It's 2034: Mr. Buboobowitz Goes to the Doctor
It's 2034: Mr. Buboobowitz Goes to the Doctor
Nurse: “The doctor will see you now, Mr. Buboobowitz.”
Mr. Buboobowitz: “Thank you, nurse. Do I have to leave both masks on during my appointment with him?
Nurse: “Of course! We don’t want to risk Covid, do we?”
Mr. Buboobowitz: “I just thought that once out of the waiting room, and the crowd…”
Nurse: “And, please, press your outer mask more tightly against the profile of your nose and cheeks. Here, let me do it - there are metal strips embedded in here…”
Mr. Buboobowitz: “Ow! Shit, nurse! I think you’ve bruised my cheeks! Am I bleeding? Did that leave a mark?”
Nurse: “Mr. Buboobowitz! Do NOT lower your masks for any reason! Your masks look secure now - no leakage. Remember, Covid is a micro virus, seeking to make its way into every place and everyone: Your spouse, her workplace, your offspring, their school, your workplace, your grocery store… why, Covid has even made its way to the moon. Never let your guard… or your masks… down. Thank you.”
Mr. Buboobowitz: “Nurse, there is no appreciable atmosphere on the moon. How did it get there in the first place? Anyway, the moon cannot support the life of a virus.”
Nurse: “Well, that may be your truth, Mr. Buboobowitz. However, we ask all patients to follow the science. One of the astronauts on this most recent trip tested positive upon his return. His crewmates are being monitored within the quarantine camp, with a six-month minimum residency. We still don’t know if he departed with the virus, or if he contracted it on the moon… which, in the course of the latter, would indicate the existence of other intelligent life who left the virus there. Quite exciting!”
Mr. Buboobowitz: “How the hell would a virus get inside a contained spacesuit with a discreet supply of oxygen? Good gawd.”
Nurse: “It’s a MICRO VIRUS! And this 45th mutation of the Transrecalcitrantredictricultivanorator variant means that… Ah, I see the doctor is ready.”
Nurse: “Dr. Fauxny (pronounced ‘phony’), your next patient, Mr. Buboobowitz, is here.”
Dr. Fauxny: “Ah, hello there Mr. B. How are we doing today?”
Mr. Buboobowitz: “Well, doc, I can’t seem to shake this head cold. I’ve had it for going on two months now, and…”
Dr. Fauxny: “Let me stop you right there, Mr. B. We ask that patients not make attempts to self-diagnose. Let’s remember who is the doctor, and who is the patient, shall we? Now, please stick out your tongue and say, “I think I have Covid.”
Mr. B: “Doc, it seems…”
Dr. Fauxny: “Do not refer to me as ‘doc,’ Mr. B. Let’s get a blood pressure reading here… Okayyy, 120 over 70. Temperature… 98.2… Hmmm. A little too normal, for my taste. Covid is as sneaky as as a Martian spy amidst the Venuzians at a pow-wow on the Eastern Shnizratzzldung front. Hmmm.”
Mr. B: “Did you really just say ‘pow-wow’?”
Dr. Fauxny: “Am I correct; you’ve refused the MicroRecord implant each time offered?”
Mr. B: “Yes.”
Dr. Fauxny: “You know you’re being very selfish, in that regard. The implant contains all of your medical records, to include your medical history, and also transmits your vitals to EMS upon arrival should you need them. They have immediate access to your blood type, any co-morbidities, past injuries, psychiatric status, anger management issues, mood disorders, any gender dysphoria… oops!… my apologies. Duh, it’s 2034! I meant any trans statuses involving the updated DSM-145’s recognition of 634+ genders, fluidities, and combos. Oh, your emergency contact info, too.”
Mr. B: “Doc… doctor… I’ve been through all this before...”
Dr. Fauxny: “Has anyone made you aware of the newly available add-ons? You can have your banks registered, with constantly updated accounts and balances, you can have your extended service-contracts and status on there - didn’t you say you had one of those JohnChiangKai-shek Deere lawn tractors? - and you can be tracked by… um… people so that if you’re hiking in the Andes, and get lost, you can be found and rescued.”
Mr. B: “I replaced the tractor years ago with a Lawnba. Same time I replaced my Roku with the GovInfotainment device. Come to think of it, I was forced into that last one.”
Dr. Fauxny: “Nonetheless, I’m mandated to strongly counsel you to have the implant.” In a softer tone, “I have it on good authority it will be required before this year’s end. Best to get it over with.” Brightening, “I’ve got one myself. Don’t even notice it’s there! Well, except when I experience an electric overdraft shock. But I opted for that.”
Mr. B: “Don’t those things transmit your speed when driving… you know, to sensors in the road, and ultimately to the police? I went back to my own driving when my self-driving vehicle landed me at a UniParty rally hosted by Hunter Biden’s son - wait… he, I mean she, transitioned… what’s her name? - anyway, after I fell asleep. Dammit, doc! I just want to shake this cold!”
Dr. Fauxny: “So, how long have you had these Covid symptoms? Let’s get some blood and see what all vaccines you’re going to require. Nurse!”
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NP: UFO - Doctor, Doctor
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David Scott Strain is a U.S. Army veteran and a retired Fortune500 I.T. executive. He is also the author of the novel The Grim Grind of Life: A PI’s strange bounces through a surfeit of eateries, juke joints, and dark doorways. Prior, he authored the MBA-text (UofW, UofMD, more than a dozen others) I.T. WARS: Managing the Business-Technology Weave in the New Millennium. Books and expanded bio are available on Amazon.