Yellow Pages Antarctica

Supermarkets are the greatest places to people-watch, especially while standing in line waiting to pay for your groceries. I’ve observed some anthropological phenomenon that may surprise you. The most interesting being…are you ready…the difference among women, men, and guys with nasal drip.

With spring weather comes colds, and allergies, which are accompanied with a watery discharge often called a runny nose. How people deal with that makes for amusing observation. While standing in line, which I often do, I watched three types of Homo sapiens in various stages of nose blowing. This is what I observed:

Women: When a woman has a runny nose she discreetly removes a clean, pressed handkerchief from her purse, quietly blows her nose so as not to draw attention to her situation, and replaces the “hanky” back inside her purse.

Men: When a man has a runny nose he pulls a wad of tissue out of his back pocket and blows into it, sounding like a honking gander during mating season. He proceeds to tuck the soggy Kleenex back into the recesses of his jeans pocket where it will stay buried until his wife has to do the laundry. At which time, said piece of tissue turns all the dark clothes and black socks into an unrecognizable pile of lint.

Guys: When a guy has nasal drip he keeps it simple. One of two things happens; he lets his nose drip or he wipes his nose on his sleeve.

Be observant as you do an anthropological hunt through the grocery store observing the habits of Homo sapiens. It’s more fun than Disney World.

Copyright © 2006 by Pamela Beers. All rights reserved.

Pamela is a freelance writer who enjoys making people laugh.

http://www.pamelabeers.com

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Ah, well, now, wasn’t that all very pleasant, eh? A few
alco-pops to celebrate a year with my sweetheart, yes, an
anniversary in other words, and, ooh, I feel a bit sick all of a
sudden, and, oh, heck, I seem to be spewing black blood down the
pan. Hmmm. Not so good after all. Well, hmmm, uh, I guess, well,
I know, I’ll just pretend that didn’t happen and maybe all will
be ok. Well, actually, no, I ought to tell someone.

So, when my sweetheart had got back from town that morning, I
let it slip. Big mistake. Before I know where I am, there’s a
doctor doing some bedside vigil, blood pressure performance. My
blood pressure was fine. Well, to be honest, I felt kind of glad
that I’d let people know, cos, well, it could have been serious.

Well, he was concerned, and wanted me to get to the hospital
straight away, and, though I didn’t really want to, I was driven
there, where, due to it being an emergency, I saw a nurse in a
room adjacent to the waiting room who took my blood pressure,
which was fine. Due to the urgency of there having been blood in
my vomit, I was told to go to the waiting room, where I would be
seen to immediately.

Three hours later, my name was called and I was given a bed in
the A and E department, where they took my blood pressure. It
was still fine. I was told to wait, as due to there having been
blood in my vomit, I would have to stay in for the night, so my
condition could be monitored, so, another three hours later, due
to the urgency of my case, I was put into a wheelchair and
wheeled to the Emergency Medical Unit, where I was to have my
bed for the night.

Once there, because of the emergency that had happened 10 hours
ago, they felt it imperative to take my blood pressure, but,
phew! against all odds, it seemed fine. That was a close one. I
don’t like needles, and, because I have quite small veins, the
extraction of blood can be a quite lengthy process, but, when
the doctor came to see me an hour or so later, she sent me to
tourniquet hell, but seven attempts later, a droplet was
ceremoniously, and carefully, allowed to dribble down a test
tube, where it would be sent for analysis. As I said, I don’t
like needles, so I was kind of done in when she came to take my
blood pressure, but even the recent trauma of a needle, allowed
her to proclaim proudly, that all was fine. That’s ok, then.

You may remember that I had been sick several epochs earlier. I
tend to feel a bit thirsty after a drink the night before, but
due to the askew frantic nature of the day, I hadn’t had a drink
of water, but, thank the lord, I was now allowed one.

I had spewed last night’s tea up earlier, but hadn’t been
allowed to eat anything. I was a tad thirsty and mightily
ravenous, but, I ended the day, with a sip of water and Ronnie
Corbett’s autobiography, where, for such a little fellow, his
chapters seemed unnaturally fixated on what he eats at certain
golfing functions.

I tried to get some sleep, but, regrettably, there was a bloke
in his 90s in the next bed, named George, from Geordieland (I’m
not even going there, don’t worry), in a lot of pain, so, I was
kept awake that night, by him shouting: “Let me die! Let me die!
Let me die!” Whatever he said, he repeated three times, so,
sometimes it was the “let me die” one, but this was augmented
with “Get me to heaven x3″, “Hell will do x3″, or, in a complete
turnaround, after morphine, again, repeated three times, the
less pressing: “Aaah, that’s heaven.” (Well, he’d got his wish,
then.)

Breakfast was served the next morning at seven. I was shattered,
very hungry, so was relieved to have two slices of toast, and a
cup of tea. After that, my blood pressure was taken (yes, it was
fine), and I was told that, later that day, I would have a tube
go down into my stomach, to see what the cause may have been.
Jesus H! All I wanted was to go home, and get some rest. I felt
fine.

Well, throughout this, my sweetheart was great. She’d come over
the evening before, with the kids, and stayed til 10:30, and
through the tedium of the next day, she was, once again, there
as soon as she could be, so we faced the boredom together. We
bought a chess set, did some crosswords, and waited. Then a
nurse told me that I would be allowed to go home, and come back,
as an out-patient, to have the stomach scan. This was fantastic
news. All I had to do was hang around for the ward doctor to
just check up on me, then I could go. By 2:30, that afternoon,
he still hadn’t seen me, and Tracy had to go, to get the kids
from school.

Typically, he saw me soon after she had left, where, despite
what the nurse had said, I was told I would have to, after all,
stay another night, as I might have to wait ages for the scan,
were I an out-patient. Jesus Christ, this was getting absurd.
Never mind, I agreed to all he said, and, carried on reading
Ronnie. At least the chapters were becoming less painful to
read, due to my being allowed food.

I was all mentally prepared, my hatches battened down for
another stint, when, yet another nurse came over to my bed, told
me it wasn’t serious after all, and I could, after all, get the
hell out. Well, for god’s sake, I could have told them all that,
over a day before, but there we are, I was given some antacid
pills, told to go and see my GP when I got home, and that was
that. I had felt fine the whole time I was there, and all I came
away with was some jumped up Andrews Liver Salts.

My blood pressure was fine throughout…

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