I’ve been a tad sick with a cough thing, turns out its viral and I get to have my cough thing for about two more weeks. I will miss my cough thing, which I have since named “Enrique”, when it leaves me to find a home with another lucky soul who will have the pleasure of being sleep deprived and being bent at the waist while “Enrique” forces you to the ground in a spasm of hacking.
I digress.
To find out why I was still hacking after finishing antibiotics, I returned to the doctor. She, too, was puzzled and so ordered a series of chest x-rays to determine if I needed to be hospitalized (yippee). So, after our chat in the patients’ room, she lead me to the internal waiting room outside the x-ray area in the office. The nice x-ray quickly collected me (after I was able to read two chapters in my book) and showed me into the x-ray lab.
With a great flourish of her blue-covered scrub arm, she pulled out a puke pink dressing gown. I inwardly groaned at its appearance. She happily smiled.
“I need you to take off your top and bra and put this on with the opening in the back. Like a kitchen apron.”
“Yup,” I agreed with as fake of a smile as I could muster. Quickly, I disrobed and slipped into the oh-so-sheik crinkly paper dressing gown.
Next up with the x-rays themselves – no big. Turn this way. Turn that way. Hold your breath. Release your breath.
And it was done. So, I was asked to remain in the dressing gown until she could develop the film and see if it turned out. Not a problem, I thought. I plopped down on a stool and waited.
And there it was. My epiphany. A small piece of the great puzzle of life.
It was black and intricate lattice work comprising four sides of the object and sitting incongruously under a blue vinyl patient chair.
The Bob & Bob Dairy Works milk crate.
You know what I’m talking about. The crates that milk companies use to carry milk cartons into schools and some businesses. The ones with the “Property of” stamps plastering any and all free space and letting any wrongful user know who the true owner of the poor little lost crate is. This particular crate wasn’t holding chocolate milk cartons waiting for grubby school children’s hands, but, instead a variety of lead line protective covers.
I have seen these milk crates everywhere. In wood shops, with construction crews, on apple farms, and now, of all places, in the x-ray room. It boggles the mind that milk is so expensive today. I know why. It isn’t gas or production costs. It’s because the general public keeps jacking the milk crates, and the poor dairies have to keep replacing them.
Oh, and yeah, I have two deep red milk crates at my house; both filled with books.
I digress.
To find out why I was still hacking after finishing antibiotics, I returned to the doctor. She, too, was puzzled and so ordered a series of chest x-rays to determine if I needed to be hospitalized (yippee). So, after our chat in the patients’ room, she lead me to the internal waiting room outside the x-ray area in the office. The nice x-ray quickly collected me (after I was able to read two chapters in my book) and showed me into the x-ray lab.
With a great flourish of her blue-covered scrub arm, she pulled out a puke pink dressing gown. I inwardly groaned at its appearance. She happily smiled.
“I need you to take off your top and bra and put this on with the opening in the back. Like a kitchen apron.”
“Yup,” I agreed with as fake of a smile as I could muster. Quickly, I disrobed and slipped into the oh-so-sheik crinkly paper dressing gown.
Next up with the x-rays themselves – no big. Turn this way. Turn that way. Hold your breath. Release your breath.
And it was done. So, I was asked to remain in the dressing gown until she could develop the film and see if it turned out. Not a problem, I thought. I plopped down on a stool and waited.
And there it was. My epiphany. A small piece of the great puzzle of life.
It was black and intricate lattice work comprising four sides of the object and sitting incongruously under a blue vinyl patient chair.
The Bob & Bob Dairy Works milk crate.
You know what I’m talking about. The crates that milk companies use to carry milk cartons into schools and some businesses. The ones with the “Property of” stamps plastering any and all free space and letting any wrongful user know who the true owner of the poor little lost crate is. This particular crate wasn’t holding chocolate milk cartons waiting for grubby school children’s hands, but, instead a variety of lead line protective covers.
I have seen these milk crates everywhere. In wood shops, with construction crews, on apple farms, and now, of all places, in the x-ray room. It boggles the mind that milk is so expensive today. I know why. It isn’t gas or production costs. It’s because the general public keeps jacking the milk crates, and the poor dairies have to keep replacing them.
Oh, and yeah, I have two deep red milk crates at my house; both filled with books.
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