Illinoir

The doctor came, swabbed, and went. I waited. Like I said, those five minutes were an eternity, waiting to see what fate had in store for me. The guard knew his job, standing at the ready, probably expecting me to flip out if the test came back positive, probably hoping that I would, now, just so he’d have an excuse to get me in a headlock, cuff me up, shove me around, toss me right into the DEI station, push the button himself, just ‘cause he didn’t have the guts to hit on a hot chick, even if she was a nun. I sat there, quickly getting more and more pissed off at this asshole of a guard, all due to (I now freely admit) stuff that was being made up in my head. I had just stood up with the intention of giving him a piece of my mind when the doctor returned. The doc paused for a second, taking in the image of the security guard with his hand a little tighter on his gun, taking a step back from me, me, standing there, facing the guard, my right hand raised, my index finger extended, pointing accusingly at the guard. We turned to face the doctor who shrugged as if saying he’d seen far stranger than this.

“Test’s negative,” he said. “Get out of here.”

He turned and left. The guard, though I couldn’t see his face through the tinted visor on his mask, was obviously disappointed he wouldn’t get a chance to run me through the wringer.

I shrugged. “Sorry, bub,” I said. “Can’t win ‘em all.”