Body Work
Yesterday was bodyshop day. It started with an appointment with my endocrinologist at 10:00 in the morning, except when I got there, the appointment was actually for 1:00 in the afternoon. OK, Lyle, I'm no better with doctor appointments than I am with tee times.
On the way home, I stop by the optical shop to order a new pair of eye glasses. Hannah, the only person who has ever fitted my glasses correctly, showed up about 10:15. I told her I was now retired and planned on growing hair and would like a nice pair of 1960's retro glasses. She had some but they were all so small they made me look like the Japanese general Tojo and I settled on a pair of titanium ultralights with no rims, no hinges, no screws and no breakable parts. My guess is that they will be at least 10 times as expensive as gold on a per pound basis.
Anyhow, Hannah and I always have interesting discussions and we somehow got to comparing our first paying jobs. Mine was harvesting bright-leaf tobacco in Forsyth County, NC at 8 years of age. Her first paying job was gathering snails at age 4 in the Black Forest of Germany for the French occupation forces during WWII. I reminded her before she could get too far along with that story that Leimbach was a Frankish name and that this was not the first time that the French had occupied the Black Forest!
Upon arriving home, I restore the Honda Civic to life after a "no gas" diagnostic and a jump start. This, of course, was followed by a trip to the gasoline station ($2.98 per gallon) to prevent a repeat.
So, back for the appointment at 1:00. Now, this doctor is very good and very old-style European. White smocks, listens to everything you have to say and, as a result, is perpetually late. Following a nice afternoon nap in the waiting room, I'm finally taken into the examination room. He asks me to take of my shoes and socks. I assure him that I still have all my toes. Off they come. He tickles my feet. Then off with the shirt. A peak here, a poke there. Then questions, including the question: "When was your prostate last checked?" And, I'm trying to remember what condition my underwear was in while wondering just what the heck the prostate has to do with the endocrine system anyhow.
Then it's off to the in-house lab for analysis of blood and urine. After another wait and after collecting a urine specimen, I finally take a seat in the vampire's chair. At that point in time, of course, they suddenly realize that the insurance company will not pay them to do the lab work there. More paperwork and off I go, urine specimen in hand, to an approved testing lab. "Just a sample of Scottish ale!", I assured the inquisitive lady in the parking lot. More waiting. Then, the jab and four vials of blood later, I'm off to the grocery store and pharmacy.
I arrive home just in time for the CFO to ask, "When is dinner going to be ready?"
Sure am glad I've never asked that question!
On the way home, I stop by the optical shop to order a new pair of eye glasses. Hannah, the only person who has ever fitted my glasses correctly, showed up about 10:15. I told her I was now retired and planned on growing hair and would like a nice pair of 1960's retro glasses. She had some but they were all so small they made me look like the Japanese general Tojo and I settled on a pair of titanium ultralights with no rims, no hinges, no screws and no breakable parts. My guess is that they will be at least 10 times as expensive as gold on a per pound basis.
Anyhow, Hannah and I always have interesting discussions and we somehow got to comparing our first paying jobs. Mine was harvesting bright-leaf tobacco in Forsyth County, NC at 8 years of age. Her first paying job was gathering snails at age 4 in the Black Forest of Germany for the French occupation forces during WWII. I reminded her before she could get too far along with that story that Leimbach was a Frankish name and that this was not the first time that the French had occupied the Black Forest!
Upon arriving home, I restore the Honda Civic to life after a "no gas" diagnostic and a jump start. This, of course, was followed by a trip to the gasoline station ($2.98 per gallon) to prevent a repeat.
So, back for the appointment at 1:00. Now, this doctor is very good and very old-style European. White smocks, listens to everything you have to say and, as a result, is perpetually late. Following a nice afternoon nap in the waiting room, I'm finally taken into the examination room. He asks me to take of my shoes and socks. I assure him that I still have all my toes. Off they come. He tickles my feet. Then off with the shirt. A peak here, a poke there. Then questions, including the question: "When was your prostate last checked?" And, I'm trying to remember what condition my underwear was in while wondering just what the heck the prostate has to do with the endocrine system anyhow.
Then it's off to the in-house lab for analysis of blood and urine. After another wait and after collecting a urine specimen, I finally take a seat in the vampire's chair. At that point in time, of course, they suddenly realize that the insurance company will not pay them to do the lab work there. More paperwork and off I go, urine specimen in hand, to an approved testing lab. "Just a sample of Scottish ale!", I assured the inquisitive lady in the parking lot. More waiting. Then, the jab and four vials of blood later, I'm off to the grocery store and pharmacy.
I arrive home just in time for the CFO to ask, "When is dinner going to be ready?"
Sure am glad I've never asked that question!
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