Ugliness, STDs and pregnancy-Cayman's greatest fears

So it is finally time to start getting my working permit in order. Not that I have any gaurantee of a job, but at least it gives me something to do during the day! First off was the photo lab. Caymanians are not embarrassed to admit that they hire based on appearance and skill. On all of my teaching resumes I have had to include a photo. If you are ugly then you can't work. End of story. So wearing my most flattering colour I headed off to PhotoPharm to get my pictures done. After 5 minutes I left, receipt in hand and stunned. Perhaps the most timely transaction ever made on the island.
Next up was the medical forms. Buoyed by this sudden evidence of efficiency I headed to the private hospital. I figured this was a better choice for both cleanliness and efficiency. I was wrong- again. At the main desk, the receptionist looked down her nose at me, no doubt envisioning this parasitic expat taking over her job, and told me in as few words as possible to fill out the book of forms. I sat down and proceeded to document the past three generations of medical history in my family. Once finished she gestured that I was to take a seat further down the hallway and wait for the nurse. I proceeded to the bank of chairs, picked up a 2006 copy of O magazine and waited... and waited and waited. After 25 minutes a nurse came to fetch me and escorted me into a dungeon-like closet to take my measurements. However, as soon as she sat down in her chair, she decided to ask me and record my answers rather than do the work herself. When I told her I didn't know my height, she told me to guess (even though a metre stick was stuck to the wall beside me). Giddy with power I shaved an inch or two off of my waist width and gave a liberal guess as to my weight. Take off an extra ten pounds, don't mind if I do!
After the measurements she took me into the hall, pointed to a tiny window with blinds pulled shut and said " yousa waita here, when dey lif dem blinds, yousa pay and den go do blood lab and x-ray." I positioned myself so I could see the window and waited for the blinds to lift. According to the hall clock it was 15 minutes later when the nurse reappeared and saw me still waiting. "Yousa not paida yet?" I pointed towards the closed blinds. She laughed, took me by the shoulder to the main reception desk out front and told me I could pay there. what!?! Typical. Lining up behind all of the people that used to be behind me was a lesson in patience. $90 later I walked into the lab to get my blood test. A girl of about 16 jabbed the needle into my arm. Along with a good appearance, the Caymans demand that their workers be STD free. Judging by some of the behaviours at the bars on the weekend I am guessing that many expats don't get their work permits renewed... Finally it was on to the x-rays. I checked in with reception only to find that I owed another $35 to get a picture of my lungs. I swallowed my protests and paid the money. As soon as I entered the x-ray chamber the technician asked me if I was pregnant. Always a flattering question for those who are not! I looked at her and confidently answered "no." She narrowed her eyes and said "Are you positively certain that there is no possible way that you are pregnant?" Now that is a scary question, and one that is hard to answer for most women. Is there a possibility... always! But rather than hold up the entire process I stuck to my original answer, which luckily was the correct one based on the results. Back to the nurse for a urine sample now. Apparently they do not trust the x-ray results and like to double-check about the pregnancy issue. I was handed a plastic cup with no labels and told to leave it on the shelf in the restroom. It turns out that the shelf in the restroom is an uneven piece of wood, with numerous cups waiting for analysis. I had visions of a pregnant drug addict switching their sample with mine, but as there was nothing I could do, I was forced to forge on. Finally it was on to the last step; the doctor visit. Dr. Digby turned out to be a nice English woman and we had an interesting conversation about the organs and tissues of the upper body while we looked at my x-ray. Because pregnancy is as undesirable as ugliness and STDs, she did one last abdomen poke to insure I was "pregnancy-free" as she coined it, and signed my forms, telling me to pick them up at reception at 5pm. I left the clinic three hours later, a vial of blood lighter and up to my radiation limit.
At 4:54 I returned to the main reception to get my results. The receptionist from the morning greeted me with her icy stare, looked at the clock and informed me I was 6 minutes early. She nudged her head in the direction of the chairs, where I took a seat to wait. At precisely 5 p.m. she gathered together my sheets, which I had seen sitting on the table behind her, and slid them under her impermeable expat proof window. I was finally free to leave! Work permit application done. One experience I hope I don't need to repeat for at least another 3-6 months!