Take a Number To Be Abused

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PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER. If you EVER hear this in a medical office, the first sign you are NOT going to be special is when 7658 is your number and they are currently serving number... 9.

I have had many physicals in my life. I have had exams before playing sports, starting jobs, even before getting life insurance approved.

They were all stressful, but predictable. The biggest fear in the past was seeing a new box of rubber gloves on the exam table…but I digress.

However, experiencing my first physical examination in Europe has changed my life forever or should I say, my ability to hold water.

It is hard enough not speaking the same language as the doctor, nurse or lab technician, but I learned nodding my head and saying yes to any medical question without comprehension is NOT a painless solution.

I NOW know what the word, “enema” sounds like in any language-That I can promise as I am studying all the world’s dialects on that word from this moment on.

Even a basic hearing test had psychological impact for years to come. I was placed in pre-war (not sure which war) dark, sound-proof hearing chamber with one small window 18 inches thick.

No instructions, just a stick in my hand with a button to acknowledge I can hear something through my bright(CLOCKWORK) orange headphones.

When you get to be a certain age, even SILENCE makes noise. I could be dead and I would hear some ringing in my ears. Try explaining that when you now look like Cameron Diaz’ brother in SOMETHING ABOUT MARY.

Mmmmmm (CLICK) MMMMMMMMMMM (CLICK) zzzzz (CLICK) mmmmm (CLICK) MMMMM (CLICK) ZZZZZZ…

OK, OK. You are right. I JUST kept pushing the button constantly as they either wanted to see if I could determine the mating call of a hummingbird or the sounds echoing from a black hole light years away.

I handle marketing, not clinical trials for dogs’ acute decibel sense of relativity. Just tell me which of my ears can hear the theme to THE SOPRANOS and which does not. Bada Bing (right ear)…Bada Boom (left ear). ‘nuff said.

The eye test was not as painful but much more frustrating. I was asked to REMOVE my glasses before I took the EYE test. I can not even read the top line that says…SEHTEST UNTEN (EYE TEST BELOW). So what do you expect from my vision going forward?!

“How about now?” Says the young eye technician after making a slight adjustment.

“How about NOW what? Can you tell I still am not wearing my glasses. Those are just mimic marks on my nose and ear from always wearing something which was designed to see just what you are showing me not to see.”

Ok, and now?” she repeated over and over as the chart never focused only got brighter.

“Um. I can read the fact that you don’t care I can’t see without my glasses, but if you are asking me is that an E, M, or W, up, down or sideways? The answer is D, all of the above.

After they ran complete and industry strength blood tests with six different test tubes, inserted needles into three missing veins on both arms and pricked my fingers so many times I left the lab resembling an old rusty beer can that endured a week at a red-neck rifle range…they finally ended my day with the customary drug test in a cup.

The moment of truth…

Please, be honest. Tell me if YOU would not also be confused if a nurse formerly from the Olympic discus team commands you to go #1 in a cup and place #2 in the box.

Wait….Wait, I thought the same thing until I saw there was a HOLDING BOX in the bathroom of where to place my number 1 test sample ----ONLY then, did I realize what she truly was requesting. WHEW.

I am glad she meant(2) TWO steps to follow before I felt a need to leave a compliant number 2 present as I left the office.

SEE!!!! This is why I will ALWAYS wear glasses for my physicals.

Swimming upstream both ways in the Snow

I’m patiently waited for my flight to be boarded when I saw a British teenager in a colorful warm-up outfit playing with a shiny medal around her neck. I didn't recognize the color of the award until someone asked her what she won.

A huge smile came across her face. "I finished in 6th place at a local swimming meet", shined self-proclaimed Suzy Swimmer. “Out of 8”

Six out of eight? Wow...Suzy, just a heads up. I just ran into the kid who finished in 7th place. He was just stopped by security because of the magnificent size of his own trophy of modesty and look, there is the 8th place award winner making an acceptance speech near Passport Customs & Control.

Now I appreciate hard effort and confidence as much as anyone, but bragging to strangers you finished in bottom run of a competitive race might just dampen any thought you have ever had of truly winning a flippant award in the future.

Maybe it is me, but I can't even remember who finished second in last year's Super Bowl and Miss Modesty wants a standing ovation and a medal for finishing sixth. Does she realize I can float on a raft with a beer and finish only two places behind her?

As we were ready to board, they flashed the top six names on the digital flight board who would qualify for 1st class upgrades.

Little Suzy Swimmer took the lane in 6th place AGAIN. Et Moi? Oh, I missed the upgrade by one backstroke from my dubious karma.

