Just the other day I had to pay a visit to my family doctor. Nothing serious, all I needed was a refill for my prescription medications. As you know, the post-fifty folks take a handful of those every day to keep the motor of their well-worn bodies running. I have to admit, I'm not particularly fond of that low-spirited mood of the doctor's office waiting room. There's some sort of collective anxiety hanging in the air, everyone's indrawn and dead serious. I believe, it's because we try to balance some seriously conflicting feelings: on one hand, we hope the medical science finds a miraculous cure to all our aches and troubles, but at the same time, we can't shake off this dark intuition - what if the doctor reveals a shocking true about some unexpected complications or a horrible, incurable disease?
I'm killing my time browsing through the thumbed copies of outdated magazines, while inspecting discreetly my fellow patients. Once a while, just for my amusement, I conduct a little unscholarly geodemografic mini-study, by sampling a random group of local population (e. g. on the elevator, in the restaurant or the supermarket). That's why the result of my quick survey could not take me by surprise: out of the total 22 present individuals (including the medical staff), only the doctor and myself fit the physiognomic features of the traditional Europoid ethnic group.
"So what?", you ask - and rightfully so.
Well, my above observation may be used to draw any conclusion anyone's pleased with. As for me, I presume, this banal empiric information confirms one of my following hypothesis:
1. White population don't get sick, therefore have no need for a medical intervention,
2. White folks are temporary out of stock (please, take a rain check and call again next week or so).
(: M.
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