- Share This Post
- submit
- 0
-
Sparkle (0)
I hate being on surgery team at work with a competent doctor and an almost-empty schedule. For one thing, it almost guarantees that the doctor will want to leave early, leaving me with nothing to do in the afternoon. I'm one of those people that won't call out without paid time off, instead dragging my almost-dying ass to the car, and into work. I may need to wheel around on one of the those fancy-dancy office chairs, but dammit I'm there.
Being the go-getter that I am, I talked Trish out of staying on her team so I could work with one of my pals. Being that she started relatively shortly before me, we definitely don't get to work together as much as I'd like, but that's probably for the best.
We broke for lunch at 12:00. I waited for Antares whom I told me to surprise me food-wise in what was his attempt to repay me for a service that to this day has been foiled down to the last minute: Christmas Shopping.
Sitting with the two of them outside of work at a picnic table scarfing down chimichangas was worse than being on a bad date. They're both important to me, both friends, but as work and my personal life mess, I'm watching it like a bad train-wreck. I swear I couldn't help it, and there was nothing I could do to intervene.
A comment about it being 5:30 p.m. before we left work (which I thought was a sarcastic remark), and a quick kiss goodbye ended the whole ordeal rather too quickly. After all, towards the 30 minute mark, they were certainly making progress with complete sentences!
As it turned out though, a full afternoon kept us running around like chicken with out heads cut off. It had us dealing with difficult clients at the end of a long-day that should've ended hours before. As one of my other work friends put it, "Are you working tonight too?"
"Nohooo," I said.
"Oh."
We finally left there at 6 p.m. 2 hours past when we were supposed to leave, and only because the doctor ran from the building as her husband was going to "kill her".
I do not go out in scrubs. Some people find them terribly relaxing, but for me it's more like walking around in pajamas all day. For one thing, I feel like I can never get anything done, but for another, I certainly don't want anyone I meet to see me in them. Without them, now that's another story.
First we got caught in rush-hour traffic, which I'm usually fortunate to avoid. We finally made it to my house (a 40 min drive) an hour an 15 min later. A few minutes of playing with kitten, and a quick wardrobe change had us back on the road.
We went to a pool hall about 40 minutes past work in the other direction, near where Melissa lives. I was assuming it to be a dark, swanky place that served maybe 3-4 draft beers and never heard of mixed drinks like, "Sex on the beach". She told me they served food which I assumed to be steaks, maybe cold-cut sandwiches and the like.
So imagine my surprise when we pull into the parking lot of something the size of a TGI Fridays, and head inside. We grab a table and are greeted with Southern service. A sports bar, with a list of 42 draft beers. Some will make you laugh. Others will make you laugh so hard you cry. And some you've heard of. They have a decent size bar, and unattractive people the way a bar tends to collect them. They have a row of round tables, then two rows of booths on both sides of a short wall before 6 pool tables on display.
The menu is a lot to talk about too. Trying to pick just one thing is damn near impossible. Order two different things and split it. It's as easy as that.
Shortly after consuming food like we hadn't eaten in a week and finding our stomachs not nearly matching the strength of our hunger, we took a look around and landed on a guy I can only identify as being really good looking. He was olive-complected with dark black hair, and some nice
