Living In a People-Watcher's Paradise

I am not a people-watcher. That gene skipped right over me. I think I got the smartA$$ gene instead. That's what Hick thinks, anyway. Not so much the lack of people-watch-itude, but the bonus of the other. My mom LOVES to people-watch. Ever since I was a kid, she has declared her love of this pastime. I think she used to park on Main Street when I was a kid, just to watch the world go by. It was either that, or watch the Not-Heaven's Angels when they parked their hogs outside the laundromat and took off their clothes to wash them. They were not a leather crowd.

Today I went to give some blood at the doctor's office lab. I could have recorded this visit and made a good bit of 44 oz. Diet Coke money selling the DVD. Here. I'll let you live vicariously through me. Because that's the kind of gal I am.

My doctor dwells on the fourth floor of a doctor's building that is attached to a hospital. Parking is sometimes in short supply, but I got a decent spot at 8:15 a.m. Coming from the other side of the circular drive was a chubby little boy and his obviously-genetically-related mother. They were a bit ahead of me, and went in first. I was kind of lollygagging, having not been there since last November, looking around at how they'd finished off their new ER wing, and pondering the big Blood Drive Today sign over the main entrance. I was hoping my blood would reach its intended destination.

There are two elevators. Without thinking, I knew Li'l Chubby and his not-so-li'l mom got on the left one. Imagine my surprise when I heard, "Here you go!" Li'l Chubby was holding that door open with his pudgy doughboy arm. He was the cutest thing, about five years old, with a bit of light-brown stubble on his buzzcut head. What a chivalrous little guy! I wondered if he knew that dude who let me go ahead of him in the gas station chicken line.

I stepped in and announced, "Thank you. I'm going to the fourth floor." Li'l Chubby controlled the panel.

"Oh, so are we," said his mother. Li'l Chubby did a little kid tap dance, without sound, in sandals. He must have been headed for a checkup, not a sick call. The doors opened and we walked toward the reception desk. "Oops! We're on the wrong floor." I think she saw a sign that had been set up about Suite D and Suite E. Whatever that was. "Come on. We can take the stairs down one floor. Do you want to take the stairs?" Li'l Chubby was all for it. No sooner had they passed through the stairwell door than an announcement came out of the ceiling:

"All doors will now close without warning. Repeating, doors will close for a test of the fire system."

Poor Li'l Chubby! I was worried that they would get trapped in the stairwell. Very few people use those stairs. The doors are always closed, though they're marked for use in case of fire. A smocked lady came up to the door by the reception office, and had to punch in a number code to get it open. Funny how they were testing the fire system, but let the elevators keep running.

So many people to watch, so lengthy a blog post! I'll expose more medical building denizens tomorrow...but in case you're wondering, I never saw Li'l Chubby again! I'm sure he was fine. He looked like a kid who would whistle in the dark, and tap dance in a locked stairwell. He would probably hold the door open for the firefighter who rescued him.