Not the Pig Flu and Unwashed Humanity

I do not have the Swine Flu, or excuse me, our government wants it referred to as the H1N1 virus. They’ve requested that so that pig farmers aren’t unduly harmed by bad press. I think most of us know that little name change, at this late stage in the game, is going to be of little or no help to pig farmers so I’ll move on.

I am sick, but I don’t have Swine Flu. I have verified this with a medical professional after being asked to do so by my employer. Apparently, Springfield is rife with illness, given the full waiting room and the weary doctors at Urgent Care, but so far none of us has the Swine Flu. Its NOT the Swine Flu.

I am a frequent flyer at Cox’s Urgent Care. Having switched jobs and thereby insurance companies and thereby network providers, I have only just now secured a primary care physician … who can’t see me until May 19. Since making this appointment, I’ve required medical care twice.

Good thing Urgent Care is there.

So far this year, I’ve had to visit for asthma issues, a scratched cornea, a dizzy spell and now Not the Swine Flu.

The first time I ever visited Cox’s Urgent Care, I wasn’t the patient. A friend was sick and the nurse they assigned to her is, I’ll just say it, hateful. In my other sojourns there, I’ve had this nurse myself and I at first wrote her behavior off to having bad day. Now I’ve had three encounters with her where she has just been hateful, so yeah hateful.

Beyond that, though, the staff there seem courteous, knowledgeable and efficient. I was in and out today in about two hours and that was with a friend, who also has Not the Swine Flu, needing to get checked out as well. He’d never been and marveled at how quickly and how well things went.

As we talked further, he mentioned he was unable to get into his primary care doctor for the check out. It caused us both to wonder is this one of the things we’re coming to in the healthcare industry, one now only sees one’s primary care doctor for routine items. If you’re sick, they don’t have time for you just go to Urgent Care then follow up with your regular doc. Let’s them get two copays out of you in some cases at the very least.

In some cases, it saves the long drawn out visit to your regular doctor. I find usually the wait is longer than they tell you and what should take an hour usually takes two or three. For something a simple as needing to see if you’ve got sinus infection, Urgent Care is often more efficient anyway.

The waiting room at Urgent Care is also vastly more entertaining.

Today’s cast of characters included: Small Screaming Child,Tanorexic Woman with a bad case of overexposed midsection,Overprotective Mom, Really Sick Woman Who Just Should Have Gone to the Emergency Room and the Car Accident Victims featuring Billy Joe Ray Bob.

I can’t help it, anytime I’m confronted with colorful humanity I find myself sitting there writing back stories for all of them. I’m even guilty of eavesdropping to help fill in the colorful details. But today, I didn’t even need to.

Woman Who Just Should Have Gone To ER was in the back about five minutes when they called the ambulance. She came in and went back to a room about the same time I did, I was only back there fifteen minutes. When I came back out to the waiting room to wait for my friend, the EMTs we’re milling around waiting to transport her.

I settled in and watched as Overprotective Mom and Overprotective Dad tried to cram into the Triage Room with their ill daughter. The nurses convinced them no harm would come to their daughter the three point two minutes it would take them to take her temperature and blood pressure. Mom stalked back to her waiting room chair and seethed, while Dad just looked uncomfortable holding his teen daughter’s blanket and pillow.

I felt ridiculously sorry for the young lady. I remember when my parents were like that … wait, they still are. The only reason I got to go to Urgent Care alone today was because I didn’t tell them I was going until after I went.

Tanorexic woman was also there with her Dad. He just sat there looking glum while she frightened the rest of us with her Velour track suit and exposed midriff. She looked irritated by Small Screaming Child and the only thing seemingly wrong with her was a really bad attitude.

The Car Accident Victims are those people who making sweeping generalizations true. They are the Ozarkers that cause most of us to cringe when we hear uppity East Coasters talking about them. We all get that odd feeling of being angry at those folks who are picking on them and thanking God we’re not wearing blue jean shorts with suspenders.

That’s precisely what Billy Joe Ray Bob was wearing. He was also using his outside voice to talk to his Momma who was a whole foot away from him. In short order, I had heard the harrowing tale that was their fender bender, watched Sis begrudgingly be wheeled off in a wheel chair and left to listen to Billy Joe Ray Bob recount his version of events of Carl Edwards’ wreck this past weekend.

Urgent Care, NASCAR and Not Swine Flu, does it get more absurd than that?

Well, now. That's...unfortunate.

It began with a text message from one of the lesbian cohort. Given that it was nearing 10 p.m., I figured it was my boyfriend, but no. That's okay.

