Note: I researched and wrote this article for Zug.com, before they evolved into mediashower.com. This article is true and accurate, except for some joking, which should be obvious.

I don't take a lot of medicine, because I don't believe in it. Those tiny pills, what could possibly be in there? Wishes? Angels? Did Willy Wonka cram an entire meal into a tiny pill? No. That's impossible. Medicine is for suckers.

In this article I answer the question and describe the process: How hardis it to get Viagra in California?

Finally, a bounty of holiday vacation days moved this project onto the front burner. It was time to set this plan into action.

Step 1. Getting the Viagra Appointment
First up, Viagra. I called Kaiser and asked for an appointment regarding sexual impotence. Thousands of Viagra commercials had urged me to take this step. Ask your doctor! Ask your doctor! Get the horses out of the trailer and pull your truck out of the mud! This is the age of knowing how to make things happen™! Come on!

The boner police at Kaiser hospital let me know it wasn't going to be that easy. Before I could schedule an appointment with a urologist, I'd have to take a class. Impotence class! In a classroom full of people! Terrific! Why share my humiliating deficiency with one M.D. when I can share it with a whole class?

The two-hour class at Kaiser was only given one time per month.

She gave me the room number and a few details, "Unfortunately women are not allowed in the class, so your partner will have to wait outside if she is with you. Be sure to arrive 15 minutes early. They may lock the doors at 6 p.m."

I marked my calendar.

Step 2. The Impotence Class at Kaiser
A few days later, I rushed home from work to attend the impotence class. I wanted to make sure I had enough time to get my business suit on, because I might as well look impotent. I braced myself for a long, awkward meeting in a room full of old men that didn't want to make eye-contact with one another.

The class was in Room 2 in the basement of the hospital, the same room as the vasectomy class from last year. That's right, I only go to the hospital for my genitals.

Inside the room were 16 men, mostly in their 50s. A few were younger, who I regarded as drug-resale entrepreneurs or fellow investigative reporters. Everyone was waiting for the class to begin, occupying themselves. One guy had a Kindle, another guy was wearing suspenders. I guess he had a problem keeping his pants up.

This was not the place for small talk. I quietly thanked God that I didn't know anyone in the room.

At 6:06 pm, no instructor had arrived and I was itching to leave. I guess my fake moustache disguise was wool.

At 6:08, a dozen men and two women entered from behind an accordion barrier and sat down at the far table. They had been waiting in the other part of the divided room, but joined us when they realized we were all there for the same class, which wasn't happening. This broke the ice and everyone started complaining about the lack of a teacher. One guy in particular made it clear that no women were supposed to be in the class, and then made a special effort to tell us that he didn't personally care.

I didn't mind having the women there, as long as they weren't sexy enough to blow my story about impotence.

Time passed. No one showed up. No one knew anything.

After 10 more minutes of waiting, and a call to the hospital operator, it became obvious that no one was going to show up to teach the class. There was cursing.

We filed out into the parking lot, where I realized that impotence touched men from all socioeconomic backgrounds: One of the men drove a Hummer, another piloted a Cummings diesel truck. A third drove a Ford Probe. These were the only penis-related car names I could come up with.

At this point, on the drive home, I was starting to think that it was going to be hard to get Viagra. Definitely.

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