'GOOD', Thanks

I thoroughly enjoy people watching. When my better half is invading ladies clothing stores, I like nothing better than to sit at a café table and absorb the diverse assortment of passing pedestrians. I am allowed to do this because as with most hunter gatherers a walk around ladies shoe shops and clothing stores sends me into a zombie like trance. As I shuffle from shop to shop the only sound I make is a sort of grunt of sympathy to the other walking dead. Not a pretty sight, hence the ever fascinating people watching.
This rewarding pastime is further enhanced by the gathering of conversation snippets, a kind of pedestrian eves dropping. I especially like the various forms of greeting. The traditional Australian and New Zealand, ‘Gooday, howya going’. followed by the stock Kiwi reply, ‘Good thanks’.
I have noticed that this word ‘good,’ seems to cover every contingency. ‘How are you?’…‘Good’. ‘How’s your wife?’…‘Good’. ‘How’s business?’ …‘Good’. The dictionary describes the meaning of the word as, commendable; proper; suitable; honest; just and adequate. ‘How’s your wife?’ ‘Adequate, thank you’. Doesn’t quite fit the bill, does it. I did a bit of research, suddenly this much used ‘good’ word made a lot of sense. The Greek word for ‘good’ is kalos which translates to mean, ‘in a good place’.
People watching in a Doctor’s waiting room can be a lot of fun. I went in for a warrant of fitness the other day and was quite intrigued by the human drama of it all.
For a start, have you noticed that, on arrival, most folk try to avoid eye contact. One usually has to report to the receptionist, she invariably asks in very hushed tones, ‘Who are you seeing?’, you whisper the name of your physician. No one is listening, all have eyes glued to a 1964 Time magazine or the very fine 1955 National Geographic full colour feature of the half naked Yubabuba tribal women washing their loin cloths by the banks of the Lesser Dunnapiddle.
Just as a refreshing sense of invisibility envelopes you, the said receptionist bellows at six decibels, ‘WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?’
‘Well it’s me… you know…er..’
You are now the centre of attraction, you could not have been more conspicuous had you leapt onto the counter and sung a chorus of ‘Knees Up Mother Brown‘.
On my recent visit I found a seat next to a gentleman who was wearing one of those neck brace things. A very pregnant (triplets at least) lady was on my right. Unable to unearth a magazine that was priced post decimal currency, I glanced up and to my horror, sitting just past the large one with child, was someone who’s name I should have known. Our eyes met across that crowded womb and the traditional, doctors waiting room, conversation began.
‘Oh… fancy seeing you here, how are you?’
‘Good thanks !!’ Mercifully the acquaintance had also misplaced my name. There it was, that ‘good’ word. He was definitely not ‘in a good place‘. What would happen, I wondered, if they put up another one of those information posters that adorn the walls of Doctors’ surgeries. You know the sort, ’Do not smack your children’ and ‘You may now smack your children’ and soon to be changed to, ‘Permission required from your children before smacking’. This new poster would read, ‘Patients must tell the truth.’ Imagine how exciting and entertaining the waiting room experience would become. The question, ‘How are you?’ would be followed by a wonderful organ recital. ’Oh it’s me kidney’.. ’My Liver’s playing up’.. ‘Bad lungs’.. ‘The old ticker won’t tock’. My organs are just fine, I muttered to myself as I entered my doctor’s rooms. His greeting was short and to the point. ‘I need to check yer prostate’.
‘I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind’.
‘Not prostrate', replies the Doctor, '…oh...never mind’, he seemed annoyed but questioned me again.
‘How’s your Flo?’. Silly old fool, he has forgotten my wife’s name is Mo not Flo.
‘Good thanks’.