After a little coaxing, my lesbian cohort buddy finally convinced me to just go out for a couple of drinks. Since they were really only a few blocks away, it made sense to just walk that direction and see the whole crew.

I walked in the front door, spotting the entirety of the lesbian gaggle against the bar, where one of them was tending bar. Okay, that sounds like fun.

"YOU HAVE TO GET AN ALMOND JOY." (Clearly, she had been drinking.)

I quickly realized amidst the pounding techno beats and low lights there was something I didn't miss about being out at a bar. Well that, and the smoke.

Bellying up, our bartender friend began pouring a shot for me. And really, who can say no if the shot's just poured for you, right there?

My text-fiend buddy had introduced me to the bar a couple of years ago, since it was so close to my place, and unfortunately, the clientele had not changed much. While I appreciate maturity in a man, even I have limits...nobody that could legitimately be my grandfather. Outside of the geriatric gays, there were a very small handful of younger guys. Not one of them all that attractive, unfortunately. If I had made the effort to go out, I want to at least look at pretty boys...especially since we were at a predominantly gay bar.

Can't do anything about it, but looking is not a crime. (I'd see the irony of this thought later.)

After another drink and a bit more conversation, I noticed the sign taped to the mirror over the bar. Apparently, there is a weekly ritual of a DJ (that explains the techno beats) and boy dancers. Okay. So far, the single pole is empty. If I play it right, I can leave before that happens.

No such luck. About that time, some guy jumped up on the stage and grabbed hold of the pole. Damn.

Now, I don't have a great body--I will never be confused with the latest cover model of GQ, but I also have awareness of this fact. I would not dance on a pole in public. Perhaps if I had one at home, but never in public...well, unless there was lots of money and I didn't have to take off anything.

The guy was gyrating and stepping lightly to the beat. And then the shirt came off. Again, I don't have a great body, but I am aware of this fact. Apparently, he was not fully aware. Skinnier than me, yes. But no definition. And peeling off his shirt revealed a couple of tattoos and a scar I could not identify.

Well, now. That's...unfortunate. For all of us.

Not being a fan of tattoos, anyway, I am not one that's going to just eyeball them for hours. But these were oddly placed. Some tattoos on a stomach make one wonder where they lead. These stopped just shy of that curiousity-driven spot.

Then the shorts came off.

The only man I've seen in any underwear in the last several months has been my boyfriend. I actually kind of prefer keeping it that way. This guy's flat ass and less than admirable package left my mouth agape...not in anticipation of something tasty.

I left as soon as I saw an ass crack. I looked back to notice much of the lesbian crew behind me.

The lessons of the night:

If you are a guy shaking your flat ass in public, keep it covered. Otherwise, you're encouraging lesbians to go home instead of stimulating the economy through liquor.

If you think looking is not a crime, God will get you. Really. It won't be pretty.

Flirtatious voting and other oddities

Women hit on me in restrooms. Sure, the first few times it happened it freaked me out. Then it just became one of those things that happened with frightening regularity.

Not long after I first came out, a very drunk, straight woman tried to make out with me in the loo at Martha’s. She wrapped her arms around me, declared my beauty and was just about to kiss me when I saw this sheepish looking guy standing in the doorway. She whipped around to see what I was looking at.

“Oh, him? He’s just my husband.”

Yeah. That was awkward.

Upon reflection, I realize that I never get hit on in a normal fashion. Women flirt with me at work (again in the can), at the dry cleaners, and there was even that memorable gal who chatted me up over tomatillos at the grocery. I’m not the kind of girl who gets play just hanging out at the bar or some place one would typically go to meet someone.

Today, I got hit on at my polling place. I went to do my civic duty, vote on the sales tax and try to pick one of the mayoral candidates that wasn’t crazy … not sure I was successful, but let’s hope I picked the lesser of numerous evils.

I digress.

As I was leaving, I made my way across the parking lot and there was a large pile of snow between me and my car. I had my boots on, so I commenced scaling.

Then I heard this sultry voice behind me, “You think that snow is hard enough to hold us up?”

I turned to see a tall, dark-haired woman in workout gear. She flashed me a large smile and gave me the once over. Ugh.

And of course this has gotten worse since I got in a relationship. What is it about unavailability that makes one more attractive? Further, I wasn’t even looking all that attractive. I’d had a full day at the office, was disheveled and was dressed in what can only be describe as early tree (lots of brown).

She was giving me this weird look like she half-expected I was going to help her over the berm of snow in some chivalrous gesture.

Yeah, right. She was far taller and in far better shape than I. Given we were at a school and her workout gear, I kind of wondered if she was the P.E. teacher. Because stereotypes are funny because they’re based in fact. Sigh.