A funny thing happened at the doctor’s office today.

And no, this isn’t the beginning of a stand-up routine — although it probably should be.

I had my annual appointment with the urologist this morning. Nothing says “good morning” quite like discussing internal plumbing before 9 a.m.

When I walked in, there was a long line to check in. Apparently, everybody else decided today was “Let’s Make Sure Everything Still Works Day.”

Last year, they had six kiosks where you checked yourself in. I loved those things. Type your name. Enter your birth year. Scan your driver’s license. Scan your insurance card. Boom. Done. No awkward eye contact. No unnecessary explanations.

But apparently, some of the older crowd didn’t appreciate technology asking them personal questions. And if they asked for help, the folks behind the glass either didn’t know how the kiosks worked… or were honoring a sacred vow to never leave their swivel chairs.

So the kiosks are gone.

Now we’re back to two humans behind glass asking the exact same questions the kiosks asked — just at dial-up speed.

I finally made it to the front, handed over my cards, and was told to sit down.

I barely had time to pull out my Kindle before my name was called. That should’ve been my first warning sign.

The nurse met me with that little plastic specimen cup in her hand.

Men everywhere know that cup.

She said, “We’re going to need a urine sample. There are long lines to the restrooms in the back, so you can fill the cup in the lobby.”

I’m sorry… what?

Fill it in the lobby.

Now, I’m not overly modest. I’ve camped with teenage boys. I’ve survived scout trips. I’ve seen things. But I didn’t think the packed waiting room — complete with elderly ladies, a coughing man, and someone flipping through a 2017 copy of Field & Stream — needed a live demonstration.

Before wisdom could tap me on the shoulder, sarcasm grabbed the microphone.

I said — and I’m not proud of the volume level —
“You want me to give you a pee sample right here in the lobby?!”

The room froze.

Then came the laughter.

You would’ve thought I’d just announced a flash mob.

The nurse’s eyes got big enough to qualify for an exam of their own. That look said, “This man is one sentence away from being escorted out by security.”

She quickly snatched the cup back, took hold of my hand like I was a toddler about to wander into traffic, and escorted me to the men’s room — which, by the way, was in the lobby the entire time.

Apparently, “fill it in the lobby” meant “there’s a bathroom in the lobby,” not “sir, make it a public event.”

Details matter.

She stood outside the restroom waiting for me like I was taking the SAT. When I came out and handed her the cup, I apologized and told her I knew she didn’t mean what she said.

She laughed. The tension broke. My medical record probably now includes the phrase: Patient displays elevated sarcasm levels.

The rest of the appointment was uneventful. Lab work looked good. Everything’s functioning as designed. I’m cleared for another year.

So today’s takeaway:

1. Listen carefully.
2. Don’t project your sarcasm at full stadium volume.
3. And if someone hands you a specimen cup, clarify the location before making an announcement.

Although judging by the laughter in that waiting room, I may have provided the best entertainment they’ve had since the kiosks were removed.

And for the record — everything’s flowing just fine.