Doctor Visit

sphygmomanometer

I lost my voice one winter. It was cold out and my sinuses, as usual, were being a real dick. As soon as you get over one cold you say hello to someone and catch another one. Their cold jumps down your throat, harvests in your belly and tells your body to take a break, it’s got it from here. So I called off work, grunting over the phone that I couldn’t talk, and went to the doctor.

I sat in the waiting room for a while, then my personal room, also waiting, until the doctor came in. She was in her late 30’s or so, wearing the traditional doctor smock. I mimed my condition, pointing at my neck, making horrible sounding noises while she took my blood pressure and asked if I was nervous. This happens a lot. I wasn’t nervous. I’m rarely nervous, even when it’s appropriate, but I get the question often from doctors. I like to think it is my super power, bubbling just under the surface, waiting for the doctor to make a mistake and then pounce. Although, I don’t know what that super power is besides fooling sphygmomanometers. Probably wouldn’t put me on the first string of The Avengers.

The doctor continued with the rigmarole of tests, stopping when she checked my ears to compliment their cleanliness. I was certain that she wanted me. I left a short time later with a prescription for amoxicillin, checking and double checking the page for a hidden phone number I wouldn’t call. It wasn’t there. My voice came back by the next day thanks to the amoxicillin, but it took an extra day to shake the feeling that there was a connection between ear cleanliness and attraction. I’ve never heard a woman come right out and say it, but maybe it’s a gender secret. Maybe they are all out there talking about our ears and their waxy constituents. If they are I’m getting killer reviews.

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The 20 Most Valid Reasons Nashville Drivers Do Not Use Their Turn Signal

  1. The clicking sound it makes reminds them of a ticking bomb and/or the alarm clock.
  2. They don’t know how.
  3. They have one hand on their cell phone, the other on their genitals and they are steering with their knees.
  4. They drive a pickup truck, so laws don’t apply to them.
  5. It is too far away.
  6. It it too strenuous of a task.
  7. It’s where the government hides it’s spying technology.
  8. They broke it off to shove it up their ass.
  9. It once tried to seduce their teenage daughter.
  10. They are afraid of phallic shapes.
  11. It is more dangerous to let others know where they are going.
  12. It takes approximately 1.42 calories to use and they already worked out today.
  13. They know where they’re going, shouldn’t others be able to read their mind? I mean, duh!
  14. They don’t touch anything larger than their penis.
  15. It’s too much like the probe the aliens put in their butt.
  16. It is eating their soul.
  17. They’re driving far too fast to bother with a signal.
  18. They drive a Lexus, so fuck you.
  19. A turn signal killed their father.
  20. Their conversation on their cell phone is far too important to ignore while driving a car, and lets face it, turn signals are a distraction.

The Mailbox

The mailbox seemed to jump two feet left before ending up in my trunk. What was left of it anyway. Right through the engine block like a goddamn warm butter knife. It was beautiful. The slow snap shot where so much happens that you’ll barely remember.

Brick and mortar explode with the sweet kiss of chromed metal. Your natural instinct is to put your arms up to block your face, as if that will help at all. Glass and the airbag are the first obstacles. At least the windshield splinters more than anything, but that airbag, holy shit. Airbags deploy at around 200 miles an hour. That’s fucking fast. It’s a good thing they go directly into your face and chest or it could get ugly. But it can be lifesaving, so you’ve got that.

Then things get bad. Really, really bad. Cars do not crumple like you might expect. Definitely not like in the cartoons. Things fly everywhere in an accident. I distinctly remember watching the gum fly out of my mouth, stop in mid-air, float into the backseat and then end up in my lap. If I hadn’t already shit my pants that would have ruined my jeans.

I don’t know what happened. How it happened even.

“…Ricky.”

I was just towing the line.

“Ricky.”

I was just…

“Rick!”

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear me?”

“What’s that?”

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh… Whatever you want is fine.”

“You never listen to me. What were you thinking about?”

“Just mailboxes.”