Because of all of my ridiculous health issues, I spend a lot of time at the lab having blood taken out of my body, and at doctors appointments talking about what happened with the blood taken out of my body. Conveniently, most of this can be attended to in one giant medical plaza in Burbank, across the street from Providence St. Joseph’s Hospital. The medical plaza is fairly new, and pretty much every doctor in the area who is affiliated with the hospital has moved their practice into one of these four buildings. Predictably, it is generally a zoo around there and a mecca of old people driving cars that are way too big for them.
This morning I had an appointment with my hematologist at 9 AM. His office is always nutty and you end up sitting around for a really long time (my new way to combat boredom: losing at solitaire on my phone). As you might imagine, this makes me a little cranky. Also not working with me: I had been out late last night so I’m really tired, have a little bit of a headache, didn’t have time to eat breakfast, or drink the massive amount of coffee that I typically need to get my ass in gear on any given day. The quick pit stop at the coffee cart in the plaza yielded a pathetic excuse for a latte from a man named Nick that didn’t really cut it. Also, being surround by old and sick people has started to really bum me out, because I don’t want to be either.
After my appointment, I made my way to my car and began the excruciating process of driving out of the parking garage. This is generally the world’s biggest pain in the ass because of the amount of old people who drive really, really slowly looking for a parking spot on the first or second floor (when there are hundreds available on the third floor), and the other old people shuffling to their cars from the elevator. It is seen as bad manners to beep at someone with a walker for walking too slowly, so it is a true exercise in patience getting out of this place. This morning, as I was one ramp away from freedom, I spotted a car very slowly backing out of a parking space. It was clear that the driver could not see around the car next to him to know I was coming, so I stopped and waited for him to pull out. The car was some sort of Ford sedan, driven by a man who had to be at least 80 and was going about -1 MPH. However, he had a license plate that read “MR VIBES”. I will forever wonder what the significance of that license plate is related to that very old, very slow man.