As a hospital waiting room connoisseur I thought I'd seen just about everything. Internets, I have to tell you I was wrong. I hadn't seen everything until yesterday. That's the day I saw everything.

There I was jammed into the outpatient waiting room at the Baylor Surgical Hospital in Fort Worth. It was mixed group. Different ages, genders, ethnicities and affiliations to whomever they were waiting on.

You've seen the scene. People come through the surgical waiting room double-doors dazed and often a little emotional after sending a loved one off to be sliced open. At first they're quiet, almost reverent. Then, they find a comfortable place to sit down and set up camp.

These waiting rooms usually have magazines older than the people reading them. I understand from the reading material I've seen in these waiting areas that MAN HAS LANDED ON THE MOON and that our beloved PRESIDENT LINCOLN was assassinated at Ford's Theater. See what you miss when you let your subscription to LIFE MAGAZINE expire? Jeez.

Most hospital waiting rooms now have televisions. That's a good thing. It's also a bad thing. I've seen some really crappy daytime TV and plenty of talking heads. You never know what station will be playing in the waiting room. You're just as likely to get the local NBC affiliate as you are The History Channel. It's video roulette.

That's why I wasn't surprised when the TV in Baylor's waiting room was dialed into FOX NEWS.

I know what you're thinking Boomers. You're saying, "Bob, you're in the SOUTH where people cling to guns and religion. What did you think they'd be watching, the TONY AWARDS?!"

Then I'd be all, "Hey, I expected FOX NEWS, but I didn't expect what happened next. As the writers of Genesis probably said -- LET ME TELL MY FRIGGIN STORY."

I'm sitting there wearing my noise-cancelling headphones listening to Miles Davis on my iPod Touch when it happened. Glen Beck, America's answer to Howard Beal (don't tell me, you've never seen the movie Network) came on FOX. I couldn't hear him because I,  A) didn't want to; and B) was listening to Miles' mournful trumpet wail on Generique.

I halfway expected the waiting room to stop talking, put down their vending machine Doritos and (no kidding) Zip Lock bags of diced pineapple and hang on his every word. Beck, not wanting to disappoint, did what he does best. He got out his trusty chalkboard and began diagramming how President Obama was most likely a direct descendant of Satan.

He serves the same steaming plate of crap every day. And since people must like it, I figured I'd just move to a back corner so I wouldn't have to see the spectacle. Van Morrison was up next on my playlist and I'd rather listen to Gloria than watch Beck.   

Just as I was packing up to move, something caught my eye. The TV flickered and the channel changed. Without warning, the waiting room TV screen went from Glen Beck to Samantha Stevens. Beck had been Beswitched!

Gone were the crazy conspiracy-theory diagrams. In their place was a washed-out color episode featuring Darren, Samantha and Endora. Noses twitched. Plants moved. The surgical waiting room was hip-deep in harvest gold appliances and avocado green office phones.

TV Land had wiggled its cute little nose and the sitcom was back in charge. It wasn't exactly Masterpiece Theater, but the crowd in the waiting room was pleased with the choice. 

As I got up to leave I looked up at the TV one last time. Sam was teaching Darren an important lesson about money, or witchcraft or auto repair...not really sure.  I was, however, absolutely sure of one thing and I said it under my breath as I exited through the double-doors:  

 ANOTHER SOUTHERN STEREOTYPE SHOT TO HELL.

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