When the nurse came into the examining room, she came in hurriedly, a fresh smile on her face and hand extended in what she must have felt was a normal workday greeting situation. I was sitting there on the parchment paper-covered table in a too-small hospital gown that was missing one of the two strings used to tie it closed in the back. In that silly dress, my colorful Acorn socks and my signature ball cap, I felt anything but normal in the company of this nice young lady. But embarrassment? I felt none. The time I have spent in this same situation adds up to years. Probably.
In these times of strained communication, it can be difficult to have a normal conversation with folks I don’t know well. Not knowing their triggers can be socially explosive. Sometimes it can be even more so with folks I think I know well, so most of the time it is my habit to avoid small talk. It’s not a habit shared by many. A lot of people abhor silence like nature abhors a vacuum, and the default topic for humans who absolutely must hear their own blather over the ambient static is the weather.
It’s always the weather. Perhaps that’s because, for people who are neither blind nor teenagers, it is so easy to get it right the first time. Starting a new conversation with a question to which you already know the answer is a popular strategy to use if you can’t stand the quiet and are not in the mood for a debate. You could try these to break the silence: “Hot enough for ya?” or “How about this snow?” If it’s raining, you can always throw in the time-proven winner, “Well, we really need the rain.” These aren’t hard-and-fast rules, but merely guidelines gleaned from decades of experience, awkward relationships and questionable choices.
Back in the examining room, I’m still on the opposite side of fully clothed. My discomfort shows up on the sphygmomanometer, the technical name for which is “blood pressure thingy.”
The nurse asks, “Do you have a blood pressure thingy at home?”
“Sure,” I said, “but I don’t think we’ve unpacked it yet from the move.”
She stuck in my ear a little black funnel-looking thing with a flashlight attached. “Oh, I completely understand that!” she said. “We moved into a new place two months ago and we still have several boxes to unpack. When did you move?”
As she went around my bare knees to peek in my other ear, I said, “Nineteen years ago, but we’re not sure we’re staying, so some stuff is still packed. It would be silly to unpack all those boxes and then have to pack it all again for another move.”
The nurse initiated a facial expression we all recognize as a blank stare, as though deciding whether to review my meds with the doctor or pre-authorize a visit with a shrink. Then: “It seems like a pretty nice day outside. Is it still warm?” she asked. True story.
The older I get, the more often I notice the ease with which people can be fooled. Often I’ll get a puzzled response to something foolish I’ve said, like, “Are you serious?” to which I quickly respond “No,” and then count the seconds until the light comes on. It gives me an idea of how far off the reality tracks their train went before it crashed.
I don’t mean to suggest that everyone but me is guilty of putting their brains in neutral. Far from it. As has been pointed out to me, some of my screws have not only loosened, but fallen out completely. I’ll also admit to occasional momentary lapses of concentration that can lead to everything from a bruise on my dignity to a trip to the ER.
There are plenty of times when I lose track of which foot to put in front of which, and, like many of you, I only have two of them to keep track of. I expected it to be easier after eight decades of light practice. I don’t think I ever gave dogs and other quadrupeds enough credit for being able to get around on all fours without every step ending in a furry pileup. One positive thing I can say about the aging process is that it ain’t boring.
I think there are few times when talking about the weather would be inappropriate. However, with the current hypersensitivity plague, there are uncountable multitudes of nice folks who are offended by everything, including the weather. It can be hard to sympathize with them, but I do my best.
So, at the risk of offending someone, somewhere … again, have a nice day. Really.
