There is no intuition or preconceived notion that can survive five minutes of open conversation. The room filled quickly. Patients and drivers. Patients’ heads hung slightly having survived the indignity of prepping and preparing for one type of scope or another to penetrate their intensely private places. I was a driver. We drivers acted like golf caddies. We gave unwanted counsel laced with banal encouragement. We carried the stuff – bags of personal items and clothes our patient had exchanged for those sought-after gowns with the open back and a single tie at the neck. Drivers are there to serve but not much actual work is required. So the bulk of our time was given to averting our eyes while we judged the others filling the waiting room. Using clandestine glances and surreptitious eavesdropping, I built a mental story about the folks in the room – stories, like most judgments, that were devoid of doubt. I’m r...