Some of you know I’ve been battling some very persistent skin cancer on my left cheek (no, the one on my face). Today was my meeting with the plastic surgeon. Naturally I was curious since my Doctor is from Newport Beach, the plastic surgery capital of the world. Thank God for good insurance (even as it runs out). Little did I think I would ever be in a plastic surgeon’s office…ever!
I knew the place was close to work, but realizing it was my first visit, I figured the polite/smart thing to do was to arrive 15 minute early. I made my Internet driving map (when will I ever learn) and found it to be about 10 minutes away. I got in my car with a cool 30 minutes to spare. I started on my way and realized right away…I was outta gas. That big annoying gas can light showing up in my face, glowing from the dash. I have a problem remembering about gas. The car needs it. I forget it about it. Not the best combination. Isn’t that what husbands are for? I decided to chance it. I took off and it was at some point up the road I noticed the name of the street on the map had an additional SE (south east) attached. Well, I knew where the road with the name “Bristol” was…but hell, how did I know there was a N, S, SE, SW, NE and God knows what other streets criss-crossing like a heated chess match. I started to freak out because not only had I left my dang cell phone on my desk…(apparently I have some issues I need to address) but the last time I ran out of gas…a friend from work had to rescue me off the freeway offramp…and he brought a camera to make sure he got a good shot of my dilemma before the gas was handed over. So… I pulled in to Chevron to maintain my dignity.
After an enormously long time, the tank and I were on a first name basis and I had only 14 minutes left. Oh so many Norths, Souths, etc. to choose from. I took another chance. Hey, I am a Sagitarius. I found a parking lot with a maze of buildings scattered and interlocked. On the outside of the lot, I saw my sought after address (along with 12 others) on a big sign. I drove around all of them, like a child on a scavenger hunt, searching for that last item to win the grand prize. I found every bloody address but the one I needed. I parked. I walked. Finally I found the address tucked behind a tree, climbed the stairs and went inside what I presumed (ya know how that goes) was the lobby. In reality, it was a series of halls and doors sent from the bowels of Hell to confuse the unsuspecting patients. I noticed I was on the 100 level and needed the 200 level so at the end of the very long dark hall, I saw the stairway continue just outside of the last glass door. I exited and went up one flight to the next glass door. It was locked. I went back down the the first floor to re-enter where I’d just left. It was locked. I went up to the third level. Oh yes…Locked. I went down to the basement and found myself standing in some strange underground parking structure. By now, I had 5 minutes, I was wheezing and I was pissed. I ran across the lot swearing at parked cars. I embarrassed a postman (and myself). I went back to the front of the building with the first flight of stairs, carefully checking my way onto the second. I opened yet another glass door and low and behold! Mecca! I entered the Doctors office with one minute to spare and promptly inquired if new people had any problems locating them. The receptionist replied “Only half” ONLY HALF!!! I muttered “Probably because the other half die on the stairs”…
Ok, Now I get a chance to look around. I’m a plain ol regular person but I do enjoy design and I see stainless swirled around walls, glass blocks, real paintings and exotic looking floral displays. Now I know I’m in Newport Beach. I’m secretly thankful…well hell..it’s my face! I take a seat. I am surrounded by women that have had just a bit “too much” done. Too much boob, too much lip, too much tight skin. They are talking about needing a massage and how their poor little necks are so tight with knots. I can hear this weird zen music being piped in and as it continues to get louder, the women keep talking. Somewhere in the middle of a particularly weird instrumental sound I calmly asked if they knew when the Mother Ship was landing. The room was suspended in time. My bad. Hey, Don’t blame me… it was all the stairs and a lack of oxygen. At last I had peace…and lots of personal space too!
Within 10 minutes I was called in by the “ONLY HALF” receptionist. She then admitted, when she’d applied for the job, she had taken quite a few “misguided detours” of her own… It’s a wonder she ever made back without a long rope! I was ushered into a very creatively decorated room and plopped onto the usual patient table. When the Doctor showed up, she looked like something out of a fashion magazine. She was beautiful…and lucky for me, very normal. I instantly like her. She joked with me and laughed a good hearty laugh. I don’t trust people who can’t laugh. I’m in good hands.