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July 12, 2024
All Access pass
By Mikie Baker
The Bandera Prophet
Just the other day, I dragged My Future Husband off to the ER due to a persistent cough. After he was given his lovely hospital bracelet to remind us of who he is, I was given a white sticker emblazoned with VISITOR so I could have permission to sit and wait hours for test results. Lucky me.
You know when you hang around an ER long enough, the moment you get permission to leave, everyone bolts for the door as did we. The first order after our taste of freedom was for me to go pick up a prescription at our local pharmacy.
I left MFH in the car because he smelled like Emergency Room, and sprinted into the store to grab meds. Oddly, there was little or no waiting in line and I breezed up to the counter commenting on how I’d never seen the pharmacy so slow, so I assumed the plague has once again passed us by. All the pharmacy gals laughed and laughed at me, though I didn’t think I was that funny. Certainly strange.
Then we headed to a very late lunch, where the Burger Store Manager gave me a very odd look after I uttered my “cut the pickles and tomatoes” burger order. I figured he just liked tomatoes. Again, weird.
After we got home, I happened to glance down and realized that I was still sporting my VISITOR sticker and it all was beginning to make sense. Look at the funny old lady running around claiming she’s a visitor. I wonder what city she’s really from?
Immediately I admonished MFH for letting me wander through an entirely different county labeled as a VISTOR. I ripped the tag off and threw it in the trash. Then I realized, “Hey, wait! That sticker gave me access to everything!”
I mean think about it. Sneak into backstage at a Taylor Swift concert? No problem because obviously I’m a VISITOR. Waltz right into the Olympics? Sure, because I’m a VISITOR. Even a meeting with the Pope though I’m going to need to know how to spell VISITOR in Latin.
Maybe I could use my VISITOR sticker to ward off aliens from outer space. They’d realize I was only visiting, too and might offer me a way to get off this crazy merry go round.
Now if my sticker had said Guest, I probably still have gotten into some good trouble. I could oversee all the Guest Books in the Universe. I could be on a Talk Show or lecture at some University about the nuances of Visitors versus Guests.
If only hospitals would get just a bit more creative, we could have all sorts of labels. How about SECOND WIFE? Or I’M NUTS? Even better print one that says ALL ACCESS PASS and then we can have all the fun we can stand until we just have to go home and take a nap.
As for My Future Husband, he was fine, just has a bad cold and a nasty cough. I guess we both won with that visit. He’s going to get well without hospitalization and I’m going to dig through the trash to find my VISITOR sticker so I can rule the world.
I think the heat is getting to me.
You know when you hang around an ER long enough, the moment you get permission to leave, everyone bolts for the door as did we. The first order after our taste of freedom was for me to go pick up a prescription at our local pharmacy.
I left MFH in the car because he smelled like Emergency Room, and sprinted into the store to grab meds. Oddly, there was little or no waiting in line and I breezed up to the counter commenting on how I’d never seen the pharmacy so slow, so I assumed the plague has once again passed us by. All the pharmacy gals laughed and laughed at me, though I didn’t think I was that funny. Certainly strange.
Then we headed to a very late lunch, where the Burger Store Manager gave me a very odd look after I uttered my “cut the pickles and tomatoes” burger order. I figured he just liked tomatoes. Again, weird.
After we got home, I happened to glance down and realized that I was still sporting my VISITOR sticker and it all was beginning to make sense. Look at the funny old lady running around claiming she’s a visitor. I wonder what city she’s really from?
Immediately I admonished MFH for letting me wander through an entirely different county labeled as a VISTOR. I ripped the tag off and threw it in the trash. Then I realized, “Hey, wait! That sticker gave me access to everything!”
I mean think about it. Sneak into backstage at a Taylor Swift concert? No problem because obviously I’m a VISITOR. Waltz right into the Olympics? Sure, because I’m a VISITOR. Even a meeting with the Pope though I’m going to need to know how to spell VISITOR in Latin.
Maybe I could use my VISITOR sticker to ward off aliens from outer space. They’d realize I was only visiting, too and might offer me a way to get off this crazy merry go round.
Now if my sticker had said Guest, I probably still have gotten into some good trouble. I could oversee all the Guest Books in the Universe. I could be on a Talk Show or lecture at some University about the nuances of Visitors versus Guests.
If only hospitals would get just a bit more creative, we could have all sorts of labels. How about SECOND WIFE? Or I’M NUTS? Even better print one that says ALL ACCESS PASS and then we can have all the fun we can stand until we just have to go home and take a nap.
As for My Future Husband, he was fine, just has a bad cold and a nasty cough. I guess we both won with that visit. He’s going to get well without hospitalization and I’m going to dig through the trash to find my VISITOR sticker so I can rule the world.
I think the heat is getting to me.