Interpersonal communication is a blessed gift, however there are some phrases I would rather have never heard.
The other day, for example, I woke up from a lousy coughing, sneezing, whizzing and all together rotten night. My head was stuffy, I ached all over, to put it simply: I had a lousy cold. I decided to stay home and try to nip that thing in the bud. The next thing I knew I was scratching all over. Well it was time to call my Doctor who to my great surprise (and the offices of his nurse) invited me to come over so he could take a look. I was expecting some wisdom such as " the Doctor said to take two aspirin and call him...." You know the classic answer. Not this time. My Doctor wanted to see me! Wow! I bundled myself, drove myself to the Doctor and for a while sat in the waiting room under the either disapproving or disgusted look of the local temporary population. Nursey called my name, parked me on the scale, sat me down, introduced a thermometer in my mouth (Thanks God!) took my blood pressure and ran out, no doubt to thoroughly decontaminate herself. I wait a bit. I hear the Doctor picking up my file from the handy dispenser on the outside, a knock at the door, the door open. My Doctor, joviality personified, enters. "Good afternoon Mr. Faye. How are you”?
Now those are words that should not have been spoken! I saw my face in the mirror several time this day and nothing, I mean nothing indicated that the owner of the face was having a good day, morning or afternoon! But I could have overcome that one if the fountain of knowledge and happy character, on which I was placing all my hope to a return to the land or the livings, was now asking me how I was. A third grader would have judged on the spot that I was not well. Hey Sherlock! I am here for you to tell me how I am and how I can get out of that unpleasant situation. A little compassion, please!
Find out that I had a bad cold, number one and that number two the shrimps of the Chinese Restaurant of the other night were the reason of a whapping allergic reaction.
As I walked out of the office with my usual load of assorted and highly encrypted prescription and samples a memory came back of an event almost thirty years ago.
I was driving from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to Seattle. That was during another one of those interesting oil crisis and Congress had decided in its cumulative wisdom that the answer was a national speed limit: 55MPH. I was at the time the proud owner of a brand spanking new Oldsmobile 98 with more horsepower under the hood than what was actually needed to propel the monster to almost three times the speed limit in question. Well, yes, gas was getting expensive, almost a buck a gallon! And I was in a hurry to reach Seattle. I flew thru South Dakota, Interstate 90 was basically lined by a blur thru the Sate of Wyoming and Montana, zipped thru Idaho with just a glimpse of Coeur d'Alene and roared thru Washington just long enough to get a siren and a flashing light behind me. Police chase was not in my blood, I stopped and soon a Washington State Trooper was at my door. I can still see him: Smoky the bear hat with a brim perfectly flat and seemingly sharp enough to cut a tree, a broad face, tanned, eyes hidden behind a pair of Ray Ban mirrorized pilot sunglasses and a little hint of a smile, two fingers touching the hat brim as he said with a little friendly smile: "Good afternoon Sir, Welcome to the Sate of Washington" Then proceeded to inform me that said State of Washington was enforcing the speed limit.
Well, number one it was not a good afternoon and sure like hell I was not feeling any of that friendly Welcome to the State of Washington stuff! Those words should not have been spoken.
Somehow I would have felt much better with a " Holly Cow! You look like shit" from my Doctor and a "Gotcha Sucker, You’re in my territory and I'm gone fry your butt!" from the trooper!
The other day, for example, I woke up from a lousy coughing, sneezing, whizzing and all together rotten night. My head was stuffy, I ached all over, to put it simply: I had a lousy cold. I decided to stay home and try to nip that thing in the bud. The next thing I knew I was scratching all over. Well it was time to call my Doctor who to my great surprise (and the offices of his nurse) invited me to come over so he could take a look. I was expecting some wisdom such as " the Doctor said to take two aspirin and call him...." You know the classic answer. Not this time. My Doctor wanted to see me! Wow! I bundled myself, drove myself to the Doctor and for a while sat in the waiting room under the either disapproving or disgusted look of the local temporary population. Nursey called my name, parked me on the scale, sat me down, introduced a thermometer in my mouth (Thanks God!) took my blood pressure and ran out, no doubt to thoroughly decontaminate herself. I wait a bit. I hear the Doctor picking up my file from the handy dispenser on the outside, a knock at the door, the door open. My Doctor, joviality personified, enters. "Good afternoon Mr. Faye. How are you”?
Now those are words that should not have been spoken! I saw my face in the mirror several time this day and nothing, I mean nothing indicated that the owner of the face was having a good day, morning or afternoon! But I could have overcome that one if the fountain of knowledge and happy character, on which I was placing all my hope to a return to the land or the livings, was now asking me how I was. A third grader would have judged on the spot that I was not well. Hey Sherlock! I am here for you to tell me how I am and how I can get out of that unpleasant situation. A little compassion, please!
Find out that I had a bad cold, number one and that number two the shrimps of the Chinese Restaurant of the other night were the reason of a whapping allergic reaction.
As I walked out of the office with my usual load of assorted and highly encrypted prescription and samples a memory came back of an event almost thirty years ago.
I was driving from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to Seattle. That was during another one of those interesting oil crisis and Congress had decided in its cumulative wisdom that the answer was a national speed limit: 55MPH. I was at the time the proud owner of a brand spanking new Oldsmobile 98 with more horsepower under the hood than what was actually needed to propel the monster to almost three times the speed limit in question. Well, yes, gas was getting expensive, almost a buck a gallon! And I was in a hurry to reach Seattle. I flew thru South Dakota, Interstate 90 was basically lined by a blur thru the Sate of Wyoming and Montana, zipped thru Idaho with just a glimpse of Coeur d'Alene and roared thru Washington just long enough to get a siren and a flashing light behind me. Police chase was not in my blood, I stopped and soon a Washington State Trooper was at my door. I can still see him: Smoky the bear hat with a brim perfectly flat and seemingly sharp enough to cut a tree, a broad face, tanned, eyes hidden behind a pair of Ray Ban mirrorized pilot sunglasses and a little hint of a smile, two fingers touching the hat brim as he said with a little friendly smile: "Good afternoon Sir, Welcome to the Sate of Washington" Then proceeded to inform me that said State of Washington was enforcing the speed limit.
Well, number one it was not a good afternoon and sure like hell I was not feeling any of that friendly Welcome to the State of Washington stuff! Those words should not have been spoken.
Somehow I would have felt much better with a " Holly Cow! You look like shit" from my Doctor and a "Gotcha Sucker, You’re in my territory and I'm gone fry your butt!" from the trooper!
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