One of the nurses removed the cast and we were sitting waiting for what seemed like forever for a resident to come in the room. Suddenly, in breezed a man we had never seen before. He never even told us who he was, but just jumped right in, went over to Trent, and said, "So, Dude! How are ya doing?" After a brief question-and-answer session, he said he would let the surgeon know what the status was and then Trent could get his splint and his physical therapy instruction. And of course, while I was listening to the p.t. instructions, I started feeling really icky. I excused myself to the restroom and thought, okay, what should I do first, hurl, or pass out?
After being in the restroom briefly, I knew that sitting wasn't going to cut it. So I did the only thing I could to help myself feel better. Brace yourselves. I decided to lay down on the nice, cold bathroom floor. In a hospital. You just kinda threw up in your mouth just thinking about it, didn't you? I didn't care. The floor was my friend. "I love you, floor," I thought, "you are so kind and cool and you are making me feel so much better." You know that your day has a dose of suckiness in it when laying on the floor in front of a toilet seems like the best option available for you. After a few minutes enjoying the embrace of my chilly friend Floor, I felt better, and Trent and I went about our business. I managed to get Trent scheduled for another appointment and pick up his medication, and we were on our way home.
While we were on the road, we talked about how strange it was that the resident never even identified himself. I was thinking, probably because of my little lie-down in the restroom, that he could have been anyone. "Hi, I'm Mister Bob, and I do maintenance on the floors and carpets in the building." This suddenly made me remember something funny that happened when I worked as a drive-through teller in a very old building in Denver. The security to get into the drive-through facility was pretty simple. The building had been wired with closed-circuit televisions that displayed in the manager's office area, as well as in the security office. There was also a direct phone line from the entry to the office. When anyone needed access to the area, they would pick up the phone and identify themselves. If the person inside the facility didn't recognize who they were, they could simply refuse them entrance. There were also double entry doors as a fail-safe measure, so if the outer doors were opened and someone came in that shouldn't, the internal door would stop them.
You'd be surprised how many people seemed to come through those doors. There were people from the teller department, in the building across the street, coming to pick up work for processing or relieve managers for lunch breaks. The off-duty Denver Police Officers who were security might come in for breaks. And there were always people coming for maintenance, repairs, rubbish removal, cleaning, you name it. One day, one of my friends told me about an embarrassing moment she had when she answered the phone for someone who wanted to come into the facility. She told me that she had picked up the phone and heard a man say, "This is the janitor. Undress." Let me tell you, she was furious when she heard this. "What!?" she asked. Again, the man said, "This is the janitor. Undress." She was floored. He said, "Undress, undress!" She was about ready to call the police officers over when he pointed out his cleaning supplies. And she realized he was the new person on the housekeeping staff, Andres. Luckily, Andres was a kind and understanding person. But she never got over her embarrassment of thinking he told her to undress!