Go there, not here

     I'm at the check-out counter in the doctor's office, paperwork clutched in hand.  There are 2 "ports" each with a patient being served so I obediently stand back until there is an opening.  The woman behind the counter is doing something with papers, ostensibly from the patient who has just left.  "Take a seat on the bench," she says, "It'll be a minute."  I answer, "Well, if it's only going to be a minute, I don't mind standing."  I really don't feel like ripping someone's face off this early in the day, but it's not out of the question either.  The woman at the other window volunteers that I'm welcome to stand in front of her desk; she actually seems to have a sense of humanity about her.  So I do, and the necessary ritual of the checkout is conducted with no problem. 
   I like children, and my own childhood was the best time of my life, but those days are gone, and I no longer enjoy being treated like a child.  That may be why I barely tolerate doctors' offices, and I abhor the idea of being a hospital patient.  I really don't like people telling me what to do.  Stand back, wait here, sit there are all bad enough. To have somebody telling me to lie down, get up, eat this, drink that, hold onto this, stretch that, is going to test the limits of my patience, and that's how I feel before I'm experiencing pain or discomfort.  I hope against all that's holy that I don't have to hear someone say to me anything like  "I need you to to do this or that,"  or "Will you drink this for me?"  Everybody has a breaking point, and I'd hate to be on one foot when I reach mine.