Ahh...there's nothing like the horror surrounding the yearly physical. In a good year, only one person sees me without my clothes on but I'm not sure if that makes the experience better or worse. I showed up early for my appointment and was surprised by how empty the parking lot and waiting room were. This tragically raised my hopes that I might be out of there within the hour. After filling out a few forms and being weighed (I always want to take off my shoes but don't want them to think I care too much about my weight) I was ushered into the exam room.

The nurse took my blood pressure and temperature and them left me to undress. I was confronted with two squares of paper towel like fabric. I unfolded the first one but it was just a sheet. I tried to fold it back up but origami was never my strong suit. The second sweat was the gown. I slipped it on and felt like I was wearing a giant paper towel. The paper towel came with a narrow ribbon of plastic. I can never figure out what do with the plastic. Is it supposed to be a belt? I had no idea so I just threw it away. Then I faced my next challenge - where to sit and wait.

My doctor usually makes me wait for a long time in the exam room so I've learned not to wait for her on the exam table. That table is a medieval torture device even if you're just sitting on it for half an hour. I usually sit in one of the chairs and read until the doctor comes in and then move to the torture table. But sitting on a chair in my giant paper towel didn't seem like the most sanitary idea. But should I read my book while sitting on the table? What would I do with my book when the doctor came in? Casually throw it at my purse and clothing sitting across the room on one of the chairs? This seemed like a bad idea so I went ahead and sat on the table without the benefit of reading material.

Without anything to read I began looking around the room for something to occupy my interest. Unfortunately I'd already read each and every sign hundreds of times on past visits. There they all were - the notice about the Tdap vaccine, another about the costs and time lines for filling out forms, and a bilingual notice (my personal favorite) advising patients when to expect results from lab tests. As the minutes dragged on the nature of my brain caused me to obsessively read the posted notices over and over again. Should I tell Dr. Lawson there was a mistake in the bilingual sign and that the mistake was repeated in all of her exam rooms? I debate that one every time I go to the doctor.

As the minutes dragged on (not that I could tell because there wasn't a clock in the room) I found myself repeating a strange word over and over in my head. "Sphygmomanometer, sphygmanometer, sphygnomanometer, sphymonomanomentemeter, sphygono-, sphygmo-, sphygma-...," I didn't even know how to say the word but I couldn't get it out of my head. I glanced around the room trying to figure out where I had read the word but couldn't find it anywhere. Was I going crazy? The instruments hanging on my right caught my attention next. I badly wanted to play with them. Sometimes I give in and take a gander through the eye and mouth looker thing, I just can't help myself. But I managed to restrain myself this time. Then I saw it, the magic word, sphygmomanometer. It was on the blood pressure cuff machine thingy. A small measure of relief from my torture.

While all of this was going on Dr. Lawson continued to play her waiting games with me. I kept hearing her voice out in the hallway. My spirits and nerves spiked with the hope that she might be finally getting to me. Dr. Lawson always shakes my hand when she comes in so every time I heard her coming I had to wipe my sweaty hands on my paper towel dress. My gown was rapidly transforming into a wet and wrinkled paper towel dress. I held on to the hope that it was made from Brawny paper towels and not the cheap generic kind that might fall apart by the time the doctor showed up.

I'd just about decided to lie down and take a nap when the doctor finally came in. Don't worry, this story has a happy ending. Dr. Lawson quickly put me at my ease and the exam proceeded without too much further embarrassment. And it only took an hour and half. Now I have a whole year to recover.

Dad or Ryan?

When I went up to Utah to drop off Ryan he left me at Heather's house while he went for a bike ride. He looked so much like Dad it was eerie.

Hey Slackers!

And by slackers I mean you! (Brandon, Chelsea, Mom, and Ryan that is) It is time to update your blogs. Don't tell me you don't have anything to write about. All I do is work, eat, and sleep and I manage to post at least a few times a month and you all have much more exciting things going on in your lives. You have all told me about things you have enjoyed reading on Megan's and Heather's blogs. I'm sure they would enjoy hearing updates on what you are doing. Here are some suggestions in case you are stuck for ideas.

Mom - your new computer, fun w/family history, upcoming trips, updates on the Pattons, your wonderful daughter Lindsay

Brandon & Chelsea - update on Chelsea going back to school, job search update for Brandon, progress on the Angels season for those of us who care but not enough to actually watch the games, recent Midway Mania high scores, your wonderful sister Lindsay

Ryan - back to school update, new ward/apartment/school schedule, dating life or lack thereof, recent video game addictions, and again your wonderful sister Lindsay

I want to see a new post from each of you by the end of the week, or else!

Underwear

Don't worry, this post isn't about my underwear. My underwear is pretty boring although I've had lengthy conversations about underwear, especially once I started wearing garments. The pros and cons of various styles and fabric types can make for some great conversation material. I forgot I had these little videos of Jonnie. The kids taught Jonnie to say underwear and it quickly became his favorite word because the kids would crack up every time he said it.

Notice I asked him who loved him and his first response was underwear. My intention was not to capture this particular developmental phase on camera.

In case you couldn't tell that is a pack of diapers he is beating with my camera case. I think someone might be trying to say he's ready for toilet training. Hint, hint Heather!

Borders Zone - 6

#6 Those Crazy Customers

Warning! If you already think I am too bitter you shouldn't read the following post.

Here are a few funny tidbits from my interactions with our crazy customers.

Tonight I was pulling books from some really tall bookshelves. I was using a stool to help me reach the top two shelves. A customer interrupted me and asked if she could borrow my stool. Assuming she needed my stool to reach a book I gladly surrendered my stool. I kept working, pulling books from the lower shelves that I could reach, but soon I needed to work on the upper shelves again. I looked around for the lady but she was nowhere to be found. It was about time for my lunch break anyways so I headed back to the warehouse to put my books away. On my way to the back I happened upon my stool. The stool requisitioner was sitting on it while she leisurely perused the mystery thriller section (whose shelves are only about 5' tall). I guess she needed to sit down while she browsed.

A couple of days ago I helped a customer find a couple of books. This involved walking her to two different sections, finding the books, and placing them in her hands. Pretty much standard procedure. The customer was extremely grateful and gushed, "Wow! What great service! You should really be tipped for giving such great service." I briefly considered holding out my palm and giving her the chance to put the money where her mouth was, but instead I just smiled. The lady awkwardly thanked me again and walked away. I don't think she realized what she was saying.

And finally, there is the mystery of customer-employee identification. For some reason our customers have a really hard time telling who the employees at our store are. Granted, we don't wear uniforms so that makes it a little hard to tell who the employees are. But we do wear large name tags hanging on Borders lanyards around our necks. We also all wear radios at our waists with a cord leading from the radio up to an earpiece. This hardware really stands out. But still I get asked several times a day, "Do you work here?" I've been asked this while carrying boxes, pushing a dolly, pushing a library cart full of books, and while on the phone at the customer service desk. Why in the world would I be doing any of these things if I wasn't an employee? Do they think I might be a rogue customer on the run with a cart full of books? A girl I work with named Janeen thinks that customers might just be using the question as an icebreaker before asking for help. But that theory doesn't hold water for me. Or at least I don't ask employees at other stores if they are employees before asking for help. It has become a standing joke at our store.
A couple of weeks ago I had the following shocking experience. I was working in the music area when a lady approached me and asked, "Do you work here?" She then laughed and said, "Well of course you do, you're wearing a nametag and you're moving all those CDs around." I wanted to hug her. I thought that might have scared her so instead I just helped her find her book. I guess we need to get some uniforms at our store.