Hospitality: An instance of cordial and generous treatment of guests.
Suitable phrase for the bitching in which I will now partake.
Ugly people ought not to criticize the physical appearances of others... Ugly people abound at the hospital.
I deposited a large package of X-ray film upon the desk of the nurse, who was turned around, talking. I paused and stared at her for a full ten seconds until she acknowledged my presence. She grasped the portrait-sized manila envelope, glanced up at me, and said, "Thank you very much."
"Yup," I said, and went downstairs.
I wheeled a stretcher nonchalantly down the corridor. A well-rounded, smiling, balding man and I were trying simultaneously to squeeze between stationed stretchers, and he spoke. That he spoke was unremarkable, but he did not make the typical comment regarding my status as a volunteer, nor did he make small talk.
"Hey, were you dancing last night?"
I took a second to quesiton my ears before confirming the man's inquiry. He congratulated me, as courtesy obliged him, and told me that he was the father of Anna Christo, a studio assistant. A senior? I asked. Yes, he responded. We exchanged a few more sentences, and he gave a few more words of encouragement, and we parted ways.
Later, I transported an attractive girl in a mini-skirt to her bed at Urgent Care. She and her similarly attractive friend thanked me smilingly and giggled. Then, on a summon from the Emergency Department, I brought a wheelchair upstairs. A distraught father set down a crying boy from his arms, exhaling as if for the first time in hours. The boy had ice pressed to his dislocated knee, but upon being set down, the volume of his crying diminished. A darkly colored, tattooed man took a few minutes to seat himself in my wheelchair. We chatted casually as I took him to the CT Scan. Ten minutes later, we reconvened as I took him back to his room.
Some jobs are good.
Of all the races, sexes, levels of education, I think that I've discovered the most soothing, trustworthy specifications. A rare breed of human being works as a nurse on floor 6-North of Emerson Hospital - a black guy with glasses who speaks refined, unaccented English. He evokes the same trusting feeling from me as... well, as David Palmer. That's two for two.
I have spoken before about elevators, and I re-visit the topic at the risk of beating a dead horse. The status of the elevator situation has become more pressing lately, such that I fear that should I not mention it, I may explode: The two different elevators have different outward personalities.
A poem by Thomas Hardy features two men of the same school of thought who pursue different paths in search of happiness. One pursues truth, the other material wealth. Both encounter failures, leading to the same dismal fates: loneliness and poverty. Due to the similarity in their structural integrity, the two men's different choices yield ultimately the same result.
The two elevators, I feel, are the physical embodiment of Hardy's principle. They are superficially polar opposites. One of the elevators, when arriving on the summoned floor, produces a discourteously bald ringing noise, as of a hefty spoon banging on a hollow pan. The other elevator is far more civilized; from it emanates a muffled, tactfully polite sound as it opens itself to the outside world. At the core, though, the brash and the meek are identical. They both emit high-pitched, modern-soudning beeps as they diligently transport their passengers. Competence underlies the contrasting countenances.
Okay, I'm done now. Rereading that, it was utterly pointless, but it was a suitable distraction for the moment.
SD
May 21, '06
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