I woke up last Saturday morning to the glorious realization that I had the day off. (Though days off should really be called “days on” if you know what I’m saying) I had my spin class, my tub needed a bleach treatment, and there was this box of Crest Whitening Strips that was calling my name.
I make my way to the kitchen for my French Vanilla Slim-Fast. I pop open the top and stare out the window into the blue sky and think “Screw spin class. I’m getting an abortion.”
I know this is a little weird, but I’m one of these pro-abortion women. Yes, I get it. It’s sort of a negative term these days. But it’s who we are. We adore…ADORE…like really, really enjoy getting abortions. And it’s hard now, with all of those guys out there who insist on wearing condoms. And then when the condom breaks and we get pregnant, all they want to do is raise the child, pay for the child, send the child to college. And then all the government wants to do is pay for like…a doctor. But this was my day off. And I said to myself, let’s do something that makes me feel better about who I am.
I caught the subway down to Planned Parenthood in the East Village. Of course, there was a line. So I write my name down on the “Walk Ins” clipboard and took a seat. Then I make my way to the cappuccino bar. Only to find out…there was no cappuccino bar. But no worries. I had a Milk Chocolate Slim-Fast in my bag.
So I wait for 20 minutes. And then 30. Then an hour. Finally, I turn to the woman next to me and ask her how long she’s been waiting for her abortion. She turns to me and says “Sorry, I’m here for a cervical cancer screening.” I really don’t mean to be rude, but I was under the assumption that Planned Parenthood was for un-weds who liked to fuck without a condom.
And then, these little children of a certain color (that was not white…which is totally fine) start running around my ankles, trying to show me what they just drew in their coloring books. I look at their mother who was smiling like this was a pre-school. I wait a few minutes until I’m pushed over my limit. They honestly kept wanting to talk to me. I snap open my lunch and walk up to the mom. “Do you really think children belong in an abortion clinic?” She smiles and says “We’re here for the free nutrition seminar for toddlers.”
Just then, I spot a man standing in the corner typing on his Blackberry. What are we in 2009? I overhear him tell the nurse he’s here for an HIV test.
At this point I left. I’m sorry to say it out loud, but are no abortion clinics sacred any more? On my way out the door, the lady behind the counter offered me some free condoms. I’m not a mean person, but I looked her square in the eye and said “I’m sorry. I’m a pro-abortionist. And your “organization” here seems to have gotten away from it’s anti-baby roots.” I turned towards the door and then couldn’t help myself. I turned back and pointed my finger and said loudly “I am not going to the back of the bus!” I don’t want to brag, but I did channel a bit of Meryl Streep and Sir Ian McKellan in that moment. Like if they had a kid.
I’m going to find a different establishment for my abortions from now on. Will it be inconvenient? Sure. Seeing as the Planned Parenthood is the cleanest, cheapest, safest and most respectful health care provider in the city.
But what did my Granny always say? She said “Be prepared to work for what you want.” Then she would take a sip of her signature chamomile tea and say “Also, be prepared to go to the back of some guy’s ’89 Taurus in a rat-infested downtown alley if you want an abortion.”