As I swam past her 1st class starting block on my way to seat 55b, I just happened to point at her tarnished pride and joy, "Hey Suzy,... Michael Phelps called, he said he has earrings bigger than that.”

Planes, Trains and Wedding Gowns

Planes Trains and Wedding Gowns
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On my flight back from Moscow, I waited in dreaded middle seat for my bookend seating partners as I witnessed a formally dressed Russian bride AND her groom head down the their second aisle of the day.

They acknowledged they were my new soul mates in flight so I stood up, gestured and signaled with my terrible Russian, to please, PLEASE sit together so they could lovingly cuddle for the next four hours.

The bride, with her veil still attached and her dress still fluffy, responded in perfect English they appreciated my gesture but she would like the window and her massive hubby will still take the aisle.

Wow-It is hard to visualize this stunning bride with her beauty radiating from what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life wanting already to be SOOO far apart from her groom. But neither of them spoke a word to each other while I uncomfortably allowed them to sandwich me in seat 13B while watching “Rocky IV” on my iPad (just kidding). I kept wondering if this day would define their life, end mine or just be a first test in a long line of their matrimonial exams.

“OKAAAAY, You too love birds, you have been married for only minutes and you already are letting a stranger and a bad travel agent separate you for the next few hours. Are you now going to ask me to ask him to pass you the SKY MALL magazine so you choose your own individual wedding gifts? Are you going to make me sit between satin and wool, white and black, Y and X? I don’t think so.

Sweetheart, your new spouse has a barrel chest; howitzer arms and you are now suggesting I share an ARM rest with YOU? My feet are too big, my lower limbs seem to have Restless Leg Syndrome, and you want me to focus on sitting still as I sit between Moscow’s version of Dolph Lundgren and Brigitte Nielsen?

Then I’m going to be the American Dr. Phil- but with MORE hair, “How is this early separation in your passenger of life sharing, working for YOU right NOW?”

I am beginning to see a few trust issues. You waited to hear if he was going to order the meat or veggie dish before telling him WHAT to choose and I saw him roll his eyes when you ordered your second glass of wine before he started his first.

I am excusing myself and I will return with THREE glasses as we are all throwing back some of the duty-free vodka I bought before getting on this NEWLYWED GAME plane in your honor because my sweet young Russian lovers in the air of bliss, “Мне нужно пить/I need a drink”

To be a Fly on the Wall

To be a Fly on the Wall

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How can it be ONLY loud obnoxious flies get in the house the one time you actually open the door.

No other creature, animal or insect in the world spends their entire existence waiting for this opportunity to rush in at the most opportune moment to disrupt my sleep during the night.

Seriously, not water buffalos, not GEICO geckos, not even Aflac ducks ever get in my house.--JUST a fly. I need to know. Do they hang out on the outer edge of a door and pray for a knock on the door from the UPS driver awaiting a signature?

I will not surrender. I will not let this minuscule creature of other people's demise win. Because for only $1000 I have found a solution. I combine my Dyson Air Multiplier in front of my face (um.. just a quiet cool fan) and Bose noise cancellation headphones (um..a device which fits around your ears that makes you look "SPECIAL" to drown out any sound including a atom bomb.

Hours later, I wake up peacefully with an ear ache, wind blown hair and red, dried eyes...BUT, all with a victorious grin knowing this one fly buzzed all night long without affecting my sleep. aw, the sweet taste of victory, "COUGH, COUGH". oops, found the bugger. FML

Questions for the day

Questions for the Day

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As I sit down on my return flight from Miami. I ask myself (actually others) some very important questions:

Why am I the only one who remembered to bring their LITTLE official zip lock bag for toiletries and not the Janitor in a Drum size bag which can hold a small pond? “Honestly, if you have to bring THAT size jar of Vaseline, you need more than one security line to be concerned with.”

Why am I the only one who remembers to have carry-on luggage which officially FITS in the carry-on storage area and NOT a duffel bag that could transport two bodies and a dog? “No, NO..it will not fit under the seat in front of you or MINE combined. Check it or forget it!”

Why am I the only one who remembers to remove my shoes/belt or heavy metallic items in security line BEFORE someone tells (YELLS) me TO. “Yes, yes, Mr Leisure suit Larry, cell phones will always set off flags and alarms in this security minded era..even your cheap one.”

Why am I the only one who can find their SEAT NUMBER (it is numbers and letters, not hieroglyphics people) and do you truly forget which symbol is identified for aisles versus windows (hint, the window shape has not changed in 85 years and the aisle is the OTHER ONE)

Why am I the only one who remembers to bring something to read or listen to so you Do NOT have to talk to ME for 8 hours? I never thought I would know so much about someone’s husband’s cousin’s neighbor’s dog. And SHOOT me if I ask you to repeat the story.

