Extreme Measures

Arriving at 11:10 for yesterday’s non-fasting blood test at the medical center, I was assigned ticket No. 68, when the now-serving board indicated No. 32.

It was a busy day at the medical center. I noticed even the Pharmacy line was backed up ─ snaking all the way outside the Pharmacy and into the lobby area.

Watching the board for how fast the numbers counted down, I saw they didn’t. Four minutes later, the board still indicated No. 32. At that pace, I figured it’d be at least two hours.

Oh well. At least I had a good read with me ─ true story about a 102-year-old world record holder runner.

Before leaving the complex, thinking about the coronavirus and that new flu, I’d taken precautionary measures in case things looked gnarly at the medical center ─ if others in the waiting area were coughing and/or I saw a lot of folks wearing masks.

Only one woman had a coughing spasm, and she was seated way far away behind me, and I only saw a handful or so in masks ... mostly staff. That being so, I decided not to put into place my somewhat extreme measures.

What extreme measures were those you ask.

I’d slipped a buff on my neck. “Buff” being multifunctional headwear that can also be pulled up over the nose and mouth to protect one from bugs, dust, pollen ─ biker wear, like this.

At any rate, I felt comfortable enough to not go to that extreme. kept the buff pull down, and got some good reading time in. Eventually, the numbers began to move faster, and No. 68 was called to the Lab an hour later, at 12:04.

Everything moved quickly after that. I found myself headed to the car by 12:14 but, while in the Lab, I observed one of the technicians ─ an Alex Rodriguez lookalike, but with a beard, had dyed his beard blue.

“Bluebeard”, I blurted out, nodding approvingly and saying, “I like it”.

This made my lab tech, and her blue-bearded coworker smile. 

Then the story of Blue Beard flashed through my mind. I asked if either of them knew it.

Both looked at me blankly, so I simplified it as the tale of a guy who had a lot of women.

“That would be him, but he did it for a sports team” my technician said, looking over at her blue bearded coworker who seemed to be enjoying the attention.

”Google it. It’s an interesting story”, said I as I headed out the door, and added "But don't BE a Bluebeard" I said to the blue bearded tech, because what I hadn't mentioned was Bluebeard is infamous for marrying young women, killing them, hanging their bodies on the basement wall.

That interaction got me to thinking why it is I so keep to myself. Why it is so difficult to connect, in a meaningful way, with those around me. It's because we don't speak the same language. I bring up a topic and no one knows what I’m talking about, so I mostly listen, rarely speak or share with others, except here in blog land.

Judge Judy had a similar situation a few weeks back in an episode where she referenced Rip Van Winkle.

Both plaintiff and defendant had a blank look, so Judy polled the audience ... “Show of hands if you know who Rip Van Winkle is”.

So few hands went up that Judy gave her head a sad shake and said, “Time to die”.

I hear you girl. We’re dinosaurs.