It was a fond farewell for Marquel, whose ties to Dr Zit, as they called him, went back decades. Marquel remembered the first day he visited Dr. Z.
“You must be Marquel,” he said, placing his finger below my left eye and pulling down,” that could be a bit of conjunctivitis.”
“Well that’s not what I’m here for,” I said.
“Me too,” he insisted. “I do skin. Zits. Birth marks. Moles. Eczema. Sunburn.Warts”
“That’s not what I’m here for.” I said.
“Well that was not my complete list. If it’s in the skin, I can do it. Got a tattoo you want removed?” He asked.
“No thanks.” I said. I then dropped my pants.
He stepped back. Way back. He waved his hands. “Whoa! Whoa! What’s going on here. You’re almost naked. I don’t allow that. No naked bodies. Ugh. So repulsive.”
“But I thought you said if it’s on the skin, you’re the man,” I protested.
“But not that skin. No no. For that you go elsewhere.” He said.
“But what if it’s a zit. On my face. Isn’t that disgusting?” I asked.
“You don’t keep your face in your shorts.” He said.
“That’s true. But you’re a doctor. If it’s in the skin, you’re the man, right?” I asked.
“Not naked! Not in my office! No naked bodies.” He insisted
“What if I had genital warts? You do warts. And zits. I know that.” I said.
“Yes but not there.”
He had retreated into the building hallway. I was following him with my pants below my knees.
“No. No!” He exclaimed. “Zits. Warts. Fine. But keep your pants on. That’s disgusting. Please.” He seemed close to tears so I buttoned up and left.
The doctor that found popping zits and warts attractive but anything below the waist disgusting has retired. Dr. Z is no more. But I’ll have a hard time forgetting him.
***
By MARQUEL: Fondly Remembering Dr. Z