Why am I the only one who remembers to NOT eat airline hamburgers? Do you truly think it is going to remotely taste like something you have had before? Pre-packaged nuts are the only true edible item on the flight, unless you count what you bought at Duty-Free.

And why O why.. am I the only one who remembers it could be worse, I could have to LIVE with these people.

Massaging the Masses

Massaging the Masses

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As I walk through the shopping mall, I am stopped in my tracks while viewing the retail circle of public massage tables and their no-shame patrons who have less pride than a stupid human tricks participant on David Letterman.

Yes, I see you and I realized there is no way you can have the same stress as me. It is impossible you are going through the same life I am, if you can lay your body in a contortionist chair in the open while a small family of masseuses place their hands on their victims.

By the looks of it, you were given the ‘special uncle’ masseuse, who after he reached 18 received a restraining order from every elementary school in the free world.

How DO you press your face in an upside down catcher’s mask and not care your community’s neighbors, cellmates and cynical voyeurs like me are repulsed with the fact you are sharing your exposed, posture, sounds and exhales of a $25 rubdown in between a matinee and Panda King lunch?

In my humble opinion, it is impossible to tune out the world placed in a crouching lazy dog position as an elbow is being buried in your shoulder blade while the rest of the shoppers eat pretzels, Thai food samples and peruse the Apple Store just feet from YOUR feet.

I’m in full view of you as I am surrounded by the iPad, iTouch or an iPhone but all I hear is you iGrunt, iMoan or iSigh. At one point, after hearing you, I swore some smart ass opened up all adult entertainment sites on the new iMAC next to me.

But no, it is just you completely tuning out the fact that you are in a retail outlet known more for its One Day Sales, not its One Hour Happy Endings.

I can’t even laugh at you anymore. I can’t even begin to shake my head in embarrassment for you. I just walk out of the store, past your 21^st century rendition of a roman torture chamber and head up an escalator giving your own personal gladiator masseuse with cheap lotion a thumbs down to end your, and more importantly, MY misery.

I pity you as I get to the next floor, because you don’t realize like I do, you COULD go sit in a FREE massage chair upstairs at Brookstone. At least there I KNOW I can recline on my BACK while the rest of the shopping world laughs at me.

The Root of All Evil

THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL

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“I on’t n o wat to o ith y ongue orry”, I mouthed to my execution loving dentist as he gave me a root canal last night. For how deep his hands explored, I assume it included a frontal lobotomy at no extra charge.

I should have known this was going to be one of those days where I give anything to trade places with a tortured hostage than have this current Spanish inquisition weaponry explore my mouth simultaneously as I tried to breathe through one nostril and a quarter of my mouth.

“I’m going to numb the area before I numb the area,” the sanctimonious oral hit man declared right before he swabbed my mouth with expired Q-tips.

Numb the area before you numb the area? Hmmm. how about truly numbing the area you are going to numb the first time so you don’t have to numb again on top of the numb area?.. Numby!!!

“Why don’t you watch TV, ESPN? CNN? OPRAH?” he elaborates, hoping a 27 inch flat screen in my face will comfort me while he forces his elbow into my chin holding my tongue out of the way preaching his “painless” method of inflicting pain.

Love how he says each time HE takes a breath sing songing “HEY buddy, the worse part is overrrrr.”

REALLY?..the worse part is over?…So I won’t have to be concerned you will use that combo Black and Decker Sander/Drill/Saw on my gums anymore?...Seriously, you aren’t going to suck the insides of my lungs out with that wet/dry vac from your a Dyson designed fire hose.

Yes, thank you for building up my confidence for the crescendo of your final performance of the day. I’m sure you tell your wife the same thing after you have your bimonthly “checkup” with her right after the Friday evening news and before Jay Leno.

After what seems like hours, but I’m sure it was days, he loses his patience. “Please relax…Stop struggling, I’m almost done.” EXCUSE ME? I’m not a child with a low pain threshold…I will have you know I have watched Season 9 American Idol and was able to endure their lack of talent and voices. A little mouth surgery is NOTHING compared to that weekly pain.

If you want me to stop struggling, change places for one minute and let me hold your mouth open SOOO wide Pinocchio and Gepetto mistaken YOU for their next dark adventure.

As I got up to rinse, I realized the numbness worked at least in one respect. I was drooling like a 90 year old with incontinence of the mouth and I would vent about the expensive bill, but “I an’t omplainin ‘bout anyhing ats ets me outta here aster”.

