Rudeness is Rife

Why is it that so many people who work in so called "public service" positions are so arrogant and so rude? As far as my remembrance is concerned I don't think it used to be that way. Of course, lots of things these days didn't used to be that way. But, it just occurred to me while I was in the hospital, and while I'm in a restaurant, or at the doctor's office. I've been in several hospitals in my lifetime for one reason or another when nurses were solicitous, caring, always nearby if needed, and friendly. This time, I had a different nurse each day, which I thought was a lousy policy, and each one of them was indifferent to my pain and anxiety. Not only that, one nurse was Charles and one was Barry. I would have preferred a Charlene and a Sherry. Charles was stiff as a board and Barry was a zombie. My relationship with the staff at that hospital made me feel I was in a foreign country. No one spoke English to me even if they knew the language. However, when I spoke English to any of the nurses or aides, it was still as if we were in Swaziland or Montezuma. I never got what I wanted.

Last week I went to my internist's office for an ultra sound of my abdomen because I was getting severe pains every time I took a breath. The nurse called me out of the waiting room and then proceeded to walk rapidly ahead of me to the room without even a gentle hello, how are you. When I walked in, her back was turned to me and she was gazing at a monitor. When she told me to get onto the table, she didn't bother to offer a hand. When she had finished, she said I should get off the table and leave the room, and she started to walk out ahead of me, also not offering to help me off. I said to her "Don't rush me. And I don't like the way you talk to me. I'm not the village idiot." (She didn't need to know the truth). But the bottom line is that people who have chosen jobs that require them to deal with people of all walks of life need to have better "bedside manners". I read a letter to the editor in the paper today complaining about rude stewardesses on the airlines. I believe people who don't like their jobs should seek employment elsewhere. With my expectations of service people, I expect a little civility.

I'm still getting comments about my guest blogger, Mike, who helped me out by writing a blog so my readers wouldn't give up on me while I was hospitalized. Well, one comment today was, "He must be a little weird". I took that as a poor insight...Mike is a lot weird, and that's why we get along so well. I'm somewhat jealous of him because I'm just a teenchy bit weird, while he's the Tiger Woods of Weirdness.

Incidentally, I changed the link to my books just to the right of the blog. If you click on the title of the book, it should take you to the website which lists all the companies that are selling the book, along with the price. It wouldn't hurt you to buy one.

"If they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad." (Much Ado About Nothing)

Today is Barbara and Joel's 29th Anniversary. They were married in Temple Emanuel in East Meadow on this day in 1979. I had only known Rhoda for less than two years, yet she agreed to help make the wedding for those two lovebirds. It would be difficult for the Vlasachs, who lived in Pennsylvania to make the wedding because the "kids" wanted to marry in East Meadow. I first met Barbara in Australia during my world tour...and it was in January. She and Joel had graduated college and went to Australia to teach...for some long forgotten reason. She worked in Sydney and he in Tenterfield. My understanding was that she was terrified before meeting me, but after we met, I set her mind at ease that I wasn't Shrek, the ogre. Barbara was beautiful and engaging and I thought to myself that she was a "keeper". I don't know when they decided to marry, but Joel thought the idea was best if Barbara converted to Judaism...which eventually, she did. And so the way was cleared for the union. I don't believe that Barbara's conversion sat well with her family, but that is certainly understandable. When Barbara's late father sat in the Temple, he looked as though he felt he was in the Devil's hideaway. For in his eyes, as a Christian, the only pathway to heaven and salvation was through Jesus. But, of course, that's a religious belief, not a fact.

When Barbara and Joel were married, they were very poor. I don't believe they are poor any longer. Joel retired from the CIA after 20 years, and now is successful in private industry. Barbara has been teaching in Virginia now for many years. Gratefully, they provided me with two brilliant grandchildren, Hannah and Adam...both of whom are embarked on successful careers after college. Our relationship with Barbara and Joel is a memorable one ever since Rhoda and I spent our honeymoon with them while he was stationed in England in order to spy on the Queen. Adam was just a baby then. But our honeymoon was exciting and enjoyable, especially when we took a motor tour in their car around England. Another, not so enjoyable occasion occurred during their visit to us in Florida while Hannah was still a baby. It was while we were in a Chinese restaurant that the waiter put the pot of hot tea too near Hannah and reaching over, she spilled it on herself. We rushed her off to the hospital and Rhoda held and comforted her while waiting for the doctor in ER. Happy to say that Hannah is OK now, but that event was scary to say the least.

