The Jaded NYer Goes To The Lab

After the Friday date from hell, and hibernating in my apartment with Rory and Lorelai and the residents of Stars Hollow all of Saturday, I actually left my apartment on Sunday to get my doctor-prescribed lab tests taken and out of the way. Even though my period appeared bright and early and right on schedule. (A bunch of people just read that last line and light bulbs lit up like the tree at Rockefeller Center.) And even though the goddamned first snow of the season had fallen while I slept an angry and bitter sleep on my couch.

So I trekked out in the -2,000 degree weather up 13th Street to the Qwest Diagnostics lab located in the Rite-Aid on 51st to get my blood drawn and have my urine tested. First of all, it's Sunday. In Boro Park. For those of you NOT from NYC, that means that the streets were drowning in Hassidic Jews. They roll like 14-deep, and H-shem help you if you get caught on the sidewalk with grandma and her 30 grandchildren- 4 in the double stroller and the rest ranging in age from 0-25, all walking instep with one another like soldiers in Moishe's Army. And they were all staring at me like some harlot from the New Testament in my JEANS and my HAIR ALL OUT for the world to see.

Second of all, at the lab, I was expected to pour my own urine into the test tube. As in I pee in the cup and then pour the pee in the tube. Myself. Now, I was a good chemistry student so I was able to do all this and not spill a drop or ruin the sterility of the test tube, but how do the lab people know that? See, this is why I don't deal with this shit- incompetence!

And when I was done, the lab guy was gone, off taking care of someone else, so I'm there holding onto my tube like an idiot. "Just leave it on the counter," he said. Just like that. Just leave it on the counter? Can you please label it and then put it in the bag with the other tubes, please, asshole? Or is expecting you to do your motherfucking job too much to ask on a Sunday-fucking-afternoon?

When that thought came into my head, I decided, "That's it. I'm done with humans." Let's face it folks- I'm a loner. I've always thought so but never said it aloud. I mean I have a decent amount of friends and I love them to death, but when it comes down to it, nothing beats being by myself. No man is an island? The person who said that was a low self-esteem having attention whore...I mean, I'm not really sure how many more people I'll have to deal with before I lose my shit all together, acquire a firearm from one of my shady Penzo cousins, and just take out all of Church Avenue.

In other news, why did I see a little Mexican boy, no older than 7, shoveling his front walk? I'm all for giving kids responsibilities and shit but DAMN! You should have seen this poor little boy shoveling his little heart out. I all but called child protective services. But then I figured they were probably illegals, and I mean, I was upset but I didn't want to get anyone deported. And I guess his parents were just being proactive and preparing him for his lot in life.

Finally, I decided to drown my sorrows in the only movie cynical enough to actually make me believe I could still find love in NYC, The Goodbye Girl, and 1,095 calories and over 2100 milligrams of sodium, otherwise known as the three-piece chicken strip meal from McDonald's, with an orange drink and Buffalo dipping sauce. A heart attack never tasted so good...

*smooches...longing for last January's optimism and good cheer*
-------------
I'm so grumpy right now that the next person who even dreams about looking at me sideways is getting punched in the face, no questions asked, just straight knocked the fuck out...is this what depression feels like?