Right, so...
I was sitting in the radiology clinic's waiting room, in a nice quiet section set far apart from the other, main, section. My back was safely up against a wall, and I could see anyone who could see me. It was the most opportune of locations, provided one has to be in the waiting room at all. I was knitting. In fact, I began a project while sitting there, and hadn't even cast any stitches on the needle yet. My passenger got called back when I was about two rows into my new project.
Let me diverge into the topic of airplanes. In an airplane, one is more or less forced into close contact with many strangers of varying levels of loquaciousness. These possibly chatty prison mates are your company for the entire duration, unless you can somehow prove to the flight attendants that they are such a bother that you must be moved. Courtesy demands that you not do this, however, regardless of how irritated you become.
Back to that waiting room. Raise your hands if you know what happens next. I'm sure many of you do. An elderly couple comes in, gathers paperwork, and sits directly by me. There are several empty chairs available, and they choose the seats adjacent to mine, without even leaving the personal space seat empty between us. I inwardly shrug and outwardly continue knitting. The woman stares at me. I count the stitches to get my mind from this uncomfortable situation. She continues to stare. The man fills out paperwork loudly beside her. I've never been around someone so interested in sharing personal medical information. The woman continues to stare.
I complete another five rows of knitting - I was counting, and she was still staring. Finally, she asks if I am knitting. Rather than say something cruel, I tell her that yes, I am indeed knitting. I figure she's probably in here for something horrible, and I had better try to at least not ruin the pre-procedure anxiety she's most likely feeling.
She asks me what it will be. By now, I had thought it was pretty obviously a scarf, but I keep my no-rudeness promise to myself, and tell her that it's a scarf. I finish the row and let her feel it. She agrees that it is indeed very soft and warm feeling. I thank her and continue knitting. By now, we have been exchanging this small talk for fifteen minutes. I entered the waiting room at 10, and she entered at about 10:30. I left the waiting room at noon. You decide how homicidal I became during those two hours.
It might help your decision to find out that the two of them weren't there for themselves, but had come early to fill out some other elderly woman's paperwork for her. The woman in question was an acquaintance from church, and believe me, I could tell you all about her, in part because she was the topic of much of our conversation, and in part because the woman herself was wheeled in on a stretcher (IV attached) and settled directly in front of me for half of that time. I was blocked in, unless I ducked under her gurney or asked the men to wheel her out of the way while I fled to a different seat.
It is at times like this that I regret having been brought up the way I was. Had I been someone else, I could have told them to move the old bat outta my way, but alas, I was included in her tales of how she managed to convince the nurses to give Charles -her fully grown and aging son- some food since he was her baby, and only babies got to eat at the hospital. I learned about her experiences with crochet, with knitting, etc. I learned that they had not told her it would be cold or she would have brought socks, since they didn't allow her shoes anymore (she would be walking anywhere anyway).
In short, I learned all sorts of utterly boring old people trivia, and got to see the elderly couple who started this misery greet ever single person who went back there as though they knew them personally. Most of the time, they did, which scared me. As loudly as he filled out her paperwork, and as well as he knows all these old sick folks... It just concerns me. Like this is a scam, or like the radiology clinic is where old folks go to meet other old folks, like an elderly single pub.
I am more than half finished with the scarf, which is blue and green and all sorts of in between colors, and incredibly fuzzy. The old folks were teasing me about finishing it while I was sitting there. I swear, I started to twitch before the end, and I've had a headache the rest of the day, until about seven when I took a short nap to try getting rid of it.
All went well inside the office, apparently, so no worries. And I got lunch out of the deal, since she was so happy there was someone to drive her out of that place. In poetry, I was only slightly made a fool of, and very indirectly, so I guess I can't complain. We all set forth our own interpretations, as was required, and he didn't call any of us out for being wrong. The conversation continued and the class consensus on the meaning changed dramatically. No problem, since my ideas were changing with everyone else's (groupthink does it every time). About fifteen minutes before the end of class, he remarks again that I had thought this other meaning applied, which meaning had been totally acceptable before we discussed things and everyone's ideas changed. But I got placed back in the old - and now wrong - interpretation. But like I said, it was indirect and a little snide, but at least not as blunt as a "you're stupid" comment.
