First of all (FIRST OF ALL) I didn't even have to report to my new rotation until 9:30 this morning. NINE THIRTY in the morning. That is practically the afternoon people. Why don't you just tell me to make a margarita for breakfast because that is an F-ing a VACATION that's what that is.
And then (AND THEN) I got to ride the real train, the grown up fancy train to work and OH MY GOD can I just tell you how weird that was. Weird! Look! I'm using exclamation points! That means things are REALLY CRAZY. First of all, it's completely packed. Which I'm not used to. What I am used to is sprawling out over 4 seats staring up at the ads for malpractice attorneys in Spanish trying to calculate the correct vector of force a moving vehicle would need to hit me with so that I wouldn't die or loose a limb or be incontinent but hard enough send me to the ER (but not my ER) for the day so I wouldn't have to go into work. But this morning I had to scrunch in with everyone else in their wet (and stylish! with the little belts! adorable!) trenchcoats and umbrellas all dressed up in their pointy shoes to go to their cushy offices in the financial distract and OH MY GOD can I just tell you about the diamond rings some of these woman are wearing? GI-normous! Ginormous! (look! again! the explanation points! wtf?!) I want to ask them if they tear their rotator cuffs every morning getting out of bed but I'm afraid they might hit me in the temple. And then I'd be a vegetable. Because their rings are the size of flower pots. Ginormous, everyone, ginormous.
(Which reminds me that I need to talk about The Real Housewives of New York City at some point, but not now, because I'm already diaphoretic and panting and yet another orthogonal diatribe might actually make my head explode so it's up to someone else, all six of you, to remind me. Because if you've ever seen it I've got some shit to say. Shocking. I know.)
And then. (AND THEN!) I got OUT of the train and I wasn't in the ghetto! People, I tell you what, New York ain't so bad when it's all cute cafes and narrow streets and glossy buildings and people with their pants covering their butt cracks. Really. I know it's hard to believe, but I am here to say it's true. It's so very true. I went into a little corner deli and DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID? They said hello! Good morning! Can you believe it? I couldn't. I couldn't believe it. Could not. I almost jumped over the counter and made out with all three of them. Because I didn't know how else to express my awe and gratitude and figured inappropriate sexual advances are clearly the only answer. And then they asked me if I wanted my bagel toasted!! Toasted! And I did! I did want it toasted! And then THEY TOASTED IT! I cannot tell you the glory of that moment. It was sheer ecstasy and quite possibly even the rapture, without the part about god and the Apocalypse and Mel Gibson.
And then (and this is where you'll really understand why I am actually convinced that all of this is nothing but lies and fabrications and that I'm actually laying in a morgue somewhere because I've already died and I'm writing to you from the pearly gates of Jesus) I went into the hospital where I will be working for the next five weeks and promptly crapped myself. Really. No fooling. It started when the guard smiled at me (SMILED!! AT ME!! Who does that?) and asked me where I needed to go. And when I told him? He knew exactly where to send me! AND THEN HE TOLD ME TO HAVE A NICE DAY. And he MEANT it. He did. He really did. I just know it. And what he did not do was give me a sup white girl what you need? head nod nor did he fall onto the floor with full body exasperation that I would have the gall and audacity to ask him (him! the guard dude! the one you are supposed to ask these kinds of questions to!) that kind of question. Holyfriggencow are you serious?
And then (yes, AND THEN) do you know what happened? Do you know?? I got into the elevator AND IT WORKED. The little buttons, they lit up and the doors closed and it went right where it was supposed to and right then and there I almost passed out from the shock of what I saw. The tiles on the floor were clean (!) and there was no trash swept into the corners (because that's sweeping? Because that's okay with everyone? Because we're all crack addicts?) AND THEN do you know what I saw as I walked into the suite of exam rooms and offices? Wait for it people, wait for it:
A sink.
HALLELUJAH a motherloving sink!!!!!
Not just one sink either. Oh no. No no no no no no no. There are multiple sinks. All over the place. In the exam rooms. In the lab room. In the medication room. In the hallway. In the bathrooms. It's like fucking Home Depot in there. And not only that (NOT ONLY THAT!) there was soap. Soap. Real live actual soap. With paper towels. PAPER TOWELS PEOPLE. Do you have any idea what this means?? It means I have died and I have gone to heaven and yes, I can tell you, in heaven there are sinks. Because even God uses Universal Precautions.
And please, don't even get me started on the medical records. It will only make me weep with joy and disbelief. Suffice to say that it's beautiful. They exist. They are right there. IN the OFFICE. I don't have to proffer oral sex or my first born to try to get them. And I can read them! I'm SUPPOSED to read them! People even HAND THEM TO ME. I almost stuck my tongue down the throat of one of the nurses because I felt that quite possibly I had never loved anyone so much as I loved her the moment she came and gave my first chart to me. Holyfuggenshit. I have died. There is no other explanation. I have died and I have gone to heaven and in heaven there are complete medical records and computers and everywhere you look, there are sinks.
