- I like making lists. Obvi. Bullet points are like tiny little pieces of magic. My wand? Pilot G-2, 0.38 pen. Black, please. This is my pen of choice. I have one with me at all times. No back ups, just one. ONE, I say. Without it I am incomplete.
- I pass out. It's like this cool new fad my body is trying out. You know, just living life on the edge. Who doesn't love the unexpected black out? Face, meet ground. Ground, this is face. Your new friendship means so much to me.
- Public embarrassment. I love it. I live for it. I will name my child after it. However, public embarrassment has an appropriate time and place. Please know this place is not the doctor's office.
- I am a forgetful person. I lose my keys. I leave my purse. I misplace my phone. A monstrosity of a fault, I know. Work with me though, I am pathetic.
- I live in a small town. Although to the State of North Carolina my hometown is considered a city, those kids in Raleigh aren't fooling anyone. The cows in my backyard and my closest neighbor 3 miles down the gravel road agree with me in saying this place ain't big. People know each other. Just saying.
- I like water. I drink it regularly. I bathe with it (somewhat) regularly. It even turns out I need it to survive. Who knew? So needless to say when this natural resource is lacking, I get antsy.
- Tattoos are not my thing. Granted once upon an 18th birthday I did dabble with the idea of a monogram inside of the proverbial ixthus, but then I remembered something. I don't like pain. So as long as my skin is involved, no thank you. Yes, I enjoy them on other people. Yes, I may tend to make quick judgments due to both placement and content of the cool tats le men and women in my vicinity, but let's be real. You've done it too. Tis justified.
- Acerbic jokes are my thing. I am usually the only one making them and the only one who finds them humorous, but at least someone is laughing. Right? I gave up being appropriate and politically correct the day my insides died. Just trying to live a little. Don't hate.
- I am awkward. Enough said.
I hope you all took down elaborate notes on everything I just shared. Done? Let us proceed. This morning I wake up. Shocking. But rather than my typical Body Language phone alarm (what up Jesse McCartney), I wake up to a loud pulsating beat coming from the wall in front of me. The last time I checked that wasn't normal, so I get up and investigate. I follow the obnoxious pounding into the hallway, to the left and into my bathroom. (No, this is not another bathroom story. Chill out, Bonnie.) As it turns out the rhythmic beat is coming from the water faucets and the toilet. Weird. I turn the handle to one of the faucets and nothing. Perfect. My decision to wait until the morning to shower is instantly deplored. Gross.
Deprived of my beloved water, I dress for the awesome day I have planned. Flannel shirt, moccasins and all. Oh, don't judge me. I figured my hair was disgusting and my teeth were not brushed so I may as well complete the definition of unfortunate looking while I had the chance. I assumed I would only be seeing about three people of worth during my adventure so I wasn't that concerned. As I mentioned just a moment ago, my face has met the ground on numerous occasions over the past few months. No one knows exactly why so it was decided that my Spring Break was the opportune time to figure this baby out. Who needs sun and sand when you can have needles and heart monitors? I hope you girls are having fun on your cruise! The view from my hospital bed is beautiful, thanks. So yes, my day. Hair pulled into a side braid to camouflage the nasty, I make my way to my first doctor visit of the week.
First of all, I walk in the wrong entrance. New buildings for older businesses in this town are rare. Seeing as how I do not do very well with direction and/or change, this was problematic. After about six doors and three different staircases I finally stumble upon the main waiting room. I thought all the fun was over! Oh, Stephanie. How wrong you were.
I put my name down and take a seat among the other degenerate generations waiting to be called for a urine sample. Man, I love the doctor. I feel as if everyone is staring at the sun glistening off of my beautiful head of hair. (Again, gross.) Because of this, I already feel uncomfortable. To avoid eye contact, I tend to my intense game of BrickBreaker until my name is called. First name.. and last. Cool. Now about eight more heads have turned to watch me make my way to the lady living inside the glass box. I may have mentioned this town is small. Old people may not know me personally, but I guarantee you they have a dead dog in their backyard that at one time loved my grandfather or a granddaughter that played recreational soccer that at one time feared my dad. (Only a select few of you can appreciate this to the full extent.) The point of this? They may not know who I am, but they know who I belong to. I can hear it now, "I saw that sick little girl Doris always talks about at the doctor. She looked terrible. Poor thing was dressed like a hobo and came in the back door lookin' lost and scared. She must be dyin ' or something." Oh yea. I'm for real. I am here for a week and gossip of my demise ensues for three months. Got to love that small town math.
