The World According To MIKEy

by Mike Wright

Originally published 1994, in the Weekly Synthesis Issue 1.

I’m sitting in the health center debating over how I’ll spend the next hour in regards to reading material. The Orion is on the floor, my Com 113 text is in my backpack, and yet I doubt I will be able to focus on any reading, because of my dilemma.

I’ve just filled out a pseudo questionnaire explaining why I’m here. I’m feeling awkward as the receptionist gives me her preoccupied stare. I couldn’t decide what to mark. I chose “rash.” It felt safe.

She takes my questionnaire and adds it to my existing file (yes I’ve been here before), and points me in the right direction. I feel naughty, like I’m revisiting 3rd grade marching off to the principals office in lieu of my teacher dealing with me. I knew I was going to have to tell someone soon. It’s not really a rash, or an open sore. It’s not accompanied by puss. I can’t sleep. I’m annoyed. It’s her fault. I’m going to miss my senior seminar/environmentally correct/interpersonal/afternoon power nap class. My blood sugar is low, and I’m sitting next to who’s-who in sorority dysfunctional females. My pain is different…

I’m told my blood pressure is great. “You must be an exercise enthusiast,” squawks the 40-something petite female.

“Yes.” I add, amongst other things. I’m sent to the second floor where they send all the mutations.

Finally a man introduces himself and escorts me into a cubbyhole. The room is familiar with its sanitary loomings and stark white walls. “So you have a rash?” he says.

“Well, not really.” I add. He looks puzzled. I tell him that I’ve had this “rash” for over a week, which reared its ugly head the day after unprotected sex with a longtime female partner. “I’m really careful; and I’ve got a wonderful singing voice,” I throw in. He gives me a look of disgust, and tells me to drop my drawers. He studies my member for a couple of minutes, and asks about the pain. He then excuses himself, and leaves me there to reflect on my bad self.

My mind begins to wander. What the hell do I have? Is he calling in for reinforcement? I start making a mental Ten Commandments of sexually transmitted diseases in my mind.




4) THOU SHALT NOT…He returns … “Has your partner had recent problems with yeast infections?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well it seems as though she has passed this on to you.” He explains that a male yeast infection is becoming more common in the Chico area. That’s just fucking great. I feel dizzy and relieved at the same time. He tells me the process will take a week or so before I start clearing up, and then mentions Monistat. I’m going to kill the bitch…sloooowly! I know I should be getting in touch with my female side, but I’d prefer to stick to cross dressing on Halloween to fill that void in my life. He also prescribes Cephalexin, for those hard to reach spots. His plastic gloves hang over the wastebasket. I grab my backpack, and anxiety, and head downstairs.

I cautiously hand the 3×5 white note to the male attendant behind the pharmacy counter. He takes my I.D card, and I’m told to have a seat. The Monistat commercial is now running through my mind. “There’s nothing worse than a yeast infection.” but they left out, “Especially when you’re a guy.” An attendant calls my full name in an octave that jolts everyone out of the fetal position, and manages to wipe out all dogs and cats within a three mile radius.

I approach the counter……..OH SHIT……. I’ve been in Chico way too long.

“Hi Mike, how have you been?” It’s a lady I recognize from my PSY 235 class last year.

‘’Ah, couldn’t be better.” I somehow manage to blurt out. My mind, however, is thinking something entirely different. “How the hell do you think I’m doing, you’re handing me Monistat 7, I’m now half chick with lactating potential.” I’m now about 16 inches tall, with a nice little white bag which denotes my crime. I quickly turn the comer.

“Hey bro, what’s up?” Oh great another person I know, I’m now so incredibly busted I just smile. I’m starting to make my way back to my car. I realize I can no longer go anywhere in this town without running into someone I know, and God’s going to punish me for changing my major as well. I’ll probably come back as a mime, and there’s now a ticket on my car for not registering it at the counter.

I pull out my keys, and once safe in my car, I become overwhelmed by the smell of blunt and bananas (definitely the breakfast of champions ). I take a deep breath, then another, and pull out the first bottle. Yep, it’s mine, it’s got my name on it… I pull out the other one. 1-Monistat 2%-HC 1% cream 15 GM. And then underneath in big bold letters …..


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