The Joys of Planned Parenthood

Disclaimer: I’m a Democrat. I support Planned Parenthood and their mission to serve those who are underprivileged and cannot afford healthcare. However, I am now going to freely hate on that institution.

Ever since I’ve moved to PA, I’ve been hitting up Planned Parenthood for my womanly needs. Mostly this means that I frequent their association for my birth control.

Yes, I have health insurance. No, I don’t need to utilize Planned Parenthood in lieu of a regular doctor’s office. It’s close to my apartment. And, being a Democrat, I like to support institutions that provide that kind of medical assistance for women.

HOWEVER, this Planned Parenthood is shady. The location isn’t really that shady, but the facility itself is a pile of weird. Aside from the fact that you have to produce your license before they buzz you into the waiting room, the waiting room is sort of gross and dingy. Whatever, I’m not that pretentious, I can handle a little grime.

What I can’t handle is their extreme disorganization. Don’t get me started. Seriously. Don’t. Let me just say that I went there to pick up birth control, a process that just requires them looking up my health insurance, swiping my debit card, giving me some pills, and me leaving. That process could take 15 minutes, right? Ha. It took an hour and forty five minutes. And, that is the norm. TWO HOURS OF WAITING FOR SOME PILLS. Sigh.

The only redeeming quality? I get to listen to the craziest stories in the waiting room. And I get to text Sarah #1 with the play by play.

For instance, tonight, one particular patron was sitting with her friend who told her about a good book she had read. The girl replied, “I don’t read. The last time I read a book was when I was locked up.”

Wowza. Maybe if she read more books she wouldn’t be pregnant with her 3rd kid, there for an abortion (while she told her boyfriend she was going for a bladder infection), and MAYBE she’d know to talk quieter.

And, let’s not forget the gentleman who was there for an STD test, fighting on the phone with his girlfriend who apparently said she’d get a pap smear and hasn’t done it. Meanwhile, he was getting tested for the SAKE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. His words.

The last time I was there, a group of middle school (um, do middle schoolers know what sex is?) Catholic kids were staging a demonstration outside in the parking lot. They marched in a straight line, wearing their school uniforms, clutching their rosaries, and reciting prayers. I should feel bad that I openly laughed when I walked past them to my car, but I don’t.

Until that 12 year old boy praying for me can say “vagina” without blushing, I don’t need him to pray for my vagina related sins. Thanks though, I appreciate your effort.

I just didn’t realize God didn’t want me to go to Planned Parenthood to make sure I don’t have any cancer up in there. My bad. God totally wouldn’t approve of my breast exam. God hates my boobs. It’s in the Bible, I’m sure. Thou shalt not visit Planned Parenthood for a glucose test. Sorry, God.

Sarah #1, my vehicle to God, did not inform me that I shouldn’t take care of my personal health. Blame her.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you have 2 hours to spare and want to listen to some trashy conversations that will make you question the world you’re living in and want to lecture all those around you, check out Planned Parenthood. It’s like a soap opera. Only scarier because it’s real.

Plus, you can spend the time guessing who’s there for what. Blue shirt girl – STD. Girl in dress – pregnant. Ugly chick – no health insurance. It’s a fun game.

But, beware, God won’t approve of your visit. Even if it’s just for the stories.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: