Strip

You look around for some kind of privacy screen. There isn’t one and the nurse is staring at you impatiently.

“I’m going to see everything anyways,” she says, plainly irritated, “just take off your clothes so we can get it over with.”

You shrug and start unbuttoning your shirt. You’ve never been shy about your body. It is a little awkward, but if the nurse wants to see you naked, your not going to object. You drop your shirt into a bin plainly labeled “patient property” and push your pants and underwear down together, hoping that will keep the nurse from seeing the lacy, pink panties you’re wearing instead of regular briefs. Judging by the smirk on her face, you aren’t successful.

When you are standing in the buff, shivering a little in the cold, the nurse directs you to an odd stall you hadn’t noticed in the corner. It looks like a mix of a shower stall meets airport security scanner.

“Put your feet on the yellow x’s and face the wall with your hands over your head. Thank you.”

An odd, blue light sweeps up and down your body several times before the nurse speaks again. “Alright, you can climb out now. Go ahead and take a seat and I’ll go get the doctor.”

“Can I put my clothes back on?” you ask. Little you really does not the air conditioning.

“No,” she responds tersely before leaving the room.