February 28: Gargle Howl, Out of Sight, Garlic Aioli

A message from the commander of the Vogon constructor ship . . .

Howl howl gargle howl gargle howl howl howl gargle howl gargle howl howl gargle gargle howl gargle gargle gargle howl slurrp uuuurgh should have a good time.  Message repeats.  This is your captain speaking, so stop whatever you're doing and pay attention.  First of all I see from our instruments that we have a couple of hitchhikers aboard.  Hello, wherever you are.  I just want to make it totally clear that you are not at all welcome.  I worked hard to get where I am today, and I didn't become captain of a Vogon constructor ship simply so I could turn it into a taxi service for a load of degenerate freeloaders.  I have sent out a search party, and as soon as they find you I will put you off the ship.  If you're very lucky I might read you some of my poetry first.

"Secondly, we are about to jump into hyperspace for a journey to Barnard's Star.  On arrival we will stay in dock for a seventy-two-hour refit, and no one's to leave the ship during that time.  I repeat, all planet leave is canceled.  I've just had an unhappy love affair, so I don't see why anybody else should have a good time.  Message ends."

An unhappy love affair for the Vogon captain.  Therefore, he wants nobody else to experience happiness.  I get that.  I'd bet that most of my disciples are getting tired of hearing about the closure of the surgery center where I work.  Er, used to work.  I know that these last few posts have been more than a little sad.  Never fear.  After today, I will no longer be at the surgery center.   I will be stationed at the main hospital, checking in patients.  That doesn't mean that I'll be happier.  It means I will be removed from the primary source of my unhappiness.  As the saying goes:  out of sight, out of mind.

Okay, I'm lying there.  The place is not going to be out of my mind for quite some time.  Can't quite scrub close to 20 years of life from my thoughts that easily.  In fact, in my new office digs, I'm still surrounded by objects and equipment for my old office, including the name plate from the wall (which I've placed on my office door) and my Christmas frog (which will sit prominently on my desk).  I have about six weeks of surgery center work left before it goes away forever.

This morning, I walked through the place, turning off lights, opening and closing drawers, like I do at the end of a vacation when I'm checking to make sure I haven't left any underwear or socks in the hotel room.  Of course, I've opened and closed those drawers about 50 times in the last few days.  It was just my way of holding on.  I walked out the door for the final time with an armload of belongings--a three-pound bag of M&Ms (half-eaten), some printer paper, my lunchbox, and a few coffee mugs.

I spent the rest of the day settling into my new space.  Unpacking boxes.  Testing computers and printers.  Answering phone calls.  E-mailing work tickets to get things fixed.  Watching my coworkers try to adjust to our new environment.  I was sort of lucky.  All my work will be in one place.  I have a refrigerator and microwave.  My own desk.  There's a bathroom right around the corner.  I'm all set.

The rest of the employees from the surgery center are having a harder time, I think.  They are spread over two or three different floors.  Their processes are going to be vastly different.  And, due to the 20-day time frame we were given for this whole closure process, nothing was really prepared for us at the main hospital.  No computers.  No phone lines.  No fax numbers.  No patient spaces.  No operating/procedure room.  The I. T. guy who was working on my computer and printer said at one point today, "You really should have given us about a three-month warning."  Hmmmmmm.

Well, after a long, unsettled day, I went out for drinks and food with some good friends.  We hit two different drinking establishments--one for happy hour ($3 beers), the other for the best French fries in the world with garlic aioli so good it would make an atheist believe in God.  We laughed and bitched and got a little sad and then laughed again.  It was a really perfect way to end a not-so-perfect day.

I am sad tonight, but I've had three drinks to combat that sadness.  It's muted.  Plus, the garlic aioli was a good aloe for my broken heart.  I'm not saying alcohol and fried potatoes are great coping mechanisms, but they certainly lifted my spirits.

Maybe Saint Marty is a little drunk.