Tuesday, July 15, 2008

People Just Don't Care

Grandma comes back into the waiting room and tells everyone she needs to use the restroom, so she goes into the restroom. (I think she was talking specifically to me, but she spoke loud enough and wasn't really looking at me, so maybe she was addressing the entire room.)

I go back to reading Glamour Magazine, which turned out to be a waste of time. No surprise there, really. I always bring a book to doctor appointments, but I am always wooed by the magazines, unless the office only has Central Coast Living, then no thanks. I already live here, I don't really need to read about it. And, all the offices have it, so it's not like it's a novelty. Now, the eye doctor is the only one around that has OK! Magazine, which is my favorite "what the crap are the celebrities doing/wearing?" magazine. It's always a treat when we go to the optometrist.

Anyway, I was in the middle of reading something lame in Glamour when Grandma pokes her head out of the one-seater bathroom. It appears Grandma has suddenly become a secret agent. She gets all shifty eyed and looks to the front desk and then motions to me and looks back at the front desk. She "whispers" to me, "Myriah, come in here."

Um... no thanks Grandma, I'm really not that interested.

I walk over and as I am hustled into the small room I become increasingly worried about what I might find. I hoped it is nothing uncomfortable.

Grandma looks at the scale. (A very fancy, digital scale, by the way.) She steps on it.

She says, "I don't know how to use it."

I push the "Start/Stop" button. Then she says, "I want you to measure me."

I turn the scale off and begin to adjust the height thing.

Me, "Don't they measure you at all these doctor's offices?"

Gma, "No, nobody does anymore."

Me, "I might have to crush your hair a little bit, Grandma."

Gma, "Oh, it's okay."

That's when I knew this measuring thing was really important. She didn't care about her curls.
At that point I got down to business.

Turns out Grandma is 5 feet tall. She said she used to be 5 foot and 2 inches. She still might be if she stood up straight.

As we were leaving the bathroom she said to me, "It's a shame I don't get measured more often. People just don't care like they used to...." and she finished it all off with a sigh.

3 comments:

Claire said...

My doctor's office has taken to weighing me in kilograms. It's a little frustrating, cause I just nod and say ok, as if I have any idea what those numbers mean, really. I mean, sure, I know that means I weigh roughly between 115-160, but I don't have the conversion formula memorized, and I'm usually not in a place mentally to do the math in my head, if I did happen to know it. So, I have to wait patiently until the nurse (or whoever) enters it into the computer, and they might decide to tell me what that converts into pound-wise. Maybe I should just switch everything in my life over to metric right now.

Amanda said...

This whole time, I had no idea that the standard of caring was to measure your loved ones. I'm going to greet Tyler at the door with the measuring tape instead of a hug and kiss.

Tara said...

I was seriously LOLing when I read the part where your grandma beckons you into the bathroom...I was so worried for you, yet it was so funny.You are a great story teller!