TheIronSheik
SUPER ELITE UPPER TIER
Yesterday was the day I had been dreading ever since I was a little kid. The day, I imagine, almost all men fear. Ever since seeing the scene in Fletch, I had begun worrying about this entire process: The day I went to a urologist.
As I started to get older, I began trouble peeing. Nothing major. Just some issues with the water pressure in the fire house. But each year it slowly got worse until I finally decided I needed to go get it checked. I placed the phone call for the appointment and knew exactly what I was calling for. I was going to be paying some random man to stick his finger in my butt. Sure, he was a doctor. Or at least, I hoped he was. But it didn't make it any less odd. So yesterday, I get to the doctor's office and make my way to the front desk. Everyone in the office is old and I do a double check as I swear I heard the Muzak playing "Moon River". Turns out to just be my imagination.
I take a seat in the waiting room and I feel my chest start to tighten like a heart attack. My nerves are completely frayed. Once my name is called, an old nurse leads me into a patient room and takes my blood pressure and pulse. Her voice is soothing and her face reminds me of a grandmother that would never be angry at her grandchildren. "Your blood pressure is slightly high", she says. But leaves it at that, because you know that she knows why it's high. She tells me the doctor will be right in and smiles as she leaves. I actually feel a little more comfortable as I sit on the exam table in the empty room.
Fifteen minutes has passed as I sit there alone. My comfortable feeling I had is almost completely gone. I'm actually beginning to be bothered. "What's taking this guy so long to get in here and stick his finger in my butt?!?"
Again, waves of anxiety flow throughout my body like a ocean churning. I want to complain, but at the same time don't want to be known as the guy who was super impatient that the doctor was fingerbanging him quick enough. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened.
In walked a short, chubby man in a white lab coat. He greeted me with a Jewish accent that sounded so stereotypical that if I saw it in a movie, I would have found it mildly offensive to Jews. He made some small talk to start, all the while smiling with a grin that seemed authentic. "How could someone with this job be that happy?", I thought to myself. There are days I dread going into work because I have a bunch of meetings lined up. And in not one of those meetings do I have to stick my finger in other dude's O-rings. I guess I just expected him to look miserable, like he woke up late on the day in medical school they assigned what body parts you'd work on the rest of your life. I imagine that's how it's done, because who would pick this specialty when there are so many other choices out there?
After 3 or 4 small talk questions, he then cannonballed into the deep end with, "So, tell me about your penis."
I had never thought about how I'd start the biography of TheFleshSheik, but no time like the present, I guess. "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago..." As I explained the issue with my face red and burning, he instructed me to get up and take my pants down. It had begun.
As I stood there with my pants around my ankles, he begin to inspect my package like a UPS supervisor. I simultaneously tried to wipe the memory from my mind but still remember enough so I could point to the doll to show the courtroom where he touched me. Then came the part I had dreaded. He told me to turn around and bend over. It felt degrading. As I waited for him to explain his next move, I was surprised by the digit tickling my throat from the inside. No warning, no nothing. It was over. He told me to pull my pants up and sit back down. He started to explain what he had done and I couldn't even look him in the eye. I felt violated as my butt squished from the lubricant he left behind.
But at least the difficult part was over. Or so I thought.
He leads me to another room and when the door closes, he tell me to drop my pants again. He holds up a sheet of paper and says he will lay it over my privates once I lay down. So I get half naked again and lay down on the table. The door opens and a nurse walks in. Not a grandma, but instead a young nurse. Again, that feeling of vulnerability comes back as these two stand over me. The nurse moves the paper so that everything is covered up... except the little guy. I try to stare at the ceiling and get lost in my thoughts like they teach captives to do when being interrogated. But the doctor won't stop talking to me. As much as I try to zone him out, he keeps asking me about where I work and other stupid things. It's like he's been trained by the Mossad to keep prisoners in the moment.
I'm sure he explained what he was going to do, but I missed it in the confusion. So the next thing I know, he's holding my pecker in clamps and shoving a camera down my pee hole into my bladder. From the amount of pain I felt, I imagine it was one of those TV cameras they use to film the Tonight Show. Stand and all. Never in my life before yesterday had I wished for a waterboarding instead. I was this close to confessing to masterminding 9/11.
When it was finally done, they left the room and I pulled up my pants like I had just got done meeting Bill Cosby. As I left the office, everyone seemed way too cheery as I cried on the inside and contemplated going to the hospital to get a rape kit.