During the early years of their marriage, whenever we four got together, we spent many hours just talking and shooting the breeze about any topic. We got into what we later called "sessions" which meant that we kept talking right past midnight. It was quite enjoyable and we got to know each other. Barbara and I used to go out running miles and miles together. I believe she still runs. She used to call us regularly, like a good daughter-in-law should, and spent hours on the phone with Rhoda. Well, we rarely hear from her anymore, and that puzzles us because we don't remember doing anything that would alter our relationship. But now they are in that big house in Virginia; the "kids" have left the nest; and after 29 years they have to face each other again. Happy Anniversary to the loving couple. (I only gave them twelve years.)

"By medicine, life may be prolong'd, yet death will seize the doctor too." (Cymbeline)

Yesterday was a very uneventful Fathers Day. We had plans to go to the Isle Casino, gamble a bit and then have dinner at their buffet. However, I just wasn't up to it. I had about zero energy for such a venture, and if I were not feeling well, it would not have been much fun. Besides Rhoda insisted, that if we were to go, I would have to use a walker or my scooter, and I simply wasn't enthusiastic about that possibility. I can't get used to the idea that I can't walk without a mechanical aid. Me? A two time marathoner? A winner of several age group 5K and 10K races? A soccer and track coach needing mechanical aid to get from Plan A to Plan B? Give me a break. So, instead of the Isle we thought about going to a movie, but when the time came to leave, we both backed out. Instead, we watched the Marlin game, the Euro soccer matches and the U.S. Open. Every one very entertaining. We stayed at home for a pasta dinner. In a way it was good to be home yesterday, because I got phone calls from all the kids and the extended kids. I would have enjoyed hearing from any grandkid, but that didn't happen. Perhaps they lost my phone number.

This morning I was thrust out of my comfortable bed when Rhoda and the home nurse broke into the bedroom. I was not too thrilled with that bit of action. I told them I'd meet them in the kitchen. So, I put on a pair of shorts and went into the kitchen where the nurse re-bandaged a wound on my left leg, took my blood pressure, etc. etc. and promised to return tomorrow. Also, we expect the physical therapist to be here later this afternoon. She'll give me exercises sitting down (the kind I like) and some standing up while holding on to the kitchen sink. Tough, demanding, and painful exercises like lifting one leg up and putting it down, and the doing the same with the other leg. Ten times each. I really aced that one. The next anti-aerobic trick was to hold on to the sink, then raise up on my toes and then back down again. Upsy-downsy--ten times. How exhausting. Now I have a slight idea of what Schwarzenegger goes through. And tomorrow is Tuesday--I think?

"To you your father should be as a god." (MSND)

Tomorrow is Fathers' Day. I haven't a clue as to who started that day. I do remember marrying Rhoda on Fathers' Day, but that was 25 years ago and this year it's on June 15. I'm of the opinion that perhaps Macy's or Nordstrom fostered that day upon the unsuspecting masses, but it did give many people an opportunity to go to the mall and do some shopping...for ties, perhaps; or underwear. I recall, some years ago I wore bikini underwear. Now I need to go to a Sumo wrestling store. But enough of this useless blabbering. What we need to do is to undertake an understanding of what a father is supposed to be and to do.

No matter how tired a father is when he comes home from work, he must give his children some attention; play with them before dinner or ask them what they did all day and how they did in school. A father must also provide protection for his offspring; he must try to see that they don't get hurt, but if they do, he must provide comfort and security. A father must also show the children that he and their mother have a warm loving relationship. A father must never strike a child, especially when the child is 50+ and father is 84.

Children must never learn to fear their father, but to respect him as the authority figure in the family. A father must learn when and how to discipline a child in the event they misbehave. Make the punishment fit the crime. For example, if the child is 50+ and in prison, make sure he knows not to do it again or you would cut him out of your will. You could use the two grand to pay for his lawyer fees. At his very best, a father must be a loving, caring patriarch of the family.

Hospital Blues, Vol.II

Over the course of a lifetime, fortune often deals you a bad hand; the choice for you at those times is to play the hand that's dealt to you...or to toss in your cards and then you're out of the game. I'm afraid one of those times has arrived when a choice has to be made. This happens to be the year of our 25th Anniversary and to celebrate it, we arranged for a cruise around the Scandinavian countries. To begin, we had to fly to Amsterdam on July 15, and then board the ship on the 16th, after which we were supposed to have fun. But if one of us were to get sick during the trip and had to wind up in a foreign land's hospital, it wouldn't be much fun. Consequently, since I'm the one who is most likely to suffer that fate, we have decided that we must cancel the trip.