I follow the path to the woman behind the glass. "You Stephanie?" Yes, lady. Me Stephanie. Shall I surrender my club and other miscellaneous stone tools so we can continue? I take a seat as she files paperwork and enjoys her swivel chair more than anyone ever should. Just watching her in those brief moments almost gave this cave girl whiplash. Yikes. She comes to a safe landing and asks for my insurance card. Woops. It seems that I misplaced my insurance card. I remember that I gave it to my sister during my emergency room visit days before and silly me didn't make card retrieval my first priority. Yet again my absent mindedness has caused a dilemma. I try to explain the mix up to the nice lady hoping for some sort of sympathy, but am quickly disappointed. "I don't understand." Haha, lady. I can see you don't understand a lot of things. I start from the beginning in a very hush tone (since we are in waiting room) and reiterate the simple mistake. Rather than picking up on my preferred discreteness of this little interaction, she employs her outside voice, "So you don't have your insurance card with you?" Oh my gosh. Seriously? My back is turned, but I feel about six more heads turn around to watch the show. I can only imagine the gossip that will arise and spread from this. I solve her immense confusion with a simple, "Yes."
She looks at me, face scrunched and after about a five second pause she extends her arm beyond the glass box and hands me a clipboard and a piece of paper. "Fill this out." I am frustrated, but excited at an opportunity to use my list making pen. At least something is going right. I find it odd that I have to fill out my home address and things of the sort when I have been coming to this doctor since birth, but hey. It's whatever. I am using my pen. I glance up to see her contemplating her next action. Suddenly a light bulb flashes and she swiftly spins to face the two ladies standing behind her. I retreat to my paperwork. Maybe it was just my paranoia or my heightened sense of hearing due to the numerous hearing aids in the room with me, but it seemed as if what she said next was legitimately screamed. "This girl don't have her insurance card. What should I do? She says she left it in Raleigh and can't get it today." Ok, sweet thing. Keep it down. Yes, the people in this room may be deaf, however the boy that sat next to me at graduation that works at the KFC down the street is not. Seriously. Lower your voice.
I look up to watch the surreal play going on in front of me to which I am the main character. I did not ask for this part, mind you. Wide-eyed, I take it all in. Something catches my eye. There it is, ladies and gentlemen. The tattoo. Time to kill two birds with one stone. The tattoo and my sudden animosity towards this woman. Anger builds in the pit of my stomach as I attempt to decipher exactly what kind of business is taking over the back of homegirl's neck. A heart meets a bed of roses? A naked baby meets a butterfly? Wait, wait. Ah... there it is. "Angel" in cursive. No, I am not kidding. There are little hearts and other designs all around it, so it is permissible. Oh, and an angel wing. Just one though. Just one. Cute, lady. Maybe it's just those sweet Care Bear scrubs you're wearing or that borderline buzz cut that keeps that dank tat displayed for the world to see, but to me you are nothing short of beautiful. Now that I can see your full look, it clicks. You are like an avenging "Angel" who just stepped out of a Springsteen lyric to take back the good name of old school American trash. On behalf of my generation's lacking taste in music, fashion and everything that is good, I thank you. We don't know what we're doing! We can't even remember our insurance cards! Thank goodness you are here.
My case is discussed and solved by the three women, but not before my name is announced to the invested audience at least six more times. Sweet. Thanks, ladies. Angel asks for the clipboard back so she can process the information she moments later realizes she already has in the computer. Surprise, surprise. The glass window is pulled closed and I am on my way back to my seat when I realize there was a casualty in the war that just occurred. The pen. My beloved pen. I had attached it to the clipboard in the midst of the controversy. Crap. I was not about to walk back up to the window with all the people watching to ask for it. Mourning the deaths of both my dignity and favorite office supply, I wait my turn to see the doctor.
Dear Jesus. Ok, so.
Let's revisit the goods:
- Lists: Made.
- Pen: Lost.
- Doctor: Strike one.
- Public embarrassment: Check.
- Item forgotten: Insurance card.
- Small town stigma: I will be the hot topic at the BBQ place tomorrow, no doubt.
- Water: Lacking.
- Tattoo: Angelic.
- Bitter remarks: Duh.
- Awkward: All day everyday.