~Friday~ I was up and logged in to work at 5:30 this morning, and I’d sent three e-mails by 6:00.
At 7:30, I ran out to my doctor’s office to have some lab work done. When I walked into the bathroom where I was to “produce a sample,” my first thought was, “There really needs to be some instructions in here.”
There was a trash can set between the sink and the toilet, and it was about three-quarters full, and as it turned out, fortunately there were no urine sample cups on the top of the pile. Turning to my right I saw a cart with a basket with a black Sharpie in it and the coveted instructions. Next to it, the surface of the cart was filled with little packets of moist sani-wipes.
Fumbling to get my camera out and taking way too long to get a decent picture of it (taking at least four), long enough that I wondered if they were wondering out there what was taking me so long. I had to get a picture of them, because of course I had a couple of thoughts about them that I knew I’d want to share here:
So, the first issue I had, which you may have guessed by now, was that—evidently—someone has re-arranged the place since these instructions were published. Removing anything from between the sink and the toilet at this point would amount to picking something up out of the trash can.
Next, I wondered what a nudist would do with the third step. I mean do nudists have a private area? Somebody needs a lesson in being aware of your audience.
I had a couple of thoughts about the technicality of “mid-stream.” I started to pee. Completely stopped. And then started back up. Would that second start-up count as mid-stream? I mean if the point of catching the sample mid-stream is to let the very first drops pass, they had already passed on the first start.
And finally, the instructions were evidently written for a completely different room, as there was no wood cabinet on the wall. Before going in, I was told to give the sample back to the nurse when I came back out. Get it together people.
Sitting in the chair in which my blood was to be drawn, which is like sitting in a chair like this:
I watched the phlebotomist search around my arm for a vein, and I said, “You shopping girl?” When I got home, I tweeted this:
On the way out, I was fooled by the affordances on the doors. What does this handle scream to you?
PULL! That’s what it screams. Well, there are two sets of these doors to leave the building in which my doctor’s office is in, and the first set you come to, you have to push on those handles to open.
You know what affordance screams PUSH? A flat plate. On the first set of doors those should be a flat panel.
And to add insult to injury, this second set of final doors that you go through, you PULL, as you would normally expect, but by now you’ve been burned, so you PUSH on them to feel the glass vibrate and make a noise as it slams against the jamb. Why???
Back at home, I worked until 11:00, when I drove down to Cup A Joe Mission Valley to meet Anna, Sarah, and Brad and to work from there during lunch. Anna was there when I arrived, and I wished the birthday girl a Happy Birthday with a card and a gift certificate to none other than, Cup A Joe!
Sarah arrived (with Andrew) after a while, and I had a belated card for her as well, with the same gift in it, but unfortunately she didn’t open it until after she’d ordered.
Next Jen arrived, and she and I spent a good half hour or so going through our presentation for UNC CAUSE 2010, and I made notes of things to yet research while she goes back and adds rhetorical value to the presentation with format and style.
In spite of voicemail messages from Anna, Sarah, Andrew and me, Brad didn’t make it before I left at shortly after 1:00.
I worked at home until about 3:30, and Joe arrived at 4:00, when we set off to Wilmington.
During the day, I received this wonderful e-mail from my friend Mary, which of course counts as an affirmation:
| Hi John,
I watched some recent Oprah and Ellen shows where they had Portia deRossi and Ricky Martin on (they both have new books out). Both of them talked about the years they spent hiding their ‘secret’ that they were gay because of the possible repercussions they would have experienced, and how that affected their everyday lives. I wanted to tell you how happy and proud I am of you for living your life as your ‘authentic self’. As a straight person, I cannot comprehend what it must be like to feel one way inside, yet have to live a lie to ‘conform’ with society every day, and to not just get up and be who you are. I love you so much for stepping up way back when and admitting what your true self was, even though it meant stepping away from a marriage and hurting others’ feelings along the way. It’s something that must have been extremely difficult for you, and I admire your courage. I am so grateful that you are my friend. Much love and light to you! Mary |
We had an uneventful ride to Wilmington, and as usual, were pleasantly welcomed to the Quality Inn on Market Street, pretty much our standard place to stay.
Shortly after checking in, we went just a short way up the road and had dinner at an Olive Garden. We sat at the bar, where there were two fun bartenders—Chad and Samantha. They “delayed” one of Joe’s beers, and took a dollar off the price. They charged me the same thing for my “rock” sized drink and my “college” sized one, but Joe posited that they put the same amount of alcohol in both, just more mixer in one in case you don’t like them so strong.
At the end of our dinner, Chad said, “Do you guys want this mudslide?”
After making sure he meant for free, we took it, and it was most delicious. How could a combination of Bailey’s, Kahlua, and amaretto be bad, really???
At 10:30 we headed out to The Toolbox, where it was Latin Night, although there were no Latinos in sight. Up until about 11:30, Latin night consisted of videos playing with Latino singers and groups in them—one in an interesting juxtaposition to Mary’s e-mail— being Ricky Martin. He’s so freaking hot.
One man talked to me there, whom rumor had was a judge, and he said, “What are you looking for here?”
“Looking for? I’m just here to have a drink and watch some music videos. I’m not looking for anything.”
“Everybody’s looking for something,” he said. “I’m looking for sex. And for sex with someone who isn’t from around here.”
“Yeah, sometimes that’s for the best,” I said laughing and turned back to the videos.
“What are you looking for?” he said to the next person he approached.
In a small moment of drama, someone sitting next to Joe who had just lifted up off his stool to get Joe’s attention, fell off the stool and slammed right down on the floor without really even breaking his fall. When he got up, he said to Joe, “Would you come outside with me for a minute?”
Joe left his beer with me to watch, so you know he wasn’t going to be gone long. And he wasn’t.
We left there at around 1:00, I think. I drove home, while Joe hiccuped. We actually didn’t have a feeding frenzy when we got home, just a few crackers and then out like a light.