Today, for the first time in 14 years, the doctor at the base clinic stood me up. My appointment was at 0850; at 0920 I decided I had more important things to do. Clearly wires had gotten crossed; they’ve never kept me waiting more than 5 minutes before. I told the airman at the desk I had to leave and would call later. I wanted to ask her about the amateurish, illiterate sign posted in the waiting room, but considering the possibility she’d had a hand in its composition, kept my mouth shut.
My wife is prone to compare me to my father, who was a stickler for appointment times. We used to joke that if he’d been shot, he’d have left a trail of blood out the door if the doctor kept him waiting … no pissant civilian was going to waste the colonel’s time. I sat patiently for 30 minutes, then politely explained that I had to leave. I am not my father. But I can sure understand why he was the way he was.
You may have noticed my use of military time in the first paragraph (0850 instead of 8:50AM). I did that to point out the interesting compromise adopted by the composer of that embarrassing sign: not 0900, not 9:00AM, but 09:00. Great, now no one is confused! Or should that be everyone’s?
It’s too bad. It wasn’t an important appointment, but I did want to get some prescriptions renewed before I turn 65 and go on Medicare. This was to have been my last appointment with a military doctor. I feel as if the door has hit me on the ass on my way out.
- Now I am an old man,
My pilot light is out,
What used to be my sex appeal,
Is now my water spout,
etc.
It’s a new week. I’ll be leading walking tours at the Pima Air & Space Museum Wednesday morning. Saturday we were going to Phoenix to watch our granddaughter Taylor play in a softball tournament, but something fell through the cracks and her team isn’t on the schedule after all.
The Phoenix trip was to have been the first leg of a planned three-day solo motorcycle ride to northern Arizona and back. We were going to go to Phoenix in trail, Donna in the car and me on the Goldwing. After the game we’d spend the night in Phoenix with the kids; Sunday morning I’d take off for Flagstaff on the bike. Phoenix to Flag is an easy ride; I’d planned to take back roads along the Mogollon Rim on the way north. Monday I’d have ridden around the Flagstaff/Grand Canyon/Navaho Nation area; Tuesday would have been a long slog down the freeway back to Tucson.
With no reason to spend Saturday night in Phoenix, I’d have to ride from Tucson to Flagstaff on Sunday: six hours by freeway and no time to take back roads. I don’t mind taking the freeway home, but I don’t want to do it both ways, with only one day in between for touring northern Arizona. It’s just not worth it. My motorcycle group here is making a Kitt Peak run on Sunday morning, and my friend Ed says he’s up for a breakfast ride to Bisbee, so I’m cancelling my room in Flagstaff and staying home.
This is probably more than you ever wanted to know about the logistics of motorcycle trips.
In local news, our mayor has announced a ban on critical speech at city council meetings. What with the TSA, the Patriot Act, and politicians using the police to arrest citizens, I don’t know what country I’m living in any more. It sure isn’t the United States of America that they taught us about in civics class.
Then again, it’s Monday. I’m sure things will look better tomorrow!