accentuating his thunder
H'okay, so. When my mom was in the hospital, the month before last, she had several roommates. They all had issues that were sorted out more quickly than hers, hence the succession. There were four, total. The first was okay, the third I didn't meet, and the fourth was mostly quiet.
The second one was the most annoying, though. I'm sure she was trying to be nice, or she was lonely and figured politeness doesn't belong in a hospital (hint: it still does), or -- I don't know what, but she was the sort who'd keep adding to conversations when my mom had the curtain pulled which, last I checked, universally means "pretend you do not see or hear what is happening here," in a hospital. This was... Pat.
This was really frustrating, because I'd come in to visit my mom (who required daily visiting, mind you) and then this Pat lady would start talking and asking us stuff and barging in and we'd both wind up listening to her yap until I was ready to chew off my own leg to get out of there. Pat liked to talk about how independent she was, and how badly the ER had treated her, and how she was dying of something like ten different things all at once, and how she did sound recording at some blues bar somewhere, and was into music, and lived a really wild life. She didn't have many stories, but the ones she told she had perfected: they all sounded the same every time. Pat liked to talk about her vast collection of medical abnormalities, her favorite being that she was technically an achondroplasic dwarf at four foot eight, and that she had webbed toes. Which she showed me. She also liked to talk about how she was a Scientologist, and how good that was for her.
My mother and I were sort of annoyed by this, and she took to phoning me to complain in a very obscure and roundabout way, so that Pat (who, undoubtedly, was listening in) would not know that she was being complained about. Polite to the point of self-injury, is my mum. Meanwhile I gave her VERY DIRE WARNINGS because HOLY SHIT IT'S A SCIENTOLOGIST GET BACK IN THE CAR, and for a few days things were difficult.
Then I found the solution, and I totally found it by accident. My mom, being cut off from everything that wasn't basic cable, wanted stories. She wanted entertaining. And the most entertaining person IN THE ENTIRE INTERNET, as the two of you who also have him friended know... is Badger.
I think I was telling her about the spontaneous toilet-buying, and the subsequent installation, complete with the VERY TENSE MOMENT where Jager allegedly forgot to turn off the water. My mom got confused (as she often does) and asked me to re-explain which one was which. So I told her that Badger (and yes, dear, this is how you are known in my house now) is the Canadian goalie, and Jager is his Swedish mountie boyfriend.
Suddenly, Pat went silent. I noticed this. I considered this. I decided to say some more things about HOW VERY VERY GAY THESE TWO GAY PEOPLE ARE, GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY. And Pat stayed quiet. My mother looked at me. I looked at her. We both realized it at the same time.
There is only one thing that can silence a Scientologist dwarf with webbed feet. I had found the Pat-mute, and it was Badger.
ILU, BB.
The second one was the most annoying, though. I'm sure she was trying to be nice, or she was lonely and figured politeness doesn't belong in a hospital (hint: it still does), or -- I don't know what, but she was the sort who'd keep adding to conversations when my mom had the curtain pulled which, last I checked, universally means "pretend you do not see or hear what is happening here," in a hospital. This was... Pat.
This was really frustrating, because I'd come in to visit my mom (who required daily visiting, mind you) and then this Pat lady would start talking and asking us stuff and barging in and we'd both wind up listening to her yap until I was ready to chew off my own leg to get out of there. Pat liked to talk about how independent she was, and how badly the ER had treated her, and how she was dying of something like ten different things all at once, and how she did sound recording at some blues bar somewhere, and was into music, and lived a really wild life. She didn't have many stories, but the ones she told she had perfected: they all sounded the same every time. Pat liked to talk about her vast collection of medical abnormalities, her favorite being that she was technically an achondroplasic dwarf at four foot eight, and that she had webbed toes. Which she showed me. She also liked to talk about how she was a Scientologist, and how good that was for her.
My mother and I were sort of annoyed by this, and she took to phoning me to complain in a very obscure and roundabout way, so that Pat (who, undoubtedly, was listening in) would not know that she was being complained about. Polite to the point of self-injury, is my mum. Meanwhile I gave her VERY DIRE WARNINGS because HOLY SHIT IT'S A SCIENTOLOGIST GET BACK IN THE CAR, and for a few days things were difficult.
Then I found the solution, and I totally found it by accident. My mom, being cut off from everything that wasn't basic cable, wanted stories. She wanted entertaining. And the most entertaining person IN THE ENTIRE INTERNET, as the two of you who also have him friended know... is Badger.
I think I was telling her about the spontaneous toilet-buying, and the subsequent installation, complete with the VERY TENSE MOMENT where Jager allegedly forgot to turn off the water. My mom got confused (as she often does) and asked me to re-explain which one was which. So I told her that Badger (and yes, dear, this is how you are known in my house now) is the Canadian goalie, and Jager is his Swedish mountie boyfriend.
Suddenly, Pat went silent. I noticed this. I considered this. I decided to say some more things about HOW VERY VERY GAY THESE TWO GAY PEOPLE ARE, GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY. And Pat stayed quiet. My mother looked at me. I looked at her. We both realized it at the same time.
There is only one thing that can silence a Scientologist dwarf with webbed feet. I had found the Pat-mute, and it was Badger.
ILU, BB.