As promised, I have a story from Tuesday, and this is it. Let me begin by saying that Tuesday was a mess. It was a walk-through-spider-webs, blisters-forming-on-my-feet, step-in-dog-pooh type of day. I should have seen it coming pretty early though as, first-thing Tuesday morning, I got my annual flu shot.
Flu shots in the past have been relatively simple. They are always quick and usually harmless. This year, I was encouraged to get the nasal spray, or Live, Attenuated Influenza Vaccine. I guess if you’re of a certain age and health this is the preferred way, although I’d like to think that my astounding physique and dreamy good looks help in all decisions about me being made. The certain age by the way: 2-49. I’m pretty sure I’m somewhere in there. And the certain health: not sick. That’s pretty much the extent of it.
I however was not looking forward to the spray. The main reason for this is that I’ve never had it and I don’t like change, but if you were to ask me why, I’d probably come up with some answer that conjures up images of a James Dean character standing on the side of an empty road with some forlorn expression. And then I’d sum it all up saying, “John Duffy doesn’t do sprays.”
As I filled out my forms, however, I was instructed to get the spray, and I didn’t argue. It had occurred to me that being dressed in shirt and tie for my month-long tie campaign might make my shoulder tricky to get to, so I was willing to swallow my pride and inhale the Live, Attenuated Influenza Virus.
When I got back to the nurse, though, she asked, “Left or right?” She had a thick accent, and when I said something like, “I’m going right up the middle; give me the spray,” she didn’t seem to understand. “Right? No… left, right?” she continued in broken English and started unbuttoning the cuff of my shirt. At this point, I was just confused and helplessly stood in silence, trying to get out the word, “Spray,” so that she’d understand.
She rolled up my sleeve as best she could and then said “No, not enough,” and pointed to my shoulder. Then she started unbuttoning my shirt. Befuddled I began helping her unbutton my shirt. Then I untucked it thinking that I would have to take off the whole shirt to gain access to the sweet spot, but the nurse quickly slapped my hand away. “No,” she said, “you do tie.”
By this point, three or four people had sat next to me and were quickly poked with the needle and were sent on their way, briefly witnessing this bizarre scene unfold. As I undid my tie, again I was scolded. “No,” and she pulled my shirt back and gave me the shot before I knew what had happened. I had just gotten my tie undone.
Then it was all done. I said thank you and got up to leave, but the kind nurse, said “No.” She started buttoning my shirt up for me. As I insisted that I could button my own shirt, she said in what seemed like frustrated apology, “I get this. You get tie.” I’m not sure what I said, but I am pretty sure it was something like, “I can do both.” I am pretty amazing afterall.
In the end, I buttoned my shirt, tied my tie, and even unbuckled and unbuttoned my pants to tuck in my shirt as I walked through the parking lot to my car. I’m not sure who was more embarrassed by the situation. It was definitely awkward for me, but I got to run and hide afterwards, laughing with my coworkers about it. I feel bad for her who, I'm going to assume judged me by the impressive tie of white, yellow, and blue snowflakes.
No comments:
Post a Comment