I hated Fisher. Fisher was the pediatrician I saw as a small girl. I despised that bright red door that led to his office. The man gave frequent shots. He also humiliated, degraded, and embarrassed children. There was a look of delight on his face when he examined a nude child. Upon leaving his office, the secretary gave each one of us a sucker. I remembered always feeling that this candy was not half compensation for what I endured. One day I was walking down the road, and my mind wandered to that vile man. I was becoming overwhelmed in thought and with rage. I decided to go see him. I walked three miles out of the way to arrive at that red door. I entered and saw people in chairs, though I paid little attention to them. I knew they were aware that I was out to make trouble. I approached the desk boisterously, feeling like a monster. The secretary was petrified. She was shaking. I could practically see her heart beating out of control. But she was able to use her wits. She handed me a sucker. I took the orange candy, turned around, and left. On my walk back, I wondered why I accepted that meaningless token. I had my chance to trash the place. Maybe I felt sorry for the woman. As for Fisher himself, he died at age 90, and I never got to avenge myself on him.