Tuesday, the last day of April. Tuesdays (every other Tuesday, that is) are housecleaner days—meaning Jodi arrives to clean around 8:30 and is finished three or so hours later. Then we usually go out for a nice lunch or call Pad Thai Café and order some pickup. This day would be slightly different.
First, I had a massage scheduled at 10:30. We’re longtime clients of Massage Envy (good) but during the pandemic had built up several hours or credit that needed to be used. A change in their management* has made dealing with them over this difficult (they say one thing, do another), and once again I was charged for this hour that has long been paid for. I didn’t learn this, though, until after I’d left, and had to spend some time explaining yet again, telling them I have it in writing from their manager, and on and on.
I had an hour at home to calm down before I had to go to my regular six-month required Medicare checkup at 1pm with my doctor’s NP (Dr. B is on maternity leave). All the lab work had been done one week before, and I’d already seen the results: some labeled too low, some too high, and some “abnormal,” which I confess scared the crap out of me. So I go to the appointment (loving that the office is about ninety seconds from our house). And it turns out the low things were good, the high things were also good, there was nothing abnormal and in fact the NP was delighted with me. My BP was perfect.
It being housecleaning day, G and I had decided we’d get Pad Thai Café to go—which we normally do when Jodi leaves around 11:30—but this time we’d wait until after my medical appointment. Except it took a little longer because the NP ordered a little more blood work to see if we can figure out my tingly bedtime feet. Afterward I sat in the car and called Pad Thai (ready in thirty) and then called G and said rather than come home for fifteen minutes, I’m just going to stop at Kroger and see if they’ll give me your eyedrops prescription and then go on to get lunch.
If the doctor’s office building is ninety seconds south of the entrance to our subdivision, Kroger is sixty seconds north—very convenient. At Kroger I was helped by a woman who has waited on us a lot; I’d guess she’s been there three or four years—and she had no problem helping with a prescription that’s technically my husband’s. The prescription is a standing reorder, but we hadn’t actually reordered until that moment because we didn’t know. “Go walk around a little,” she said, “and we’ll get it ready.” So I picked up a couple of those prebiotic sodas (yummy, and I was thirsty), paid, and when I got back to the pharmacy, the prescription was ready to go, and no charge. Medicare has been good to us.
Now it’s 2:30. I get in the car and drive to Pad Thai, another three to five minutes north, depending on traffic. I like being early because they’ll tell you “thirty minutes” but it’s usually done in twenty; now the stuff is going to be waiting on me.
When I got there, there was a really, really rough-looking guy (deep tan, needed a haircut; needed a hair wash) there waiting to pay for his order (but very polite, jumped out of my way**), and then another waiter came to check on me. The first waiter rang up the other order while the second waiter went for mine. I wasn’t really paying attention to anything else, but there was talk, and it became apparent the rough guy didn’t have enough money to pay; he was halfway out the door while the waiter was saying “We can get you something cheaper” … and that’s when I realized what was happening: The rough guy is a street person. He’s homeless. I know that look because I interact fairly regularly with street people; I carry cash at all times for that very reason. So I asked if I could pay for the soup. The waiters both looked shocked (“Are you sure? It’s fifteen dollars”), then pleased, and I did pay before anyone changed their mind. They took him to a table to sit and eat, and I left there knowing exactly why it took me a little longer at Kroger. I was both happy and tearful. Because other than to spoil my granddaughter, why else do I work? And the timing—if I’d been early as per my usual, I’d have missed this opportunity.
Then after lunch I checked my email … and a composer friend of mine who lives in Texas is having his piece debut with the Nashville Symphony soon and he has four premium tix and he was inviting G and I to sit with him and his wife, and Yes! Yes! We’re going!
At that point, I decided to knock off for the rest of the day. And I did. The day was full enough.
*Local? national? I don’t know, but everything about it, like scheduling, has become difficult. I’m not happy with Massage Envy (although I love the therapist I use) and their rules keep changing and after I’ve used up hours we paid for, we’re going to stop. Makes me sad, but.
**Like he was nervous, which gave me the feeling that he felt he wasn’t supposed to be there, which I now suspect was true.
Wanderlustful 