I've been in the hospital recently as many of you are aware. This is not a proper place for the Red Baron. They brought me there kicking and screaming...a very unseemly performance. And right now, we are awaiting the results of another test which will determine why I'm having abdominal pains; pancreas? gall bladder? kidneys? adrenal gland? Whatever the result, that's the hand the Baron is being dealt folks; and once I see the cards, I will not drop out of the game. The game will go on...weather permitting. But the arena will not be in Europe.

Hospital blues

Dear Reader(s..?): Last Friday I felt like a horse had kicked me on the right side of my body from the hip down to my achilles and all ten of my toes. Well...actually, I suppose it's correct to say five toes. Then again, it couldn't have been a horse since they are not permitted inside our gate without a resident calling them in. Anyway, to continue this maudlin story, along about 5pm the pain had gravitated to my chest, and RH+ insisted with all her mystical powers that I allow her to call 911. (I do wish they would change that number because I recalled that too many people had died from it.) Since I cannot deny her anything she asks for, I agreed to having her call...although I warned her that if the EMTs took me to the hospital, she risked never seeing me again. About 10 minutes went by before three enormous guys and one gorgeous gal showed up, and before I could say, "Anyone for a beer", I had a mask thrown over my face, needles stuck in my arm, a bag of what appeared to be seltzer was hung over my head, sticky things were pasted on my legs, my chest, my arms, my carotid arteries, and...I believe...on my buttocks. At which point, I said "Uh, Oh!" They're going to throw a switch and I'd become IRON MAN!

Of course, to my disappointment nothing of the sort happened. It wasn't long before I was unceremoniously dumped onto a hospital bed. Now, you know that once they have you there, the doctors, nurses, and kitchen help go about their jobs like robots in a factory. Their only joy, it seems, is to make the patient uncomfortable and bleary-eyed. Why else would a nurse wake you at 4am with a sneer in her voice with the words, "I have to take blood!" You would think she was a vampire...or Bela Lugosi. Why do they need to take blood at four in the morning? It's not like there is really someone waiting for it impatiently in the lab. At least, while you're a patient you'd expect to have at least one gorgeous nurse each day you're there; so whom do I get? Charles and Barry. Needless to say, we failed to bond.

"Those friends thou hast and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel." (Hamlet)

Dear Blog Readers:

I was presented with the honor of filling in as a Guest Blogger for the Red Baron. As soon as I dispensed with the customary questions, like Who is the Red Baron, and receiving the requisite answers, I immediately dispatched myself to my computer and have been staring at a blank screen for the greater part of an hour.

I learned the meaning of "writers block." What kind of message can I impart to the hordes of readers expecting to be immersed in the world of the Red Baron and his wife, Rhoda, who has retired to an age 55 and over community in Delray Beach, Florida. Rhoda, incidentally, had to get a special dispensation from the Condo Rulers, who at first suspected that Dr Norman Ross's PHD referred to Pedophilia, since Rhoda is so much younger.

Now that I have completed the required sucking up. I can now continue.

The Red Baron has been in the Local Hospital for the past few days, being probed and jabbed in every orifice on his body and has been awaiting discharge with one final signature missing to complete the ouster. They find nothing wrong with him. Therefore, he will be back with us and more important, he and Rhoda and Helen and I can continue on our culinary jaunts, taxing the patience of our food servers with my submission of my corn ball humor. Want an example? How about my bragging of having a picture of "My Pride and Joy" and offering them a copy? Voila! Out comes a picture of a bottle of Pride next to a bottle of Joy, a former dish washing liquid that is now defunct. Hey, I never said that I had class.

And if you survived that onslaught, I would offer them a picture of my grandson. This is a photo of a very nice looking mother holding a male infant a few months old, ready to immerse him in a bath. What made this photo unique is....how shall I put this....it was computer enhanced by some atavistic degenerate who enlarged one characteristic organ of this child to 10 times the normal size. I must admit that this is my favorite gag and in spite of the shock and dismay that occur, (one out of forty, including clergy, that misrepresent themselves as normal by not wearing identifiable clothing or name tags) I continue to spread my obvious warped humor among Florida's denizens.

Welcome Back, Red Baron.................Mike Herbstman

(I include a picture of Mike Herbstman at the age of 13)