What I experienced yesterday made a colonoscopy look like Disneyland. I hope I never have to experience that again.
As I started to get older, I began trouble peeing. Nothing major. Just some issues with the water pressure in the fire house. But each year it slowly got worse until I finally decided I needed to go get it checked. I placed the phone call for the appointment and knew exactly what I was calling for. I was going to be paying some random man to stick his finger in my butt. Sure, he was a doctor. Or at least, I hoped he was. But it didn't make it any less odd. So yesterday, I get to the doctor's office and make my way to the front desk. Everyone in the office is old and I do a double check as I swear I heard the Muzak playing "Moon River". Turns out to just be my imagination.
I take a seat in the waiting room and I feel my chest start to tighten like a heart attack. My nerves are completely frayed. Once my name is called, an old nurse leads me into a patient room and takes my blood pressure and pulse. Her voice is soothing and her face reminds me of a grandmother that would never be angry at her grandchildren. "Your blood pressure is slightly high", she says. But leaves it at that, because you know that she knows why it's high. She tells me the doctor will be right in and smiles as she leaves. I actually feel a little more comfortable as I sit on the exam table in the empty room.
Fifteen minutes has passed as I sit there alone. My comfortable feeling I had is almost completely gone. I'm actually beginning to be bothered. "What's taking this guy so long to get in here and stick his finger in my butt?!?"
Again, waves of anxiety flow throughout my body like a ocean churning. I want to complain, but at the same time don't want to be known as the guy who was super impatient that the doctor was fingerbanging him quick enough. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened.In walked a short, chubby man in a white lab coat. He greeted me with a Jewish accent that sounded so stereotypical that if I saw it in a movie, I would have found it mildly offensive to Jews. He made some small talk to start, all the while smiling with a grin that seemed authentic. "How could someone with this job be that happy?", I thought to myself. There are days I dread going into work because I have a bunch of meetings lined up. And in not one of those meetings do I have to stick my finger in other dude's O-rings. I guess I just expected him to look miserable, like he woke up late on the day in medical school they assigned what body parts you'd work on the rest of your life. I imagine that's how it's done, because who would pick this specialty when there are so many other choices out there?
After 3 or 4 small talk questions, he then cannonballed into the deep end with, "So, tell me about your penis."
I had never thought about how I'd start the biography of TheFleshSheik, but no time like the present, I guess. "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago..." As I explained the issue with my face red and burning, he instructed me to get up and take my pants down. It had begun.As I stood there with my pants around my ankles, he begin to inspect my package like a UPS supervisor. I simultaneously tried to wipe the memory from my mind but still remember enough so I could point to the doll to show the courtroom where he touched me. Then came the part I had dreaded. He told me to turn around and bend over. It felt degrading. As I waited for him to explain his next move, I was surprised by the digit tickling my throat from the inside. No warning, no nothing. It was over. He told me to pull my pants up and sit back down. He started to explain what he had done and I couldn't even look him in the eye. I felt violated as my butt squished from the lubricant he left behind.
But at least the difficult part was over. Or so I thought.
He leads me to another room and when the door closes, he tell me to drop my pants again. He holds up a sheet of paper and says he will lay it over my privates once I lay down. So I get half naked again and lay down on the table. The door opens and a nurse walks in. Not a grandma, but instead a young nurse. Again, that feeling of vulnerability comes back as these two stand over me. The nurse moves the paper so that everything is covered up... except the little guy. I try to stare at the ceiling and get lost in my thoughts like they teach captives to do when being interrogated. But the doctor won't stop talking to me. As much as I try to zone him out, he keeps asking me about where I work and other stupid things. It's like he's been trained by the Mossad to keep prisoners in the moment.
I'm sure he explained what he was going to do, but I missed it in the confusion. So the next thing I know, he's holding my pecker in clamps and shoving a camera down my pee hole into my bladder. From the amount of pain I felt, I imagine it was one of those TV cameras they use to film the Tonight Show. Stand and all. Never in my life before yesterday had I wished for a waterboarding instead. I was this close to confessing to masterminding 9/11.
When it was finally done, they left the room and I pulled up my pants like I had just got done meeting Bill Cosby. As I left the office, everyone seemed way too cheery as I cried on the inside and contemplated going to the hospital to get a rape kit.
What I experienced yesterday made a colonoscopy look like Disneyland. I hope I never have to experience that again.
