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And . . . here’s another place I’m not allowed in again per Amy

Disclaimer: I have no idea why Amy thinks anyone will be interested in this, but here it is and I’m supposed to tell you it’s true.

I had to have some blood drawn this morning. As you faithful readers know, I don’t care to be involved in anything medical or medically related.

I was a very sickly child. I was so sickly, I missed more than half of my kindergarten year and used to get a vitamin shot every Friday after school.  Just imagine, being a little kid and knowing once a week you’re going to get a shot.  And no, the shots didn’t help.

These are only $4.49 for 9. I got us all some!

So, as an adult, I am rarely sick. As in – almost never.  The last time I was sick was over four years ago. I caught a cold in Turkey that wouldn’t go away and Amy made me go to the doctor because she thought I had pneumonia but I didn’t. I read the x-rays myself. Turkey is dead to me now.

Anyway, when I go to a medical facility I bring a plastic bag to sit on, and I don’t take any deep breaths, and I don’t touch anything in the place. When I signed in this morning I rubbed hand sanitizer all over their pen. Right next to the sign-in sheet was a box of face masks. Medical grade. I heard angels sing. I immediately put one on and sat on my plastic bag.

I texted Amy that I was the only person in the place wearing one and that everyone else would probably be dead by noon. Not only were they not wearing the mask, they were reading the magazines. How dumb are people? Those magazines have been touched by the walking dead. No one, and I mean no one, needs to read a copy of Golf Digest at home and you certainly don’t need to read one when it means your life might be in danger.

An older man got up from where he was sitting to sit next me. Before I could find out what disease he had and make him move, he asked in an English accent why I was sitting on a “rubbish” bag. I explained it to him from behind my mask and suggested he put down Golf Dysentery and go get a mask. Wisely, he did. Next a policeman arrived, he signed in, took a look at me and the English guy and put on his own face mask and sat next to us.

Things went down hill from there. I was called for my appointment and followed the worker through a door. On the door was a sign which read “Close the door behind you”. I would have had to pull the door closed by TOUCHING it. The nurse said “Close the door.” Boy was she annoyed when I refused. SICK people have touched that door! Why would she think a woman wearing a face mask and inciting a “face mask riot” in the waiting room would touch a germ infested door? What the hell is wrong with the world today? She closed it herself. She was wearing gloves.

When we got to the exam room, I made her change the gloves. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, because all of our readers are brilliant, but I had to tell her she wasn’t touching me with the gloves she used to touch the door touched by sick people.

When it was time to go I made her give me a glove so I could get out alive. She hesitated until I mentioned I’d have to spend the day with her if I couldn’t get out. She gave me a glove.

If you made it this far, I owe you a payoff so here’s some of the best advice you’ll ever get from anyone for the rest of your life: Stay out of medical offices and if you have to go, sit on plastic, don’t touch anything, and don’t breathe while you’re in there – maybe you’ll make it out alive.

Good day.

 

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