Yesterday I went to my hospital for a small procedure; one which required that I deprive myself of food for a number of hours. At about 1
pm, I was sitting in the waiting room, hungry, thirsty, and tired. Having just
finished my book, I had little to do except stare around the room at my fellow
fasting testees who were almost all focused on the TV, gazing longingly at the
food commercials.
Several people were with their companions. The buddies are
there for moral support, and don’t have the same restrictions we do. Of course,
nobody is telling those folks not to eat, but common courtesy would dictate
that you don’t bring your lunch to the 5th floor waiting room of Mt
Sinai Hotel & Spa.
So I was slightly alarmed when one fellow, who was waiting
for his wife, quietly slid his hand into his man-purse and pulled out a lunch
bag. He was sitting at the end of the row, and seemed to think he was
invisible. Without looking up, he unrolled the bag and pulled out a saran
wrapped sandwich the size of an oven mitt. He slowly and lovingly pulled back
the saran wrap and leaned forward to take a big bite. I was staring at him,
disbelieving, the whole time. From where I sat I could make out what appeared be a sliced meat extravaganza featuring mortadella, salami, tomatoes,
red onion, and ham.
Because of my current lack of ability to self-censor, I’m
afraid to think nasty thoughts lest I say them out loud. ‘Put it away Dagwood’
ran through my head. As did, ‘Arsehole’. But I said nothing, as it wasn’t the
worst waiting room breach of etiquette that I’ve ever seen.
The worst was back in August when I was waiting for my
lumpectomy. At that point I’d been fasting for over twelve hours, and was
sitting in a fluorescent room wearing a blue gown, paper slippers, and a hair
net (I wasn’t bald, yet). I’d been up since 5 am and hadn’t had a coffee. I was
thirsty, and I was scared. Around me patients like myself shuffled around
nervously, trying to get comfortable in their hard plastic chairs. The room was
barren of entertainment, and all personal items had been stowed away.
Then there was a familiar smell. The kind of smell that
dances on your tongue and clouds your better judgment. One associated with Christmas,
Festive Specials, and a Chalets in the Alps. There, amongst a dozen people
awaiting surgery, in a room smelling of medicine, some giant ass was tucking
into his half chicken dinner from Swiss Chalet!
I remember turning to Sue and watching her eyes widen, and my
mother thought it was kind of funny. But neither of them were as starving as me,
or the other hungry inmates. I found it such an act of such inconsideration
that I wanted the Mt Sinai Politeness Police to toss the offending party back
to the outside world where he belongs.
But such a force doesn’t exist. So the Eater remained,
working his way through his fries with gravy, as the rest of us waited for
surgery. And even though it was annoying and thoughtless, one must accept that
there are idiots everywhere, and the least they can do is provide a distraction.
Loved this one! km
ReplyDeleteyou also gave the munchies
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