I really dislike doctors. And their offices. Mostly their waiting rooms though. I don't like that they are made out to be calming places. I don't like the neutral colored walls and I don't like the geometric patterns on the chairs, which there always seem to be. I think maybe the staff chooses them to say hey, we can be young and fun, just like you. But the truth is, no, they can't. If they could, I would be at a different office because tame and meticulous is ideal. I don't want Coyote Ugly taking my blood. I have qualms against the smell of sterility. It's like they run out of soap and water and turn to rubbing alcohol as an all-purpose cleaner. It smells like sick person in there. Which makes me wonder if I smell gross and soulless, since I'm a sick person. There is also something unsettling about having smiling finger-painting-looking art everywhere. I know that a forty-year-old bald man definitely made that piece, and I'd like to know who he thinks he's fooling. It's clear a three-year-old didn't happily dip their hands in primary colored paint and make this. This is not intended for refrigerator doors. Not fooled for a second. I think of all the bad news people have received within the walls of this hospital, and I wonder why they don't just paint everything black and play requiems in the background. Because that's what it looks like in my mind sometimes. And I wonder if maybe people would feel a little less mocked and a little more understood. No one smiles when they're diagnosed with chronic illnesses. Even with a love of gross irony, it can't be justified. It would be nice if the wall color inside the exam rooms didn't seem to celebrate shortened lives. A grey wall would do. And a doctor whose room wasn't named after a tropical bird would be nice as well.