Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Friday, November 14, 2003
So I walked in, nodded at the usual crop of geriatric patients, signed in, sat down across from a young lady with a baby in a stroller, grabbed a copy of Southern Accents (THE magazine for newly-wealthy Southerners who would like everyone to think they are old-money Yankees, manifested by filling their homes with the newest container of antiques fresh off the boat from England), looked at all the pictures from front to back, watched at least two pharmaceutical reps come and go, and about thirty minutes later finally heard the gravelly-voiced receptionist rasp out, "Mrs. Oglesby?"
I am in there at least every six months, and I'm pretty sure my chart says I'm a pointer and not a setter, yet this lady still can't quite figure it all out.
I stood up to walk to the counter, and the blabbery old man sitting with his wife by the door, not seeing anything he thought might be a Mrs. Oglesby (and thinking himself quite the character I'm sure--just like that fellow that used to have that show on the radio back in '36), started half-shouting through the reception window that, "she musta gone on home! Hee-hee. Gone home!! Ain't NO Mrs. Whatevers out here, heh!" His wife and he just chuckled and chuckled, as well as the other chatty old lady sitting across from them. Such sport! Such a witty rake! That rascally Katzenjammer Kid!
Anyway, upon receiving such reliable information that Mrs. Oglesby had left, the receptionist quickly started closing the window back.
I managed to get her attention before she got it closed completely, and as it finally registered with her that I was a GUY (accompanied by the sounds of the geezer behind me yelling at her that I was a, tee-hee, "MR. O'Whatever--he's a man, he's not a Missus! A man! But not no Missus! Heh!!"), she asked, "Did you have an appointment to come in today?"
Well, let's see--uhhmmm, no. You know, I've just got this psychotic disorder that causes me to wander into my doctor's office for no reason other than to sit in the waiting room to read Highlights and Women's Golf.
"Yes, ma'am. I had an appointment."
"Did they not call you?"
Well, let's see--either they did call me, and due to my aforementioned disorder I was compelled to show up anyway, or just maybe I have NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!!
She looked all flummoxed and worried and distraught--she turned and stage-whispered for them to call the nurse, who came up and explained that my doctor had to go home sick with a migraine, and that they had called my house to leave a message and my wife said I had already left.
As all the Internet kids say, WTF?
"You called my house!? What time?"
"About 2:30 or so."
"Well, I wonder who's answering my phone at home! Are you sure they didn't call my work number?"
"I don't know--it could have been--Missy called and she said the lady said you had already left. I'm so sorry we didn't catch you."
Which was fine, I mean, people DO get sick, even doctors. And it's okay if you didn't manage to catch me to let me know, because, you know, you could do something like, maybe...BE WAITING FOR ME WHEN I SHOW UP AT MY SCHEDULED TIME TO SIGN IN, AND TELL ME THEN, INSTEAD OF LETTING ME STEW FOR A HALF AN HOUR! I rescheduled for next Friday. We'll see what happens.
As for the rest of today, ONCE AGAIN, the cruelty of gainful employment rears its lucre-encrusted head and I have to go waste time in another lengthy meeting where my presence is required only to provide numerical superiority.
I don't know how much time this stupid meeting will take, nor if I will have time later on today to make up for last week's missing ode to Auburn football with a write-up on tomorrow's matchup against the despised Georgia Bulldogs in the South's Oldest Rivalry, nor if I will get to do anything else fun today.
SO, in case I don't, all of you have a good weekend, and maybe, just maybe, come Monday morning I will have some time to ladle out some nice, steamy Possumblog.
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