I was in the waiting room of my doctor's office the other day and there was one other guy in there. Pretty ghetto lookin' dude, slouched in his seat a couple of chairs down from me, not looking hard, obviously in distress.
After hiccuping several times, he let out this exasperated sigh and said, "Maaan, these damn things just won't go away. I already been to the doctor once and he told me to eat two teaspoons of sugar, but that shit didn't do shit. *HICCUP* Maaaaan, I dunno WHAT I'm gonna do. These things is driving me CRAZY, man! I been hiccuping for like a week!!"
"Try holding your breath and then swallowing three times," I offered. "Sounds easy I know, but trust me, the third gulp is tough. Once you get it, though, you'll be cured."
He gave me a little snicker as if to say, "You're crazy if you think THAT shit's gonna work."
"Seriously," I said, "try it."
Then I went back to reading a November issue of Sports Illustrated (you can always count on the doctor's office to help catch you up on last season's sports news). After reading for about 10 minutes, and then getting up to fill out some forms and talk to the receptionist, I sat back down.
The ghetto dude was sitting up in his seat cracking a little smile.
"What?" I said, curious.
"I still haven't hiccuped," he said with a smirk and a nod.
"You did the thing I told you?"
"Yeah, I got the third one down. …Maaaaan, I can't believe they had me eatin' all these teaspoons of SUGAR, DOGG! I HATE SUGAR!!"
"So you're all cured?" I said, as he stood up to put on his coat and hat.
"Yeah, fuck this place, I'm outta here. Thanks dogg." And with a quick fist bump, he left.
Five minutes later, the nurse came out. "DeSean Anderson?"
"Oh, I fixed him up already. How bout Court Sullivan?"
True story.
I should have been a hiccup doctor.