I often find myself in ridiculous situations. I’m not sure why. It could be that I’m easily distracted, preoccupied with deep thoughts about the human condition, like what colour nail polish I should wear next (OPI’s Italian Love Affair, thanks for asking). I also find myself misreading signals, meaning I vacillate between having enormous faith in my fellow man (or woman), and being deeply suspicious of him (or her). In any case, enough self-analysis. Here’s what happened when I went to have a chest X-Ray last week. Also, forgive me if you heard me talk about this on air. I only have so much life material to share.

First of all, the chest X-Ray was part of a series of tests I took last week to find out why I’m itching all the time. I still don’t know what the problem is, but all the tests are negative, so let’s not worry about that right now. What happened was this: when I arrived at the clinic, I handed the receptionist my requisition form, which she looked at carefully, then handed back to me, because it wasn’t a requisition form, it was a receipt from a picture framing place. I told her I just wanted her to know that I had had a picture of my dad framed. She didn’t think it was as funny as I did. In any case, I went back home, found the requisition form, and returned to the clinic. After a short wait, they called what I thought was my name, so I went to the change room, put on a stupid paper gown, and met the technician, who ushered me into the ultrasound room. I told her I needed a chest X-Ray, not an ultrasound. She said, “Aren’t you Maureen McSomethingorOther?” I told her I certainly wasn’t, so I was sent back to the waiting room, still wearing the stupid paper gown, and Maureen McSomethingorOther went to have her ultrasound, for some reason giving me a glare as she went. Jeez, lady, it’s not like I STOLE your ultrasound. Then another technician came and called my name, and took me into the X-Ray room (finally!) She pointed to this low table along side the wall, and I thought she told me to lie down on it, which was odd, because the X-Ray equipment was at the other side of the room. But I did what I thought I was told, and lay down on the low table, which was only about 4 feet long, so my feet hung over the end, feeling kind of stupid in my stupid paper gown, but whatever, right? Only the technician had NOT told me to lie down on this little table. She had told me to put my purse there. Which is why she was looking at me like I was maybe a little insane. She looked even more alarmed when I started to laugh. I laughed really hard. Because I was lying on what was essentially a shelf in the corner of the room where people normally put their bags. As you do when you’re preoccupied with mortality and shades of nail polish.

I’m still laughing. And, as I mentioned, my chest in fine. It’s my head that needs examining.

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