I took The Pony to the dentist today for his six-month cleaning. It's
free with the enormous premium paid to Hick's dental insurance. Once
again, our little Pony had no cavities. He's one gift horse that can be
looked in the mouth.
While waiting for him to be
polished, fluorided, and released, a Typhoid Mary walked into the
office. Of course I had taken the seat nearest the door, as I am wont to
do. Which so happened to be the one nearest the class-enclosed
receptionist area. Typhoid Mary wheezed in and pecked on the glass. I am
not sure that the receptionist slid her shoebox-sized door open.
Typhoid
Mary inquired about the receptionist's son. Because the normal thing
for a layman to do in a medical establishment is flaunt her immunity to
violations of HIPAA by outing medical info on relatives of the workers.
Seems the dude had some kind of sinus infection that Typhoid Mary
thought mirrored hers, though his was acquired through a rope swing over
the river, and hers through everyday living.
Need I
enumerate how displeased I was with Typhoid Mary? I suppose her goal was
to drop in and explain why she wasn't keeping her appointment. Which
apparently she had already telegraphed through other means. The fact
that she whined about not wanting to do anything but go home and crawl
into bed made me want to shout, "DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU ON THE
RUMPUS ON YOUR WAY OUT!" Because there she was, hacking and
bronchially-challengedly breathing her germs in my general vicinity. It
was all I could do not to huff disgustedly and stomp off to the other
side of the waiting room.
Typhoid Mary was on her way
to the doctor, but didn't want to go. Seems she had already been
antibioticked and inhalered and cough-medicined. Yet her malady clung to
her like stink on a deceased road-possum. She was afraid she would be
sent for a chest x-ray. Thus stripping her of her Typhoidness,
un-Johnny-Appleseeding her, and rendering her a commoner again if her
disease was diagnosed and subsequently cured.
I thought about investing in a mask, but I fear a Bubble Boy suit is more practical.
If you became Bubble Woman, people would go out of their way to visit you...
ReplyDeleteCough...snort...that's just ah choo horrible!
ReplyDeleteWith any luck, she went off to invade Spain with the other Moops.
ReplyDeleteOkay, so when this happens, you stick your face into your shirt like a turtle pulling its head into its shell. What is wrong with people?
ReplyDeleteI'm with Tammy. Such people should be considered infectious agents and be sent free of charge to places that deserve biological toxins.
ReplyDeleteNot that people haven't done that before. Just ask the civilizations ravaged by explorers bearing small pox and similar germs....I will now re-think my comment.
I once tried to buy a Bubble Boy suit but they don't come in my size. Darn it!
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteI hope they're in the mood for pie. We sell it along the road, you know. Blackberry, boysenberry, huckleberry, raspberry, strawberry, cranberry. Peach.
******
joeh,
Don't let the "Publish" button hit your rumpus on the way out.
******
Tammy,
Hopefully. I wouldn't want her to rip a hole in my Bubble Boy suit.
******
Linda,
I actually do that at school, when my personal space is invaded. I have only my magnetic personality to blame, I suppose. My well-wishers wish me well, but they don't realize they are contagious.
******
Leenie,
I sense that you can advocate both sides of an issue. Like a black-and-white cookie in a bakery famous for babka.
******
Stephen,
That must seriously hinder your Trivial Pursuit win record against downstate tourists.