Reception

It was a muggy day outside, causing one to sweat within seconds
after they had stepped out into the world. The air wavered as
though the whole city were possessed by a funhouse mirror's lively
spirit, and the high noon sun glared off of every surface. Through
this summer day, one hundred and three residents of the city had
walked, biked, or driven, to arrive at the same hospital waiting
room, and fill it three beyond capacity. The air conditioning was
a pleasantness to all who entered the hospital's sliding doors. In
the waiting room, mumbled conversations could be heard here and
there in different languages, as the receptionist steadily, if not
incredibly quickly, allowed patient by patient to be summoned to
the desk and then pass inside to the hospital proper.

The receptionist called out to the filled up waiting room, "John
Andrews."

Two John Andrewses rose up from their chairs at the same time,
made eye contact, and then awkwardly both sat back down increment
by increment.

"Looking for Andrews, John."

The two Johns, glancing at one another while avoiding eye contact,
both raised a hand for the receptionist's attention from their
respective seats.

The receptionist, seeing this and their little glances to each
other, remarked, "Oh, ummmmm let me see." She clicked her computer
mouse, looked at the monitor, and then called out, "John Percy
Andrews?"

Both began to stand again, and then, seeing the other, sat back
down again.

"Hm! Date of birth is February 1st, 1989."

No dice.

A few in the waiting room who had had nothing better to do during
their entire wait were turning to see the hubbub head on.

"Wellll, something in the medical record will have to do... Blood
type A positive?"

The two Johns looked to each other, gave exaggerated faces that
conveyed "no idea," and they each shrugged a little.

The receptionist gave an annoyed scoff, and then tried, "Currently
seeing a therapist for diagnosed zoophilia?"

A few of the conversations halted, as more ears were suddenly
pulled in by that exciting word. The halt in conversation cascaded
through the room as others realized that something might be going
on, and in very short order, the room was completely silent except
for the receptionist impatiently ticking her nails on the counter.
Many more eyes had turned to face the receptionist, so that they
could be aware of if something was causing delays.

Both Johns' cheeks began to burn, and they got up with half a mind
to cover their face as they walked up to the front, and then, each
making one farewell glance to the other, they saw that once again
they had not been told apart, and in dread they sat back down
among the other waiting patients once again.

The receptionist sighed, and said, "Last four social security
digits are 4321?"

One John Andrews pointed to himself and mouthed "Me!" to the other
John. The other John Andrews pointed to himself and mouthed "ME!"

The receptionist clicked her mouse like it was a voodoo doll made
against either of the Johns in her waiting room. She then began
reading aloud from her monitor: "The basis for this diagnosis of
zoophilia, even as our understandings of sexuality evolve and
become more permissive, is, indeed, not Mr Andrews's attraction to
his male Golden Retriever alone. It is more for the social
distresses it has caused for the fact his apartment neighbors can
hear him masturbating the dog and his inability to cease the
activity or embrace some more private venue; it is nearly as much
a diagnosis of voyeurism, though is specific to the dog. It has
caused him to lightly intersect with the criminal justice system.
By his own admission this attraction interferes with his life, and
by his own request he wishes that something here be cured."

One of the Johns (both of them still possibly being up next to the
desk) said to the other John, in the otherwise silent and rapt
waiting room, "Would you be interested in skipping your
appointment and going to get lunch together?"

"Yes."

The two Johns both finally actually got up for realsies and walked
very quickly out of the waiting room.