…and the worst kind of music is played in this waiting room. It’s the waiting room for my shrink. I’m already irritable, because I know my visit with the shrink will be short, and I’ll put on a happy face and tell him all is well, when all I need him to do is approve my meds.
It’s not the meds that have me irritable, it’s having to take them.
And now I’m sitting in his waiting room, and the worst kind of Muzak is playing. Piano-laden version of “Wind Beneath My Wings” or some Dan Fogelberg track. This sonic assault would make me want to slash my throat in the waiting room, but thankfully I’m not suicidal. I’m far too vain for that. But I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing an even softer version of Christopher Cross’ “Sailing.”
I’ll bet he’s a depressed motherfucker. No one could write music that trite and be happy.
I’m amazed no one has tried to smash the speakers. I would be so inclined. Seriously, doctors need to rethink the music they pipe in their waiting rooms. If you’re trying to make me docile, it’s doing the opposite; it’s like poking a grizzly bear until it snaps.
No one needs to feel more depressed than what they already are by having to listen to this crap.