The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

A shot to the arm

[Back many years ago I wrote a humor column for the FAU newspaper (which doesn't exist as I knew it, but that's a story for another time), in which half the time I took a small incident in my life but put a highly fictional spin to it. Perhaps that's what I really need to do—get back to that gonzo mindset and relive my early childhood 20s as a semi-fictional writer. Or something like that.]

[Oh, and I forgot—you have been warned.]

Concerned for my health, Bunny thought it prudent that I get a flu shot, and she knows me well enough to know that I wouldn't willingly go get one on my own. I hate shots. I hate needles. It's probably the only thing that kept me from becoming a heroine junkie.

Well, that, and the relative lack of non-sequential US $100 bills.

But mostly it was the needles.

I was touched by her concern, but felt that dragging me kicking and screaming into the clinic by my ears was uncalled for; her .357 would have certainly made the point clear and been less painful [But as she's quick to point out to the writer, she doesn't have a concealed weapons permit. Yet. —Editor]. I will say that to the nurses' credit, they didn't bat an eye as we came in screaming; they just shoved forms our way and turned to the only other customer there, an older, chain smoking gentleman complaining about an upper respiratory problem, and chided him to put out those cigarettes.

I refused to fill out the forms.

Bunny refused to let go my ear, a bit harder this time.

After a few minutes of this painful stalemate, I compromised. I filled out the form, but left the Social Security field blank. I'm such the rebel.

I don't remember much past that though. I think I tossed the forms back at the nurses, then made a dash towards the door. I either ran into the older chain-smoking gentleman with an upper respiratory problem who was giving one of the nurses a piece of his mind with the most graphic of language, or Bunny body tackled me. In any case, the world quickly turned dark as I experienced sudden deceleration trauma.

I awoke to a piercing pain in my right arm. The nurse was grinning as she shoved a bit harder. I countered with a piercing shriek. She countered with shoving the syringe in hard. I countered by blacking out.

“There,” said Bunny when I finally awoke. I found myself lying on the floor, looking up. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

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