WHAT'S UP, DOC?

We have these locked bins scattered throughout the office, used to collect sensitive documents that are then permanently destroyed. Call me paranoid, but I will often bring in personally addressed letters and junk mail from home to dispose of in these bins. It happened right after a doctor's appointment where I had asked for a prescription for Malaria and traveler's diarrhea medication, for my trip to South Africa. It's pretty easy to guess what happened next when I transported both the destruction-destined documents and the prescription in the same knapsack. And so, I find myself slapping myself on the forehead as I rummage for the phone number of my doctor's office. And, as luck would have it, the doctor has just started her 2 week vacation. I was told to call back after she returned, which I did. I was then told that I could come by and pick up the rewritten prescription when it was ready, probably in a couple of days as the doctor settled back in after her vacation. I don't hear anything after a week, so I call again, making my request once more. I guess it doesn't help that I speak to a different receptionist each time and that they don't keep an account of each call that I make. This time, I'm told that they will fax the prescription directly to a drug store of my choice, citing some procedure that prevents them from writing prescriptions in an uncontrolled manner. I'm cool with that. They tell me to call back in 2 days to confirm. I do. This time, they say the doctor CAN re-write a prescription and that it should be ready in another 2 days. 2 days pass and this time I get a call from the office. Unfortunately, the doctor can't write the prescription because too much time has elapsed since my original appointment. I will need to book another appointment. I was patient up to this point. But when I heard I had to book another appointment to see the doctor, for whom I had to wait 4 months before getting an appointment in the first place, I just about lost it. Sensing my frustration, the receptionist mentioned that I could see one of the walk-in doctors, that it was not busy right now, and that I could probably see someone tonight quickly. Resigned, I hop over and wait. Thankfully, the wait wasn't too long and I'm asked to sit in an examination room within 10 minutes. Shortly after, the door opens and in walks a tall, dark skinned male doctor.

I explain to him my situation, my embarrassment for losing the original prescription and if he could write me another one. He speaks with an interesting accent and asks me where I will be traveling to. I tell him South Africa, in about 3 weeks' time. He pauses, and replies in that curious accent, "I'm from South Africa". We start chatting about where I am going specifically, and it ends up that I will be really close to his home town. We start chatting about how I will be helping an orphan aid organization, doing construction. He's looking at me, but his eyes are distant. "My country used to be a very prosperous country, but it is so broken now". We are done our visit and I can now obtain Cipro and Malarone without breaking any laws. As I leave, he shakes my hand (most likely because, in Canada, that is a more acceptable display of expressing deep gratitude between 2 men than hugging) and tells me how touched he is that someone is taking the time to care. Any feelings of frustration I had disappeared at that moment. I'm really no longer a believer of coincidences. Who would've thought that such a mindless act would lead to this encounter?