I tried out a new chiropractor this week, and if you know me, you know that I am fiercely devoted to my bi-monthly visit to the beloved chiropractor. But as I mentioned, this was my first visit to this particular chiropractor. I thought of it as a bit of a "test-drive". So off I went. I parked in the back parking lot, and because I'm a genuis, I walked around the building to enter in through the front door. I opened the door, and at first I wondered if they were closed and had forgotten to lock up. There were no lights on, and nobody at the receptionist's desk, but there appeared to be light coming from an exam room down the hall, so I ambled down only to find myself at the back of the building where I had originally started out from. There was the chiropractor, adjusting a patient, so I sat down in the waiting room, filled out my paperwork, and waited. Soon enough, it was my turn. We chatted for a bit about my medical history, and he seemed pleasant enough. He was very enthusiastic and spoke in a very smooth, melodic voice, and was quite excited when he found out I was a former gymnast. He exclaimed,"Oh, I LOVE adjusting gymnasts!" Um, okay. Weird. Moving on...I laid face down on the table, and he procured a strange-looking device that somewhat resembled an iron, as in something to iron your clothes with. Except this "iron" looked like it had a small, green, leather jacket on. It turned out to be a massager thingy. So he diligently "ironed" my back and shoulders for a few minutes at an alarming rate of speed, telling me the whole time it was going to relax my muscles before the adjustment. Fine. I'm relaxed. Kind of. Then it was adjustment time. He proceeded to adjust every single muscle, joint, cartilage he possibly could, and very aggressively. He then tried to pull my head off of my body, not once, not twice, but three time. I was just about to say, "Yeah, that's attached," but mercifully, he stopped. Then he pulled out the iron again, and ironed away, chatting all the while about my muscles. Then he tried to pull my legs off, but to no avail. He then procured another tool, and this nifty little gadget resembled a rather small jackhammer. He hammered away for a bit and I nearly kicked him after it hit a reflex area in my back. I almost burst out laughing at this point, but I was determined to see this adjustment through, due to the fact that it was turning into one of the most bizarre doctor's appointments I had ever had in my entire life. He continued to chat away about my muscles and how one of my legs is shorter than the other and that was because of my hips, etc. And then, just like that, we were done, and he was continuing to chatter in a soft, almost hypnotic, tone of voice about hiking trails. He disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a piece of paper and a pen. He began to draw, if one could call it that, various maps and directions to trails. He talked almost nonstop and scrawled away in what appeared to be ancient Sanskrit. "Yes, this trail is very nice, you go up to Englewood, turn right, go up the hill," he cooed, "and you can park right here, and the trail is off to your left," and here he made an abrupt stop, looked straight at me, and said in a completely different tone of voice, "Snakes." "Snakes?" I queried. "Yes. There are occasionally rattlers." "Oh, my." I said, because I didn't know what else to say. He then launched right back into daydream mode, took 10 minutes to draw three more trails (which I did appreciate, and I even saved the paper, even though I can barely decipher it. It's the thought that counts.) I said thank you, paid him, and walked back to my car. That was Friday. As I type this, it is Sunday afternoon, and my body is telling me that I need to try a different chiropractor. Preferably one that doesn't use a small jackhammer.