Canned Tuna In The Sky

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Canned Tuna in the Sky

On my last flight, as I watched the 10 year old safety video from my airline’s monitor above the row in front of me, I ponder the collective expressions of the actors/employees who are portraying passengers in case of an emergency.

I’m in marketing, I get it. Show a calm business man as he sits comfortable, while a yellow plastic tube/mask drops from the console above and observe as he shreds any sense of panic and without hesitation, places the mask over his head to ensure a perfect fit to enjoy the smooth crash landing positions we all love.

I want what he ate before the flight. What was it? Quaaludes and crystal meth? COME ON!! If a red light and alarms pop on and an oxygen mask falls before my eyes, I WILL NOT be thinking about how “cool” I can look if I don’t panic.

I will be hyperventilating and acting closer to George Constanza at a children’s birthday party when he smelled “fire” as I make a new door where there isn’t one. Parachute smarachute..I’m going to wear everyone’s coat from the overhead bin and brace myself for a Disney ride of a lifetime.

I try so hard not to laugh at the absurdity of how I am SUPPOSED to fasten a seatbelt, I listening intently as I have a thousand times before, as the intercom follows up with, “If the cabin loses pressure, please ensure you place the oxygen mask on yourself FIRST before helping others.”

SERIOUSLY, save your OWN breath. You do not have to tell me that. My seated neighbor and I have shared only an arm rest, we are not blood brothers.

No offense, but with my long arms, I may even grab two masks and see which one exudes more oxygen before leaving the others to fight over the malfunctioned one.

Honestly, you think they would learn about travelers with frequent flier mileage and priority seat assignments. But Noooo. Each time I fly, I hear the flight attendant ask me if I am “comfortable” sitting in an emergency EXIT ROW and do I accept responsibility of what it means if we are forced to evacuate.

“Mmmmm..lemme think..YES, IT means I get more leg room than anyone but Captain Sully and if something goes wrong, I’m out of this (TITANTIC) bird in the sky first and I will be sure to call CNN and 911 before the passengers two rows behind even consider unbuckling their seatbelts!” (I hope they paid attention to how to UNLATCH)

BTW, Captain Sully isn’t on my flight but let me review this again in my head. He LANDED a plane and kept passengers ALIVE……(scratching my head) Is that NOT his job?

Remember loyal fans of the Sully world (this is cynicalbuzz.com, not Thursday’s edition of 20/20)

Failing Passport Control

Failing Passport Control- http://www.cynicalbuzz.com

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No matter how innocent and good I am. No matter how many times I travel outside the country; when I go through customs or a passport control, I feel like I’m a fugitive on the run.

Yes, I have accepted the fact I’m one faux pas or mispronunciation of the word “declaration” away from a border patrol officer sending me to a Turkish prison to star in the squeal..oops-transpose that-I mean sequel to “Midnight Express”.

CUSTOMS: -Business or Pleasure? “Well I did take a photograph of a nude statue, but I don’t plan on selling it…so does where does that get filed and would you like to see it?”

CUSTOMS: -How long have you been in this country? “Um..in hours? Are you kidding me? I think I arrived Thursday, but with the time difference, it could have been Wednesday. Do I get sent somewhere special for being able to tell time?”

CUSTOMS: Son, I DON”T ever JOKE. Do you think I’m smiling under these mirrored sunglasses? “No, But the ’86 TOP GUN crew called, they want them back before sunset.”

I’m sure my impersonation of the southern prison warden in "COOL HAND LUKE", “What we have hear is a failurrrrre to communicate” didn’t help my situation much with his “scent” of humor.

I do freak out over the smallest things. I’m even thinking to myself (What is the penalty for omitting the fact I have two souvenir spoons and refrigerator magnets stuffed in my suitcase). That is how paranoid I am. Thankfully I forgot I had a box of chocolates in my computer bag or I would have been a wreck.

As they stare at my passport, there is a big sign above their heads stating in big letters,

(If you are chosen to be searched,

we will provide both an officer

and witness observer)

OOOOH. LOVELY, I have BOTH a pervert and a voyeur asking me if I’m a packing mule or just happy to see them. I am never leaving home again. MOMMY!!

Honestly. I must not be meant to deal with the law at any level. Last night I was pulled over from a local police officer who asked me if I have been drinking.

“Officer, I have not drank anything other than the 2 liter bottle of Gatorade I had after working out, but I’ve been swerving on the road afraid I’m going to have different kind of accident trying to control my bladder AND simultaneously watch you in my rear view mirror as you TAILGATE my butt for the past 20 minutes JUST waiting for me to swerve.

I wonder how Wyoming is in the summer. I hear the border patrol there takes makes you check your belt buckle to verify your name before letting you mosey along.