" while patting me on the back (and today rubbing the back of my head) and he has no sense of personal space and when he asks me questions his stare is so glazed and intent that I'm not convinced he's listening and he's outrageously heterosexist in his thinking about sexual health and possibly irresponsible in his office's lack of patient confidentiality, I must say, that today, my doctor, Dr. SNAG, when he asked me why I was there and I said for a prescription renewal and check up blood tests because my insurance is ending soon, and he said, "when your insurance ends, I'm still your doctor. You know that, right? And you won't stop coming because you don't have insurance, right? Even if you can only pay five bucks, we'll figure it out, right?", I must confess, I almost, almost, almost got a little choked up.

Then the man handed me a prescription for testosterone with three refills which means it should last me approximately two years. And previously he made some comment about how he wouldn't keep giving me prescriptions for T if I wasn't coming for check-ups, and I"m thinking, "um hi? Two years of hormones here. I'll have money for a doctor's visit in two years."

[Knock on wood.]

And guess what happened in the time I was gone for my doctor's appointment? I got a response to my intern application and they want me to interview next week. I guess my cover letter worked. And thanks to thebrownhornet for being my journalistic interpretor and explaining exactly what departments did what. I dialed his number first, and realized if he hadn't been home, I had three other people in my phone I could call immediately for a consultation.

I know a lot of damn journalists. Almost as many as damn attorneys. I wonder if it's a fetish.