Judge — August 1935 — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Do You Believe In Sinus? By Lorraine Stevens HERE is no known compact defi- nition of a sinus that I have ever heard, but a reasonably brief synopsis of the situation is that it is an acute pain—to your friends. There are two schools of sinus owners: Those who sniff, and those who blow. Blowing is conceded to have its merits, but it lacks the fine sporting hazard of the other. It makes no difference to your friends which you do. They don’t want you around anyway. You may use your knife and fork in the continental manner and know what to do with unstarched asparagus, but if you have a sinus you eat alone. People edge away from you in street cars, and strangers offer to lend you a handker- chief. After a week or so of this your morale buckles and you decide to do something about What you do is call up a nose specialist. Eventually, if your courage holds out and you can remember the address, you find yourself among your own kind in the doctor’s waiting room. The waiting room of a nose specialist may never get itself pictured in House Beautiful, but it is not without its di- versions, at that. There is a spirit of slightly macabre rivalry in it. It is the breeding place of more rank competi- tion than you can find in the waiting room of any other specialist, except pos- sibly that of an obstetrician, HE novice, on being ushered into the waiting room, snakes out a copy of the Literary Digest and looks bew dered, not to mention a little ill. The old hand at the sinus game sits down with a nice sense of anticipation and waits for someone to cast the first sniff. That first day it was a woman in brown who did it. Not bad, but it lacked resonance. I looked critical and aloof. An old gentleman in the corner and a girl in green came in then with informative bids. Technically good but a little short on authority. Someone on the sofa blew a gentle blast, giving the pleasant effect of deep calling unto deep. The next round it was indubitably my lead, and from then on it was every man for him- self, This harmless game, which is good for the ego, keeps up with variations until your name is called. The doctor, who wears a long white coat, a head mirror, and a disillusioned expression doesn’t remember having seen you before. This is not to be brooded over, and doesn’t mean that you're not one of the Personality Girls, Nose specialists never remember faces. They don’t have to. They know you'll be back. He said, “Well, well, well! You don't look as though there were anything wrong with you.” This was chivalry carried to the point of fanaticism. he thought I really looked as well as that, one of us should consult a psy chiatrist. At this point etiquette comes in. would be so simple to say, “Pardon me, but I’ve got a peach of a sinus here.” But it isn't done that way. You're not supposed to know what you've got. It’s to be a pleasant surprise to both of you. The amateur digresses here and re- cites symptoms. But the old-timer knows a short cut. I said, “I'm not sure what I've got, but it goes like this”: and I produced one of the sound effects that had made the public turn green. It was then that I knew I had captured the Maestro’s attention. He was in the presence of a great arti: and a slight hush fell on the room. = PLUNGED the room into dark- H ness and went prospecting with a flashlight. He struck gold almost im- mediately. He said, “Does that hurt When I could speak in T said, “Ye: Then he called in a few of his litle playmates and went prospecting again. I felt as private as a love letter in the tabloids. Then, the feature apparently being over, the lights were turned on in, and the audience filed out, leaving me speculating as to whether I had been the educational short or merely the comedy. The doctor smiled reassuringly at me. He said, “You've got a sinus.” I looked flabbergasted. He said, “ involved.” We beamed at each other It was a matter for mutual congratula- tion. Then he said, “We may as well do the puncture right now . “4 Right here things went a litle stark A puncture takes it right into the realm of grim reality. I said with what I hoped was sweet reasonableness that I wa ing any, thank you, It n't bum sportsmanship on my part. In the not-too-distant past I had had twenty-odd—very odd—punctures, and when they were over I could have doubled for any known brand of Swiss cheese. Again I said “ After a while he began to believe me. He called in the boys from the back room and we held a conference. Then they felt I was a false note in the meeting, so they held it in another room. Th held it in Macy’s basement for all T cared. All I knew was that they could blast or amputate, if they wanted, but no punc- Both sides are = They didn’t think much but I thought it was a knockout. 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