Saturday

A brush with disaster



Prior to my untimely retirement I walked the halls of government with the mighty, and the mighty confused.  true story. I was walking back from a Congressional Hearing with a Presidential Appointee at my side.  "What is my password?" he asked. "I have no idea" I replied.  "It's tennis" he offered up.  "I do not need to know that" I told the attractive, well dressed nincompoop.  "Yes you do.  I keep forgetting it.  Now if I can't remember I will call you" he stated smugly.  "Do you play tennis?" I queried.  "No, my wife does" he replied.  And that was that.  I hand him one of my special business cards, with my cell and home number.  Was I a high-priced, highly trained senior computer specialist or a personal rolodex.  Yes.

true story.  I was in another government agency.  It shall go unnamed, but I once walked to the New Executive Office Building to deliver documents for the office of the president.  In the hot humid disgusting dirty dc summer air.  In a nice suit.  And expensive shoes.  Because the boss actually begged me.  "Please - it has to go now, and I cannot get a courier with clearance anywhere" he whined.  It was a good thing I adored him, because I spent the rest of the day looking like I got dressed and then took my shower. Back to my story. After 911 new security measures were put in place in all government buildings.  Everyone was on edge.  An anthrax letter might have been in our mailroom and it might have been cleaned up and hushed up.  Possibly.  Maybe.  I'm just sayin.    There definitely was a suspiscious package found out near the parking garage entrance.  A package about the size of a foot locker.  The security guards brought it into the lobby to investigate it further, and then called the bomb squad.  And we let these people guard the doors.  It was during this time I was in my office working when I noticed my thumb nail was discolored.  A ugly purple spot near my cuticle.  It didn't wash off.  My boss said "let the on-staff nurse take a look".  She did and announced I needed to go to the hospital NOW, because she did not know WHAT it was.  I said "I'll just give the family doctor a buzz", explained to the doctor's office my predicament, and got an appointment asap.  I don't scare easily and I tend not to worry out of hand.  However as an attractive, well-heeled homosexual I am allowed small fits of panic (or frenzy).  I arrived at my doctor's office and was rushed right in.  She looked at my thumb.  She looked at my thumb with her magnifying wand of medicine.  She called to the nurse "Bring me several alcohol swabs."  She opened a swab, swabbed my thumbnail and the purple blemish was gone.  "You had magic marker on your thumb" she said with a straight face.  "OH MY GOD  it is not my fault - the government nurse made me come."  I pleaded my case, but the look on my doctors face said it all. I, kabuki zero - was a ninny.

4 comments:

  1. Mr. Kabuki could hardly be blamed... Ninnyism IS contagious. When one is surrounded by nincompoops on the daily, one must be extra vigilant, else one shall find oneself suffering form the disorder.

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  2. Perhaps you should have been sent to the manicurist instead.

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  3. However as an attractive, well-heeled homosexual I am allowed small fits of panic (or frenzy).

    A hissy fit, in other words?

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  4. You've been tagged in a Meme. Go to my joint for details. Sorry TJB, made me do it.

    http://felixinhollywood.blogspot.com/2010/01/it-was-bound-to-happen-sometime.html

    ReplyDelete