Tuesday night was shorter than usual and Wednesday began early for Bobbi's Big Sinus Adventures. I got to enjoy the seething mass of aberrant humanity that is the crowd in Big City Hospital's waiting room, which confirmed that yup, I'm still a raging classist.
There was a woman who flopped down on the loveseat next to the table where I was sitting who looked like Flip Wilson's Geraldine had aged badly after picking up a horrible meth habit and joining the Hep C Generation, to boot. Or perhaps someone had boosted ol' Amenhotep II from the Cairo Museum and done him up in bad drag before reviving him.
She had a full-volume conversation on her cell phone until the battery died, whereupon she got up, leaned over me without so much as a "sorry 'bout your personal space" and plugged it into the wall next to my chair. She smelled like a Bob Marley concert during a Cheech & Chong film festival in a bad perfume factory.
Across the table was Bubba, Bubbette, and Bubba Jr. having the sort of conversation that was so mind-numbingly banal I was considering eating the gun I wasn't supposed to have with me just to make it stop, but Bobbi doesn't have Uber and wouldn't have been able to drive herself home, so I persevered.
While not as bad as the crowd at the courthouse downtown, most of these folks would have had to dress up to make it onto the People of Walmart page. If this was the outpatient surgery waiting room, the ER waiting room must have been like the cantina from Star Wars.
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