The more of these I write, the more of a fly on the wall I become when I’m out in public.
Get comfortable, grab a drink or some snacks, because this is going to be a long one.
Last week, I went to my family doctor for my routine physical (I’m doing well thank you for asking). My doctor is located in Woodbridge, which is known as city that has the most Italians (in Ontario) per capita. You’ll know you’ve entered Woodbridge if there is a strong aroma of Dolce & Gabbana cologne or Brillantina hair gel, a criminal amount of white range-rover trucks, and the only place where you can find Canadian-born adults speaking in a New York accent…for some reason. Suffice to say, this is the general area where we keep/hide our Italians.
Now, obviously, I’ve been in different waiting rooms all my life, as I’m sure you have. But I can guarantee, you’ve NEVER been in an Italian waiting room.
The standard practice in a waiting room is that you wait patiently for your appointment to begin. Maybe you’ll pick up a magazine about celebrity news and read that for the time being. Others watch the TV, which will normally have CP24 playing silently, or maybe you’ll just be on your phone endlessly scrolling on Instagram. Point being, these are the standard ways in which you wait in the waiting room of any other office in Ontario.
Now.
In an Italian waiting room in Woodbridge, let me just tell you, it is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. I come from an Italian background, yes, but I don’t really fit the ‘stereotype’ of being a ‘Woodbridge Italian’, I essentially stick out like a sore thumb when I go into Woodbridge as they immediately think I’m a ‘caker’ (slang for ‘mangiacake’, which is a term coined by the Italians to describe people who come from a strictly Canadian background. Who said you can’t learn something when you read my posts?). As far as speaking Italian goes, forget about it, I’m only on Unit 2 of Duolingo. I know enough to get me out of trouble but as soon as someone starts blabbing I have to hit the panic/eject button and revert back to English.
So I get into the Doctor’s office, I sign in, I smelt the suffocating cologne as mentioned prior, and I sit down. I was the youngest person in that office, sitting next to me was an older lady, and across from me was a man and a woman, most likely in their 40’s or 50’s and an elderly couple whom they were related to (most likely their parents). The younger couple were dressed to the nine, bear in mind it’s 11:00 in the morning. The man had an Adidas sweater, spiky hair that was held together with Italian cement (a.k.a. gel), a large gold cross on his gold necklace, gold bracelets and rings, 3 gallons of cologne, and Adidas runners. The woman, presumably his wife, had on a nice cropped-sleeveless sports top, leggings, large hair which made me insecure about my height, and heeled-boots as she clicked away on her phone with her fake nails. I immediately felt outnumbered, and not to mention, severely underdressed in my trackpants and Batman T-shirt.
After 15 minutes, I felt like I was sitting in an old antique Italian living room. They had a beautiful glass coffee table with all the amenities that old Italian people need. Tissues, Italian magazines, throat lozenges, coasters (God knows why because I didn’t see any Espresso being handed out), a picture of Padre Pio, and the Italian channel RAI Italia playing on the TV.
A few more minutes go by, and another husband and wife around the same age enter the waiting room, the room immediately erupts with hugs, kisses, and greetings to the rest of the people in the room. Now I was confused, I was wondering if I was in the wrong room and if I accidentally stumbled into a reception or something because of how natural the conversations were between these seemingly complete strangers. They just started talking in both Italian and English.
To this very day, I still don’t know if they knew each other, because more people kept coming into the office and they all started greeting each other as if they did know each other, but that can’t be…right? Woodbridge isn’t that small of a city. I felt like I accidentally entered a meeting with the five families of Woodbridge or something.
Something you should know about Italians, and even growing up in an Italian family, what I’ve noticed for the most part is that we’re very social with other Italians, even more so if you give them something to complain about. If something wrong is going on, an Italian will either be the first tell you about it or complain, because ultimately that’s what brings us together. But as a species, Italians are the most impatient people in the world. They say Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I beg to differ, if the Italians were running things, Rome would’ve been a day project, no questions asked.
In the waiting room, this was particularly evident. I guess the first couple that had arrived were waiting there for a long time and when the second couple arrived, that’s when the complaining started, as if the secretary, who was also Italian mind you, couldn’t hear every word they were saying. But when it was their time to see the doctor, they greeted the secretary nicely and knew not to cause a scene. At the end of the day, we talk a big talk, but we keep our mouths shut, ah capito?
Another testament to the Italian doctor’s office is how the doctor was an hour late, drenched in Dolce, hair slicked back, and examined me in under 10 minutes and sent me on my way. I was at that office for an hour and a half after my scheduled appointment for an examination that took 8 minutes and I got 1,000 words out of it for this blog, content is the best gift to receive so it was definitely well-worth the trip.
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