Drum Fill, Please!

I was in line at the Kaiser pharmacy in Napa yesterday, waiting for my Paxil refil. Sandwiched between a big gray guy with an oxygen tank and a big normal-colored guy with a germ mask, and behind about twenty others, I decided to call the psychiatry department and make a new appointment with the therapist who had canceled on me last week. This was the phone conversation (which was overheard by everyone):

Operator: Psychiatry department.
Me: Hi, I'd like to reschedule an appointment with Dr. X, who had to cancel last week.
Operator: Ok, let me check. [pause] Sorry, there are no appointments. Um, what were you going to see him for?
Me [noting ironically that my Paxil-withdrawal symptoms were in full effect]: Ah, well, depression, anxiety.
Operator: Are you going to harm yourself?
Me: No.
Operator: So, um, what is the reason for the depression?
Me: Well, I was recently diagnosed with cancer.
Operator [stunned]: Oh! Oh, I'm sorry.
Me: Thank you.
Operator [back to her list]: So, what is it about the cancer diagnosis that has caused you to seek psychiatric help?
Me [pausing incredulously]: Well, let's see.... How about having to confront my mortality?
Operator: ...
Me: I mean, it was kind of a shock?
Operator: Ok, I see. Are you taking any medication?
Me: Yes. Paxil.
Operator: For what?
Me (sighing): Anxiety.
Operator: Is it helping?
Me: Yes.
Operator: So let me recap: you have been recently diagnosed with cancer, you aren't going to harm yourself, and your anti-anxiety medication is working. And you want to see a psychiatrist.
Me: Strangely enough, yes.

I couldn't help laughing afterward (after I had taken my 40mgs). Poor girl.