Dear psychiatrist, I’ve been waiting an hour for a seven-minute appointment. Three minutes to chat and four minutes for you to look at my chart and write my prescription.
I comment your office is too hot, and you squint at the thermostat and say something about how you’re waiting for the maintenance man.
This is the first step in our prescription dance. “How are you doing, Brandi?” he asks as he crosses his legs and slowly pulls at the seam of his dress pants.Read more on themighty.com