It’s crazy how hard it is to get an appointment with a chiropractor while on the road. The smaller the town, the harder it seems to be. They have limited hours and/or aren’t taking new patients. Those that are taking new patients want to have an expensive first visit with x-rays. I explain to them I’m only in town for a day, been seeing a chiropractor for going on 30 years, and I just need a simple adjustment.

I was in dire need for an adjustment while we were in West Texas. I made a bunch of phone calls the day before, knowing we would be in town the next day and finally landed a guy that could help me. He had an opening at 2:45pm. The cost would be a steep $80 for a first time patient. The office was less than 15 minutes from our campsite. Perfect.

The next day I left the campsite at 2:30pm. I was following the annoying girl’s voice on my iPhone. After four weeks on the road I was sick of listening to her. She had me turn left off the main drag into a sketchier part of town. Two stop signs later she said you’ve reached your destination. The hell you say, I didn’t see it. One problem was there were no easily seen address numbers on the buildings. I parked the truck and started walking around. If it were later in the evening I’m sure people would’ve thought I was looking for drugs. Finally I saw the Chiropractic Clinic sign.

I opened the door and walked into the 1970s. The office had wood paneling and two macrame plant hangers with Boston ferns. There were framed needlepoint scriptures on the wall. The receptionist gal was behind a worn out formica counter, I couldn’t tell you the color, but it looked ugly to me. On the wall above the counter were the rates in one of those old black felt letter boards with white letters and numbers. Plain as day, $80 first visit, $70 thereafter. At least I knew he wasn’t just screwing the out of town guy, he was screwing everyone.

I didn’t catch the receptionist name, but she fit the part. A platinum blonde with a semi-beehive, cat eye glasses, sleeveless blouse, and dark slacks. In a soft voice she said, “You must be Greg Harris.” 

Being as we were in Texas, my response was, “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

She handed me a clipboard and asked that I please fill it out. It was the shortest medical form ever. I handed it back to her and she said, “Hun, the doctor will be right with you soon.”

I took a seat and could hear muffled voices, then the creak of a door opening and a guy bellowing, “You ain’t got no Messican? Hell, what’s wrong with you boy?”

“Well I had a good one, he could even weld, but he went home.”

“Well damn boy, get yourself another one.”

The guy yelling about Messicans was the chiropractor. I was thinking welcome to West Texas, Greg. He was a burly good ol’ boy, dressed more for mending fences, than being a chiropractor. He had on Wrangler jeans, a faded black t-shirt, and cowboy boots. The receptionist handed him my clipboard.

“Aw right, Mr. Harris come on back.” He glanced at the clipboard. “California huh, that state was aw right until that pretty boy Gavin Newsom ruined it. I’ve actually been there once, years ago. Me and the missus went to Sonoma.”

“Nice, you must’ve been wine tasting.”

“Ha, tasting my ass, we was drinking. It was in September and my god the weather was perfect. Better than it has ever been in this shitty town. That’s why everyone wants to move to California, for the weather. How’s San Diego?”

“It’s very nice. I love it.”

“Well, it gots itself a military presence, so it’s probably not that bad. So what’s going on with your back?”

I gave him the history, how I’m no stranger to chiropractic care. He asked detailed questions about about the type of adjustments I’ve had, he then proceeded to give me his spiel:

“I’m an old school guy. My granddaddy was a chiropractor right here in this town. Nowadays everyone is afraid of being sued, so a lot of chiropractors aren’t forceful with their adjustments. No special tools here just the table and me doing the manipulation. Are you ready to get started?”

“Let’s do it!”

He had me step onto the vertical table, then he lowered the top until it was horizontal. He put some Bengay into his hands, rubbed his palms together, then put his hand under my shirt and rubbed my back muscles. I’m not a fan of the Bengay smell. Deep breath, exhale, a sudden forceful push by him and my upper back cracked. Again, same sequence and my mid back cracked. It felt great. 

The next position was on my side so he could adjust my lower back. I told him not to yank my bad shoulder, it was an old high school football injury. Then he told me all about his high school football days, right in this town, and all the damage it did to his body. I was thinking, why is this guy talking so much to me?

On to the neck adjustment. He had me sit on the table. “You ever look in the mirror? All you see is yourself, right?”

I was just staring at the guy, no doubt with a puzzled look on my face.

“That’s all you have is yourself, especially after your parents pass. A little over five years ago I lost both my parents within two months of each other. My sister is a worthless slut and my younger brother fell into the bottom of a bottle, so it was all on me. I had to handle the burials, bills, sell the house, and pay off their debts. It was hard and truth be told I was down and low, really low. I was not doing well. It was too much. One night a guy gave me some crystal meth, that was my escape. It felt good but I got hooked bad. I was addicted for five years. I lost my wife and three kids. The medical board just gave me my license back four months ago. Look at me, I’m only 50 but look like I’m 70. Crystal ravages your body. I’m clean now and determined to get my wife and kids back.” 

The only thing I could think of to say was, “Good luck, I hope you stay clean.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need luck, I have the lord by my side now.” And then he finally adjusted my neck and on a dime changed the conversation.

“I’m a foodie. I’d love to go to San Francisco and visit China town. If I could make all the traffic in Los Angeles disappear I would go there for a month. I would dine out every meal and also check out all the food trucks. I would try every ethnic food. That’s my dream, but I’m stuck here in this complete food wasteland of a town”

Then he switched to yet another topic. “Every chiropractor worth his salt has a signature adjustment. An old feller in Laredo taught me it. You up for trying it?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, lay on your back on the table. Relax, don’t worry I know what I’m doing.”

He then put a wide leather belt around my neck. Yes, I was a bit freaked out. I can’t remember if he tilted the table up or down, there was a quick tug on the belt and my whole spine popped.

I yelled, “Wow! That felt incredible.”

He was so pleased with himself, sporting a big ear to ear grin.

The End