Yesterday, I accompanied my parents to my dad’s hormone treatment (No, he’s not having a sex change). It was my first time meeting his medical oncologist, whom my parents are very satisfied with. Of course, after I introduced myself to the doctor, he asked the dreaded question.
I started off, “I work backstage for opera,” hoping that the conversation will end with, “That’s very interesting.” However, he beamed with excitement saying he’s an avid opera-goer. Completely ignoring my father, Dr. Opera began asking questions and talking up a storm. He wanted to know if I worked with the lights or the scenery, and I then revealed that I’m a stage manager and facilitate all of the backstage operations. It was comical, and even cute, the way he went on and on telling me about his favorite opera singer (who is from his native country) and that he regularly attends the opera in DC (Washington National Opera). After a good 8 or 9 minutes, he finally turned back to my father, who although was being extremely proud was thinking, “Hey, I’m the patient here.”