or How Crazy Rumors Get Started When People In Charge Are Not Forthright About What Is Happening
In an epic display of confusion and contained hysteria, we took off for the local ER shortly after dinner when we got a call that Christy’s best friend was in a terrible wreck. She was being transported by ambulance down the street from us, alone, while her father was removed with the jaws of life and taken into the city to the big trauma hospital. Her mom, of course, went with him, and so we rallied at the local ER to both calm and help the friend.
Hilarity ensued while entertaining poor Rachel and clandestinely getting updates about her dad, who at this writing is in stable condition with plenty of broken bones, awaiting surgery to alleviate something in his cervicals. That doesn’t sound very good but if pain is an indication that there’s no paralysis, then the poor guy is in bad shape, but feeling every bit of his injuries. It would be very cool of you to say a prayer for Philip. I’ll pause the story. While you’re at it his wife Nancy Jo could use some, too.
Rachel, on the other hand, didn’t sustain more than some bruising and banging about, so in her happy pill induced state will receive the brunt of my mockery. She’s sleeping peacefully now, and all I can say is it’s a good thing Christy doesn’t sound like Darth Vader anymore though I suspect Rachel could sleep through a hurricane right about now.
Anyway, we beat her to the ER, so we witnessed her arrival. For starters, there will be some letters of inquiry and complaint coming as a result of that arrival, which was ridiculous, but let me get on with the story of Her Royal Highness, emerging from the back of the ambulance with a gigantic gauze on her wrist, and an amazingly docile and complacent look on her face. Clearly it was shock, but funny nevertheless. She acknowledged the throng of admirers with a little sweep of her good hand, and acquiesced ever so genteelly as she was led into the ER. Imagine Gloria Swanson on the red carpet. We were all speechless at the grand entrance, but then again, anyone that knows Rachel could not possibly be surprised. She held court supporting the gauze precariously placed upon her bloody wrist. By the way, the cleaning up in the triage revealed the tiniest of little cuts. Grand drama for the queen of drama. In the end we are relieved that she will be fine.
Nevertheless, seven hours in the ER was no joyful activity. It’s a good thing she had plenty of company, and as her pastor pointed out, the real spirit of community. The old folks came by to check on her before going to support Nancy, so we were left with the Frick and Frack travelling show of her friends. [as an aside, the claim that the Magnet school she attended and her brother now attends with Jonathan is a family rang very true last night. Those are some classy folks, even if they do need a GPS to get to the trauma unit they pass every time they go to a function at Ga Tech downtown. I’m just sayin’. LOL]
At some point the fire alarm went off and the minimum-wage-earning security guards pretended to be all about security, only, the chick was a little more like “Sahcurretee” and brilliantly stood in the middle of the ER where every ailing person could see and hear her, swept back her enormous weave and clicked on the radio clipped to her shoulder with her ginormous nails and announced, loudly, “There is a problem with terrorists.”
I swear that’s what she said. That’s what everyone around us heard, too.
Terrorists.
Only, I think she was trying to say “terrace.”
Well, anyway, it was more fun to hear terrorists. For the win, the firefighters that responded and evidently couldn’t turn off the alarm because they found no terrorists nor fires in the terrace, were very attractive. Hot, I believe, is what the girls said. I have to concur.
Unfortunately, they were in no hurry to turn off the piercing alarm, and we were subjected to that interminable peal for quite a while. It was punctuated by vomiting man in the corner, and tuberculosis man in front of us. The highlight of the evening, however, was when I went to the restroom and walked in on an enormous man trying to produce a urine sample.
I am scarred for life.