I’VE NOTICED A DISTURBING TREND. I’ll not accuse the addendum health care helpers going all Beelzebub. However. At the very least, they’re flirting with ninja.

Chiropractic. Dental. The Mayo Clinic’s crack Walk-In Brain Surgery Unit. Heavens. Even the darn veterinarians. Why are all health-related staffs suddenly wearing black? You or your pet go in for a fang cleaning or weekly colonoscopy and everybody’s dressed up like they’re going to a funeral in a Star Wars movie.

Wearing black? It doesn’t give the patient much hope.

Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but, I miss the more optimistic jelly bean colors of a nurse or X-ray technician’s uniform. Like the old Trix cereal colors of raspberry red, lemon yellow and orange orange, these happy hues convey the message that, yes, there’s better than a 50-50 chance you might get out of the office alive after mending a paper cut.

Maybe it’s not that bad. It’s not like you drop into Urgent Care with a sprained ankle you got doing the Macarena at your hot yoga class (259-1000 for your Signal home delivery subscriptions, comes with 3 free hot yoga classes, taught by a recently divorced cougar with low self-esteem, offer limited while supplies last).

You limp into Emergency, in obvious pain, going, “Ow! Ouch! Eeeesh! Cripes that hurts!

The glass door swings open. Out steps an orderly, six stern nurse practitioners, two Green Beret medics and 37 insurance specialists to scold that no matter what’s wrong with you, your plan won’t cover it, your personal physician in a lab coat with —

Not Really A MD

But Played One In

Community Theater

stenciled on the back, a police dog, a fetching candy striper, a federal translator to convert your plan’s language from Tongan to Swedish and the little Geico lizard.

They’re all dressed in cheap, all-black polyester Jiffy Lube uniforms.

Solemnly, they all starting singing a 16th century Gregorian funeral chant.

**MICK JAGGER —** who some of the old staff members at John Boston Books tell us was more of a rock singer than a nurse. / *image courtesy of catawiki*

Instead of that tepid elevator music to depress you in the waiting room, the next step will be you hearing Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones belt out, “Paint It Black.”

Ah, the Hefty Garden & Leaf Plastic Trash Bag look.

This wearing of black scrubs isn’t the best PR overture to the public. It recollects the classic Monty Python comedy skit where the British cast solemnly rolls a Black Plague death wagon filled with corpses. Ringing a bell and stumbling hut to hut, they tragically yell out, “BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!!”

Now that my only friend in the medical profession (Nurse Chris Allensworth) has retired, I have zero pull over even at a homeless clinic. Still. Next April Fool’s, it’d be a dandy prank to get some pals (or candy stripers) and dress up as Dark Ages peasants. We’d solemnly push the squeaky Black Plague Cart, on giant, wooden wheels through some hospital’s floors and call for patients whose deductibles have lapsed.

On the bright side, at least until the November elections, we’re not under the ISIS strict interpretation of Sharia law where women must be covered, head to toe, in black. Face mask or football helmet doesn’t work for me. Hard of hearing. Couldn’t understand the nurse when she said, “Lay off the two quarts of Baskin Robbins Mocha Almond Fudge before bedtime, buster” from behind the burka.

This is off topic, but did you know they used to film an old Sharia/Rodeo-Themed Western here in my home town of Newhall, California, back in the 1960s?

Yup.

It was called, “Stony Burka.”

Sorry. Anyway. Where were we?

Maybe this new, universal fashion change is because no matter if you’re tall, short, fat or thinner than bowling alley public restroom toilet paper, black has a flattering effect on one’s figure. Worked for Elvis. Until he died. On the potty.

Why, suddenly, the black unis for health care staff? It can’t be everyone’s auditioning for the Canyon Theater Guild’s production of Ingmar Bergman’s 1957 Swedish mournful classic, The Seventh Seal.Again? Bad optics.

**EVEN MY ENDOCRINOLOGIST,** Dr. Seymour Muerta, has taken up wearing all black. / *image courtesy of “The 7th Seal,” Ingie Bergman and a Swedish film distribution company whose name we can’t even begin to spell…*

“Hi! Are you here for teeth cleaning or would you like to read for the Bengt Ekerot part in a black hoodie robe as the character, Death, who plays Max Von Sydow in chess for his immortal soul?” asks the peppy receptionist behind the Plexiglas screen.

Forget the patients. What about the poor staff, forced to wear all black and they’re dandruff sufferers? Dandruff sufferers. Are they the latest DEI/Victim hiring category eager to file a workman’s comp lawsuit?

I’m not sure what our health providers are trying to accomplish with this mandatory Goth look. Are they pretending they work at a pricey Melrose Avenue clothing boutique that sells black Wranglers for $2,599.00? Is this some lame attempt to cheat the sick out of their Halloween candy?

**HISTORY IS RESPLENDENT WITH NURSES —** who dressed in all black. Above, this is Joan of Arc’s sister, Nurse Arc. */ image courtesy of Magnific*

Not that anyone asked me, but, what about dressing staff in furry puppy suits? I always feel much better around puppies, don’t you? A fetching, come-hither, “…there-there, honey, why don’t you point to exactly where it hurts” nurse in high heels, baby doll voice and non-black nylons would lift my spirits. A nurse, dressed as an ex-wife, would have the absolute opposite effect, but, that’s just me.

If anyone’s taking suggestions, I’d like the gal who runs the MRI machine to dress up like Annie. Not Annie Oakley. Again, guns & ammo, the Unspoken Death Metaphor. I’m talking Annie, the impish Broadway stage, comic book little redhead heroine. Little Orphan Annie.

As I’m being rolled into the atomic scanning machine, the nice, young MRI lady would throw out her arms and belt out, con gusto —

“The sun’s gonna come out, tomorrow… come what may. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! It’s only, a day, a-waaaayyy…”

**NO MATTER WHAT COLOR A NURSE IS WEARING —** Let us take a moment to salute the hard-working medicine helpers all across America and developing countries who speak with a fetching and breathy, “…there-there — show me wear it hurts” voice. / *image courtesy of John Boston Books Nurse’s Office and just about any place on the Internet where fine art featuring wanton nurses are displayed.*

I have to be honest. When I started composing this think piece, my lower back was aching a little.

Now?

After having a tech (a girl tech) in tap dancing shoes, short skirt and farmer’s daughter non-black blouse sing to me, I’m actually feeling much, much better, thank you…