Each woman takes their own seat, one away from the other, of course. Only when every other seat is taken do the other seats begin to fill, carefully chosen, who to sit next to, but not look at or touch. We wait to be squished, bras and shirts folded carefully on the chair, bras tucked underneath, hidden.
I want to question the women emerging. Did it hurt as much as last time? Your breast squeezed between two plates. Did you pay the five bucks for the soft pad? Did it really help? Squished with softness...
I adorn my pink paper vest, listen to the woman repeat "there's a vest on the back of the chair, did you wear any powder, lotion or deodorant today, okay please undress from the waist up and wait right here, someone will be with you in a minute." How many times a day does she repeat that?
New machines, all digital, now the old machines have been retired. I wait, listen, type. There's a mirror so we can examine our reflection in the pink vest, sharp shoulders, the new shoulder pads?
Damn, I wish I had my camera.
Patricia?
My turn.
Done now. Squished complete. Didn't hurt as much as last time. Even though I didn't pay the extra $5 for the soft pad. Wonder what it will feel like next year?
Off for the blood draw. Make sure all the butter isn't raising my cholesterol.
Next.
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