Wednesday, March 4, 2015

So, maybe later

I like the professionals who suggest options, with one of them some variation of the "Let's wait a couple of months and worry about it then,  Maybe it will be different."   I chose that option over the definitive but invasive visit to the core of my being--carnally speaking.

My vital signs are terrific, so I am pretty sure all else is just a misunderstanding of some kind.   However, I do plan to get a bigger car to compensate for ill formed, smaller than normal reds.   Remember Red China?   Of course.

But who remembers Red Rhode Island?  No one.  See my point?

Probably not, but trust me, there is one, either contained within the lines, or between them.

I may have yelled at the lady at the information desk who wears a mask.  At first I thought it was to avoid disease.  Now I realize it is to hide her identity because she's a terrorist.  A 95 year old female terrorist.

The bureaucratic maze that is this complex leaves people other than myself, even employees, at a loss when trying to discern the route between here and there, or even where there is.   So, there is a huge, semi circular desk, in front of a woman sitting on a raised chair, sort of like a judge.   She is wearing a mask.

"May I help you?"
"Where is imaging, x ray?"
Do you have an appointment?
I don't know, I just came from upstairs, Dr. Dracula ordered the tests, and they said to go but I am not sure of the directions given me. Just need to go there.
Where is your paper work?
I give her something, but it is not her job.  She wants to start calling to see if I really have authority to go to this xray place.

Do people crash x rays ordered for others?  Do they sneak in and make mischief?

I reached over and grabbed my papers and was trying to leave.  I got there eventually.  The masked matron was nuts.  I'm pretty sure she must have escaped from the psych ward, and she commandeered the information desk while real employees were at lunch.  No one would pay this terrorist shrew.

I felt the disapproving look of strangers while I angrily asked her to please just not involve herself in my business and forget I asked her anything.  I may have said, without thinking, "Hey the last thing I need is a fucking moron calling different departments causing more bureaucratic idiocy than we already have.  No more idiotic bureaucrats need to be involved."  Words to that effect, including an expletive or two.

It didn't dawn on me until later that she was an escaped lunatic.  I would have played along better.

Oh well.


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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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