My friend's hubby had to have some fairly serious surgery this week. It was intricate enough that they had to go to a major medical center a couple of hours from here to have the procedure done. Logistical nightmare for them. Her mom came to stay with the kidlet, and since I was off work, I drove down to the hospital to hang out with my friend during the operation. I was counting on a long day, and it was. I was mostly ready for it. I had brought my kindle and downloaded the new James Patterson novel. I had my little green OCD fiesta bible, and I was planning to do some updating (since god-bless-my-brother got me chocolate fiesta for christmas!) I wasn't counting on having entertainment provided. Well, not that the people providing it were *aware* that they were entertaining...but man, oh man... they were.
I was pretty impressed with the level of organization at the hospital. Everyone had to wear a sticker... It was almost like way back in first grade when you wore a big red construction paper apple with your bus number on it for a couple of days, except well, it wasn't red, nor construction paper...but it did have which waiting room you were supposed to be in on it. Some folks even had some sort of code that showed what wing/floor etc they were visiting. When we got to the waiting room, there was a sweet little volunteer lady there who answered the phone, kept track of who was coming and going, and mangled most peoples names. (that should've been my first clue that entertainment was close at hand). Granted, some names invite mangling... but Jones should be straightforward, right?
"Jo wuhnnnns" Three syllables. wow. They didn't recognize their own names.
We'd just plunked down in the reasonably comfy chairs when a little old man wandered by...passing gas with each step! No kidding. There are probably 20 people scattered around the room...every last one of us trying not to chuckle. Maybe I should have factored in whether I was in the direct flight path to the restrooms before I chose my seat?
After a bit of chitchatting with my friend, it seemed like a good time to pull out the kindle to read. The book was good... you'd think I'd be oblivious to the rest of the world..? Nope. For some reason I managed to look up JUST as a new fella approached the volunteer desk... He leaned forward.... AUGHHHHHHHHHHHH. Six miles of crack appeared. Why is it that it's humanly impossible to look away from something like that? Thankfully he wasn't there long. (Evidently his sticker said he was supposed to be elsewhere?) Back to the Kindle and Alex Cross. Murder, mayhem...
...by now, I should know not to look up. Too late. If you've ever wondered what happened to the model for Wonder Woman in the 40's... I found her. I didn't see a golden lasso or anything, but I'm pretty sure it was her...or at least her bra. I wondered idly if maybe there were fiesta saucers under there to get that level of shelfage...? or maybe enough layers of duck tape will give you the same effect. hm.
Time flew by. There was always something new to look at, or some new accent (or trying to guess what name the volunteer lady was attempting to pronounce.)
oh, and my friend's hubby did really well, too.
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