The OBGYN floor of the Longmont clinic is a lovely place. The lab floor, which I had to visit after my appointment today, is Hell on Earth. No, really. It's like staring death in the mouth. It smells like a burning Stouffer's broccoli casserole. I don't know why I know that smell. Probably a repressed memory. There's a large, dark, stain circle on the floor. One has to assume it's blood. When asked when he was born, the man in front of me said 1919. NINETEEN NINETEEN! And I would say he was the median age of my fellow waiting-room patients. One lady had an entire fifteen minute conversation with herself about her friend Max. Another walked in, rummaged through a stack of newspapers from August, found the one she was looking for and walked out. One man excitedly read aloud from the cover of Sunset magazine, "Tricks to clamming," then exclaimed, "I've always wanted to know how to do that!". The lady in the chair next to me had on a Bronco's sweatshirt, carried a Bronco's purse, and had the Bronco's logo manicured on her nails. There's a sign above the receptionist's desk that reads "No eating, drinking or applying cosmetics in the laboratory area." I would think that it would take many instances of something happening to make a sign saying that it needs to stop. So I guess that many people were trying to apply lipstick and mascara in the laboratory.
Guys, I'm having the weirdest week.
Perhaps you should try clamming! I find it very relaxing this time of year.
ReplyDeleteThe problem is that he couldn't actually find the article in the magazine. Or else I would have volunteered to go with him.
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