Spines and pants
Once upon a time about two years ago, my friend Melissa gave me a coupon for a chiropractor on the off-chance it would help me with my migraines. So I show up at his office, and sit there waiting for a bit staring at the plaques on the walls. When he comes in, the first thing out of my mouth was “How come your name on the certificates doesn’t match your name on your business card?” He was a bit taken aback, but answered my question [the answer involves nicknames], and then talked to me about spinal adjustment stuff, and although I don’t know what I said, I am pretty certain that I gave off a sort of “I’m-in-the-medical-field-don’t-hoodwink-me” vibe. That, combined with a “I-say-what-I-think” attitude, can put people off, but he was surprisingly flexible—even for a chiropractor—and so I agreed to get adjusted. Unfortunately, not for my attitude. He seemed to think it the highlight of his week (or month or whatever) to have me visit and observe that his decor was from the 80s, or