And that leaves me trying to think up a personal statement for some scholarships I'm applying to, and starting on the reading for tomorrow. At least the grading is done.
End.
Let me diverge into the topic of airplanes. In an airplane, one is more or less forced into close contact with many strangers of varying levels of loquaciousness. These possibly chatty prison mates are your company for the entire duration, unless you can somehow prove to the flight attendants that they are such a bother that you must be moved. Courtesy demands that you not do this, however, regardless of how irritated you become.
Back to that waiting room. Raise your hands if you know what happens next. I'm sure many of you do. An elderly couple comes in, gathers paperwork, and sits directly by me. There are several empty chairs available, and they choose the seats adjacent to mine, without even leaving the personal space seat empty between us. I inwardly shrug and outwardly continue knitting. The woman stares at me. I count the stitches to get my mind from this uncomfortable situation. She continues to stare. The man fills out paperwork loudly beside her. I've never been around someone so interested in sharing personal medical information. The woman continues to stare.
I complete another five rows of knitting - I was counting, and she was still staring. Finally, she asks if I am knitting. Rather than say something cruel, I tell her that yes, I am indeed knitting. I figure she's probably in here for something horrible, and I had better try to at least not ruin the pre-procedure anxiety she's most likely feeling.
She asks me what it will be. By now, I had thought it was pretty obviously a scarf, but I keep my no-rudeness promise to myself, and tell her that it's a scarf. I finish the row and let her feel it. She agrees that it is indeed very soft and warm feeling. I thank her and continue knitting. By now, we have been exchanging this small talk for fifteen minutes. I entered the waiting room at 10, and she entered at about 10:30. I left the waiting room at noon. You decide how homicidal I became during those two hours.
It might help your decision to find out that the two of them weren't there for themselves, but had come early to fill out some other elderly woman's paperwork for her. The woman in question was an acquaintance from church, and believe me, I could tell you all about her, in part because she was the topic of much of our conversation, and in part because the woman herself was wheeled in on a stretcher (IV attached) and settled directly in front of me for half of that time. I was blocked in, unless I ducked under her gurney or asked the men to wheel her out of the way while I fled to a different seat.
It is at times like this that I regret having been brought up the way I was. Had I been someone else, I could have told them to move the old bat outta my way, but alas, I was included in her tales of how she managed to convince the nurses to give Charles -her fully grown and aging son- some food since he was her baby, and only babies got to eat at the hospital. I learned about her experiences with crochet, with knitting, etc. I learned that they had not told her it would be cold or she would have brought socks, since they didn't allow her shoes anymore (she would be walking anywhere anyway).
In short, I learned all sorts of utterly boring old people trivia, and got to see the elderly couple who started this misery greet ever single person who went back there as though they knew them personally. Most of the time, they did, which scared me. As loudly as he filled out her paperwork, and as well as he knows all these old sick folks... It just concerns me. Like this is a scam, or like the radiology clinic is where old folks go to meet other old folks, like an elderly single pub.
I am more than half finished with the scarf, which is blue and green and all sorts of in between colors, and incredibly fuzzy. The old folks were teasing me about finishing it while I was sitting there. I swear, I started to twitch before the end, and I've had a headache the rest of the day, until about seven when I took a short nap to try getting rid of it.
All went well inside the office, apparently, so no worries. And I got lunch out of the deal, since she was so happy there was someone to drive her out of that place. In poetry, I was only slightly made a fool of, and very indirectly, so I guess I can't complain. We all set forth our own interpretations, as was required, and he didn't call any of us out for being wrong. The conversation continued and the class consensus on the meaning changed dramatically. No problem, since my ideas were changing with everyone else's (groupthink does it every time). About fifteen minutes before the end of class, he remarks again that I had thought this other meaning applied, which meaning had been totally acceptable before we discussed things and everyone's ideas changed. But I got placed back in the old - and now wrong - interpretation. But like I said, it was indirect and a little snide, but at least not as blunt as a "you're stupid" comment.
And that leaves me trying to think up a personal statement for some scholarships I'm applying to, and starting on the reading for tomorrow. At least the grading is done.
End.
posted by Rehkmira @ 00:35
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