There are melting pots and then there are melting pots and one of the things I've learned is that hospital waiting rooms are...disposable aluminum pans. There's a WHOLE lot of stuff mixed up in one place in a hospital waiting room.
Yesterday I spent the morning in a waiting room for the family of patients undergoing a really high-tech procedure. All of us there were at the mercy of the (oh. wait. I don't know who Kelly Clarkson is but...if your ass is that big? You do NOT need to be wearing those jeans. Let me change the TV channel.)
Okay. We've switched to Cyrano de Bergerac. No ugly people THERE.
ANYWAY. High-tech procedure. At the mercy of the hospital staff. Point is, everyone there was killing time, waiting on various nurses and technicians and doctors to stick their heads in, make vague observations about the state of the procedure, and then leave.
Politics may make strange bedfellows but waiting rooms? There's no telling.
There was this morbidly obese woman sitting across from us. (Now see...that's not prejudiced. The bitch was HUGE.) And in the course of the intermittant conversations that went on while we all waited somehow it came up that her husband is a diabetic. And she confided in us that...She hadn't been sleeping in her bed for about three months because right before Christmas? The husband had a seizure. So she stopped sleeping in the room with him because (you know I couldn't make this up?) SHE DIDN'T WANT TO WAKE UP WITH A CORPSE.
There's a moment after someone makes a statement like that that you sit there and think, "I missed something here."
Then there's the moment that you realize, "No. She said that."
Of course, the first thing you're thinking is..."WHO'S GOING TO CALL 9-1-1?" And then you realized that NO ONE is. Because that guy can DIE, but he better do it on his own time and not be disturbing NO fat bitch's sleep.
Because waking up with a dead guy? Might give you bad dreams.
Death? Bad dreams? Death? Bad dreams?
Hey, THAT'S a no-brainer.