So, I'm standin' here workin' the counter and bein' real thankful for the fantastic new heater that's keepin' my lower half super-toasty when I hear an unfamiliar voice yelling out in the shop.
So, I head toward the door that connects the lobby to the shop, and see someone I don't know.
What the hell?
If you're looking at the outside of an automotive-related business (that you or your family does not own), and you see a person-size walk-in door with an "OPEN" sign on it next to a ten-feet-wide, twenty-feet-tall truck-size garage door that says "NO ADMITTANCE," which one would you want to walk in through?
Is it just me, or does it seem a little invasive to just go walkin' in through that truck-size door just 'cause it happens to be open? Is it just me, or does it seem like there might be some odd chance of getting run over by a truck or fork lift driven by someone who didn't realize you were there 'cause hey, they usually don't let just anybody in there?
I used to joke about people callin' someplace like CompUSA when their dishwasher quit... Now I realize, it's not a joke, it's completely real and totally serious, they probably are. Some of them may even be putting their garbage out in front of Bus Stop signs and wondering where the hell that Garbage Truck is and why the trash is still there.
So, Mr. Walk-In comes through the door that separates the Lobby from the Shop, and asks about something for a Chevy Cavalier. When I tell him we handle Ford parts, he looks me right in the eyes and says "Oh, Ford parts..." pauses for a second, and right about the time I notice the apron, he asks "So how'bout a Dodge Caravan?"
I'm not bullshitting.
After he made his way out (back through the damn shop and through that "NO ADMITTANCE" door), I got to thinkin' about the apron...
Apparently he was from that scary little restaurant whose kitchen screen door faces our far South gate.
So... If I were to walk right over there and blunder through that screen door into that restaurant kitchen and say something like "Y'all got any sausage? Can I get a pizza?" I wonder what would happen...
I'm betting it wouldn't be "We don't make pizza here." They'd probably just chase my ass outta there.
Holy crap... It really does feel so good feelin' good again. Geah, lemme check the calendar and see just how long this long strange week has been. Okay, it was longer than a week.
The day before Christmas Eve was a Tuesday, I drove into Tulsa and Clay and I went across the highway to that chain restaurant named after a pepper. We're cheese-eaters, so we had that lovely melty skillet of Chorizo-con-Queso with chips. Right about that time I started feelin' like I wasn't at my best, and nothing really sounded good, so I decided I'd better eat light -- a bowl of soup that they called "Chicken Enchilada" with a side of mashed potatoes because I figured I'd better get something besides just soup.
Faced with soup named after one of my favorite things from most any Mexican restaurant, I really went downhill. It just didn't taste good, didn't look good, and I ended up asking for a container to take the rest with me; which may have been a bad idea, because the smell wasn't exactly doin' me any favors either. I really felt like I might speeyack, and I ended up askin' Clay to drive back to the house even though it was probably less than a mile.
Christmas Eve, I coughed. I didn't bake cookies, I didn't make Green Bean Casserole, I didn't go to dinner with the folks, I just stayed home and coughed. Christmas Day I loaded up and went to Mom's house, where I coughed my way through a very lovely Christmas Dinner that would've been a dream come true had it not been for all the coughing and hacking. I'm not kiddin', Christmas Dinner was freakin' awesome, everything Christmas Dinner ought to be and I enjoyed every second of sittin' at the table with Clay and My Mom and My Dad, it was great. Except for all the damn coughing.
The day after Christmas I coughed and sneezed. When the sneezing stopped, I was still coughing, and My Mom was coughing too. She ended up in the hospital with it that Monday, and none of us could go up there 'cause my brother and My Dad and I were all still coughing too. I coughed through all sorts of stuff, including a nice dinner get-together with several other coughing victims, and an interesting learning experience with plumbing, which I already wrote about here.
Shortly before New Year's Eve, my brother went to his doctor and ended up with prescriptions for antibiotics and cough medicine. My Dad went to his doctor and ended up with prescriptions for antibiotics and an inhaler. I coughed and coughed through New Year's Eve, which we really didn't observe except that I was up getting a drink of water and while I was coughing, I noticed that it was 11:57 so I said "Happy New Year" as I dragged my ass back into bed.
The day after New Year's was a Friday, and since I'd suffered through the Holiday, I really didn't want to suffer through the weekend, so I called my doctor.
Currently (soon to change), my doctor is a clinic associated with a university, which means it's often easy to get an appointment the same day; I called around 8:45, they got me in at 3:15. Since it's a clinic run by a university, there are many, many doctors there, and it's about like drawing a name out of a hat.
I got Chris Rock.
My whole family caught the same cold, My Mom was in the hospital getting IV antibiotics, My Dad and my brother were both on antibiotics. Dr. Chris Rock listened to me cough, did not seem overly concerned, and told me to go get some Dextromethorphan. Robitussin. Yes, seriously.
At first it almost helped, but it didn't make the whole weekend. By Monday Morning, my ass was really draggin' my tracks out, but I struggled outta bed and into the shower and headed out to work anyway. As I backed the car out of the driveway, I wondered if maybe I was sicker than I thought. The coughing hadn't subsided and the Robitussin wasn't helping. By the time I got to the first stop sign, I wondered if I was really at my best to be driving; out on the highway, I really wondered if I ought to be driving.
I made it to work okay, thankfully, but before lunch time, I'd already nodded off twice in a grubby ol' chair that I ordinarily wouldn't want to touch, let alone sit in.
When I called to check on My Mom, she told me to just take a damn credit card and go to Urgent Care.
If you're Go0gling for that, for Urgent Care in Owasso, over there just off 169 just East of 129th, I'll tell ya this: Dr. Nielson, Judy Nielson is an angel, she's just the best and I was very, very impressed. Like that joke about the tombstone, "I told you I was sick," I was just glad to hear somebody acknowledge that yes, I really was sick, and I really did need some pharmaceutical help to get over it and get better. Finally, I got some prescriptions -- with a genuine diagnosis of Pneumonia, I left with antibiotics, steroids, high-octane cough medicine, and an inhaler. Robitussin, my ass.
Just as soon as I could get those prescriptions filled and grab some snacks, I went straight to the house and did not come out again 'til Thursday evening. Once I'd taken a couple pills out of each pack and got a couple really good streaks of sleep out of that lovely narcotic cough medicine, I was in a whole different world. I got a *lot* of laundry done, accomplished a notable bit of knitting, and read most of a book as well, and things were good. Thursday evening I stopped by the shop to pick up the mail and get some chicken for dinner and that was the first time I came outside all week.
Today, I was ever so thankful to just feel good when I got up to come to work!
So very thankful!
But I could still enjoy a few days to just stay in the house.
I am many, many things. I am the High-Priestess of Daddy's Girls, I am an Editor, a Salesman, a Writer, a Sister, a Widow, a Woman of many facets; like the song says, "A singer, a dancer, a drinker of wine, a sleeper wherever I fall..."