Mark adjusted his perfectly knotted striped tie in the mirror, flashing a confident smile. His hair was impeccably parted, his glasses sharp, and his mustache groomed to perfection.
Nailed it, he thought.
Tonight was date night with his wife. The reservations were made, the outfit was chosen, and all he had to do was swing by the clinic for a quick, routine procedure. In and out. Twenty minutes, tops. Or so he thought.
"I haven't been in before for this procedure," Mark told the receptionist, pen in hand, completely naive to the gauntlet he was about to enter.
"No problem, just take a seat and wait," the receptionist replied with the practiced, terrifying calm of someone who knows you are never leaving this building.
Two hours later. The timeline had officially ruptured. Mark was led not to a quick in-and-out chair, but to a concrete locker room by a deadpan nurse with a clipboard.
"You need to take off that tie," the nurse instructed.
Mark sighed, unknotting the silk fabric. "Is this really necessary?" he asked, dropping it into the stark white plastic bin.
But it didn't stop at the tie. Soon, the crisp button-down was gone. Then, the nurse gestured toward Mark's wrist and left hand.
Mark hesitated, his hand covering his fingers protectively. "My watch and wedding ring, too?" he asked, clearly not wanting to part with them.
"All the metal you're wearing has to come off, everything. It can interfere with the equipment readings," the nurse recited, his flat tone sounding exactly like he was reading from a script.
Reluctantly, Mark slipped the metal pieces off and dropped them into the bin. He stood there in a ribbed white tank top, dropping his glasses in last with a sense of mounting dread.
"Step into the examination room and wait for the doctor," the nurse ordered, pointing down the hall.
Panic was starting to set in. Mark stood barefoot in his khakis and undershirt, the reality of his schedule crashing down on him.
"How long is this going to take?" he pleaded, gesturing helplessly. "I've got a date night with my wife soon."
The nurse offered no comfort, only the cold, sterile silence of the clinic hallway.
Once inside the room, the nurse looked Mark up and down one last time.
"Ok, go ahead and strip down to your shorts," the nurse instructed flatly.
Mark reluctantly complied, pulling off his undershirt, socks, and pants. He handed over his last remaining articles of clothing to the nurse, who calmly took them and left, shutting the door behind him. Mark stood alone, shivering a bit in his white briefs against the room's sterile chill.
An hour later.
Exam Room 4 had become a tomb. The air conditioning was freezing, the clock was ticking, and Mark had been stripped of the last of his dignity.
Slowly, the door to Exam Room 4 creaked open. Mark peered out into the empty, fluorescent-lit hallway, still clad in nothing but those stark white briefs. He gripped the doorframe, his eyes darting frantically up and down the corridor.
There was no doctor. There was no escape. There was only Mark, standing in his underwear, realizing with absolute certainty that he was definitely going to miss his dinner reservations.
