The queue was rather long, the place already crowded even before the clinic opened. But, having come from UP, where people line up for days to pay for tuition, I was not to be discouraged. After asking further directions, I was instructed to go to another clinic, and upon arriving, I got a number. I should be called in a few moments, said the nurse.
I talked with people beside me. A lady was bitten by a dog on her finger. This was the second time she was getting anti-rabies injections. A teen, accompanied by his worried mother, was also bitten by a dog. Knowing something about rabies, after having been harassed by wretched dogs myself (thrice, I tell you!), I asked them if these supposedly rabid canines showed weird behavior. They were intently listening, and I sensed in them a need for some assurance that things will be well in the end.
It then occurred to me that somehow, I was in the wrong line again. The people around me were getting anti-rabies shots, and what was my supposed complaint?
A small, inconspicuous wart in my index finger.
On hindsight, I should've dressed like this and sought psychiatric help.
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