Countdown

Talked to dad first thing this morning, then mom called later in the morning. She sounded tired, but otherwise not too bad--though I suspect she's a little down, too, because she'll be starting on dialysis soon. She's managed this balancing act for far longer than anyone (including her doctors) thought she'd be able to do it, but she's putting herself in danger of system collapse if she doesn't. Two stupidity stories: (1) She was due to get an iron injection today, which she apparently gets in the outpatient procedures area of the hospital. They don't want to release her until she gets that injection . . . but no one could seem to figure out how to make that happen, according to my sister-in-law. I suggested that mom insist that they put her in a wheelchair and she'd give them directions to the damned clinic. It's in the same hospital, people; surely someone can figure this out? (2) Apparently they finally got her into a room at around 3:00 am. They woke her at 3:30 to take her blood pressure, at 4:00 to take a blood draw, and at 4:30 to weigh her. I'm surprised they didn't wake her at 5:00 to check her height. I understand why they had to take those measurements, but is there a law against taking all three at the same time? From someone who is obviously in bad shape, and, btw, hasn't slept?

Today I was talking to Bossman across the table about young guys--I forget what the particular point was--and I mentioned that Axe body spray shit. He looked puzzled, and Mike (being mid-20s himself) started to explain, but I said to Bossman, "It's Hai Karate for this generation." He cracked up, but everyone else just looked puzzled.

Later: One of the kids who works in the store is an engineering student at the nearby university, family lives in a nearby suburb, he's Hispanic, bilingual (and quite cute, but, according to Bossman, not the brightest bulb on the tree). So he was working in the back today, helping out, and I said, "Hey, Dan, does your family make tamales for the holidays?" And he says yeah, or, at least, they have tamales, but they don't make them any more because it's too much work for his mom. So I said, well why don't you help her? He says, well, my dad never did, and he starts explaining how she pays a neighbor for the ones they need because it's so much work, etc. I asked again, why don't you help her? And again he says, well, my dad never did. I interrupted him and said, "Wait, I'm not getting this. What's the connection between having a penis and not being able to make tamales? What's the problem? Does it get in the way or something?" And he's kind of embarrassed, but laughing (and, I think, getting my point), and I see Bossman snickering, too, and Bossman adds that that's why the toilet paper is never on the roller in the men's bathroom--it's women's work. (Now, I know Bossman doesn't really think or act that way; he was providing an interpretation rather than a justification, and I could tell he was amused.)

Meanwhile, I told Phil today that the 29th is my last day. I think he's kinda bumming a bit. Cute Boy is going to take over for three months or so--he's coming in tomorrow so I can start training him--and I'll make sure he's trained to help Phil, too. I keep pulling things out of the air these days, too--today I found the stollen filling for Bossman, after he'd searched the walk-in and given up, plus I suggested throwing some shredded parmesan into the garlic asiago pepper bread, because we were short of asiago and very long on shredded parmesan. We were all kinda goofy today, though, and it was fun. There are things I will most definitely not miss--like flour in every crevice of my clothing and my being--but there are other things I will miss a lot.