I am not amused. I know the things I write about are usually things that make everyone laugh but they are getting a little old. No laughing coming from my corner. Again, someone asked me if I make this sh##t up, and again: "No, I don't."
The work saga has been a continuing story. The uniformed men at the fingerprinting place might not have been FBI, but who were they? Well, good question actually, they flashed something in my face but I was too busy considering my imminent torturous death to focus on what they showed me. For all I know they were Costco ID cards.
I remind myself of my friend T's family who years ago just had ALL THE BAD LUCK. I mean it was unbelievable: They threw away all Christmas gift cards on accident, had a water leak, etc. When they finally decided to leave (as in move out of town, get out of here) they crashed their moving van. No joke. We decided we should probably stay away from them, maybe just chat on the phone, you know, from afar.
So, after my fingerprinting ordeal I decided to stay home for the rest of the week. Except that this was a stupid decision to make and I left to get TB tested the next morning. I had had the choice between going downtown to the health district or going back to Dr. B who could see me right here in BC. So convenient. Easy choice. I dressed up fancy, because even though I have kicked Dr. B to the curb as my boyfriend, he hasn't seen me in over 9 months. If he asked me about my headache I could say "Yes, jerk- still have it and no one in the house is playing baseball anymore- so THERE." If he asked me about PCOS I could say "Yes, jerk- still have it, but contrary to your negative predictions I have lost 40 of those stupid pounds. So, take that." I was ready.
Then, because this is my life we are talking about after all, things didn't work out as planned exactly. The soft spoken male nurse- Keith (whom I immediately dubbed Cowboy Keith and the visual you get is exactly true to life and it is the weirdest marriage of life choice and profession) sat me down and while I stared at his mullet started asking me some questions. He was describing in great detail how he was going to stick this needle under my skin and inject me and just kept making me squirm. I decided to change the subject to ANY subject and while flailing around visually landed my eyes on the peculiar drawings on the wall. The wall itself was painted peach and there were numerous stencils of winding grapevines, little girls with round faces walking on meadows with little pouncy dogs, colorful butterflies mingling with flying unicorns in woody forests, little brown bunnies frolicking in Easter baskets.
To change the subject I briefly contemplated asking him how he felt about living in 2011 with a mullet but then I opted to go with the presumed safer comment of: " Wow, that's quite some art work on these walls, huh?"
"Isn't it beautiful? My wife painted these 18 years ago."
"Huh? Your wife? What is you connection to this office? I have never seen you here before."
"Well, she wasn't my wife 17 years ago. She painted this while she was the head nurse for Dr. B along with his wife."
"Dr B has a wife?" Upsetting, even in my fantasy love life do I like to keep things clean.
"Ex-wife."
"Hmm, lots of ex-wives being talked about."
"Well, she is my wife now."
"His ex-wife?"
"No, the head nurse. Former head nurse. Now she runs an office in Henderson."
"Great."
"She is a bit of a celebrity around here."
"Oh yeah?"
"She was the first woman in BC to have triplets, 17 years ago."
"Fantastic."
"They live with us."
"Oh, they are from her EX-husband?"
"Yes. He lives with us, too."
"Who?"
"The ex-husband."
"Your life is confusing."
"My kids from my first marriage live with us, too."
"You are exhausting me."
"That's probably your nerves."
"No, your stories."
"I know, I come to work to relax."
"So, can we focus on what's really important here- Dr.B's bachelorhood."
"Huh?"
"Well, he is divorced you say?"
"Yeah, twice. Currently married."
"Damn."
"What? Did I hurt you with the needle?"
"What? Oh, yeah, sure."
"Done."
"What do you mean? Doesn't the doctor have to sign off on this? Isn't he coming in?"
"No, you are lucky. You are all set."
Lucky? What about this makes me lucky? Seriously, if you ever hear of me going back to that office punch me, please.
Now, stay tuned for the story coming soon of how after all this prep I had no work permit.
