Yes or No

I should have known when I heard the east coast accent on the other end of the line that the call would not go smoothly.  You see, Mini Me was scheduled for an MRI, and when we got home yesterday there was a message from the place where the scan was to be done asking me to call them. 

 So, I dialed the number, and Olivia answered the phone. All my previous experience with east coast folks has taught me that they are way more uptight than we are.  Furthermore, if they are living here, they are wound even tighter than usual because being so daggone superior while living amongst us ignorant hilljacks is a constant source of irritation. 

 Olivia needed to ask me some questions.  The first few were things like Hubster’s social security number, how much Mini Me weighs, etc.  Then she said, “Okay, these next few questions are just ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”  Little did I know how serious she was about that one.  So, she starts asking me things:

 East Coast Olivia:  “Does she have a pacemaker?”

 Me: “No.”

 East Coast Olivia: “Does she have a wooden eye?”

 Me: “Uh, no.”

 East Coast Olivia: “Is she claustrophobic?”

 Amused Me: (heh heh) “Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

 Highly Annoyed East Coast Olivia: “NO.  I need to KNOW if she is or not.”

Surprised at how suddenly hostile Olivia has become, and yet still amused, I respond, “Well, I don’t KNOW—I’ve never tried to close her up in anything.” 

 At this point Olivia is about to blow a gasket.  She doesn’t say it, but I can tell that she’s thinking, “Why are you people so difficult, and what part of YES or NO did you not understand?”  Completely put out and devoid of humor, Olivia proceeds to ask me a series of questions to determine whether or not Mini Me is going to freak out in the MRI machine.  Things like “Is she afraid to look under the couch or a bed?”  After several obediently straight “No” answers from me, she decides that I’ve been sufficiently put in my place and she will grant Mini Me the privilege of having an MRI.

Whew!  I was afraid I was gonna have to provide some sort of proof that Mini Me wasn’t claustrophobic.  LIke, maybe a notarized statement detailing how I’d stuffed her in the crawl space for an hour just to be sure.  Or maybe a picture of her smiling at me from under the bed.

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Posted in humor, Mini Me. Tags: . 4 Comments »

4 Responses to “Yes or No”

  1. KNC Says:

    Well… I’ll be the witness to the notarizing that you stuffed her in the crawl space for an hour and offered her bread and water, but then I’ll have to contact DFC to advise them that you held her hostage in a place that has not been swept, vacuumed, nor well lighted. Of course, if you offered her a flash light and reading materials and she was able to stay calm when the crawl space residents drove their children by in the VWbug, then you could confidently answer she isn’t afraid of tight spaces, and in addition, if they needed permission for leech therapy that she would likely be able to manage that as well.

    BTW… once all of this has been completed, ya might want to call the resident shrink and set up a session for EMDR to remove any potential negative trauma you will have from subjecting her to all of this and then post DFC contact, anger management. 🙂

    You know… you’re a hoot. I just want ya to know that. Give MiniMe a hug and tell her I said to go practice her piano cuz she might need it post all the pre-MRI stuff.

  2. The Moody Foodie Says:

    “A place that has not been swept, vacuumed, nor well lighted.” Shoot! I don’t have to put her in the crawl space for that—it pretty much describes my whole house.

  3. Ryan Says:

    Ahhh, this reminded me of a great HS debacle story from our youths. Danny AKA “Bob-O” got a bit drunk at Jay Kellett’s house and tried to dive into his 3-foot pool. Needless to say, he jammed his head and neck badly. Me being the gracious, sober guy I was (just pretend, please) drove him to Union Hospital. About 2 hours into his stay, a guy in a lab coat walks out and tells me I may have to take my belligerent friend somewhere else.
    Apparently, the decided to do an MRI on Bob-O’s neck and when they strapped him in and stuck his head in the machine, the drunken goof started calling the tech every name under the sun and just screamed curse words at the top of his lungs.
    I don’t think he has had an MRI since.

  4. Theresa Says:

    Good times! I hope she’s well and survived the MRI atraumatically. Thank God for the survival skills of a good sense of humor!! Those radiology folks are all business! I remember a CT scan experience of my own where after having the contrast I was trying to tell them I was nauseated and needed something just in case… the tech told me I was fine… I proved her wrong BIG TIME!!! Sometimes you don’t even have to have the last word. 🙂


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