It’s time to do something about waiting rooms. They’re so excruciatingly boring and dreary. At least when people wait at my show, they can dance. Although I suppose you can dance in any waiting room, as long as you’re not in there for hip replacement surgery. The nurses in waiting rooms hide behind a frosted glass window. They want no part of a waiting room. They open the window just a crack to hand you a pen and a form. It always sounds like a party back there. You can hear chatting and laughing and clinking of glasses. Meanwhile, you’re in a room that’s so crowded, you have to sit really close to people who are probably contagious. They’re always looking over your shoulder to try and read all your personal information. “What a coincidence, Ellen, I have trouble doing that first thing in the morning too!”
The magazines are always way out of date. You know the magazines are old when Charlie Chaplin is on the cover of “People’s Sexiest Man Alive” and Popular Science is celebrating the invention of the cotton gin. But old magazines are better than no magazines. After a few hours of waiting, you’ll read anything. I ended up reading, “Your Pancreas and You: Friends for Life,” cover to cover. ...And yes, I’ll admit it. I cried at the end.