They’re Trying to Kill Me

I have a test tomorrow. It’s labeled as “routine”. No problem.

But the whole point is to get my heart rate up so they can measure it properly to make sure that it isn’t going to explode say, right now.

So I called to get my pretest instructions.

“Eat a light breakfast three hours prior, but nothing after.”

Check!

“Do not take beta blockers.”

Okay. Don’t know what those are. Check!

“Don’t ingest caffeine for twelve hours prior.”

Wait. Whoa. Let’s rethink this.

Surely you’re telling me not to drink with my sister Eileen for twelve hours prior, right? Because that would be easy. She’s probably busy between 11 p.m. and 11 a.m.

“No. Don’t drink caffeine.”

That doesn’t include coffee, right?

“No, that specifically excludes coffee.”

But . . . how am I supposed to stay awake until the test?

“I don’t care. I just answer the phones.”

But you should care. If I don’t have coffee in the morning I could take a hypodermic syringe and wave it around threateningly. I could be really angry. I could even be pushed so far as to call my doctor a big meanie.

“Not my problem. No coffee.”

I can’t.

“Get off my phone.”

Okay, but I want you know I’m going to weep now.

“That’s fine Mr. O’Brien. Please hang up.”

Okay. But I just want you to understand what you are doing to me.

“I do. Hang up please.”

Okay, but I want to sing you a song first. It’s a nice song. Will you listen.

“No.”

I’m singing now. And I may cry while doing so.

“Please don’t.”

I love coffee,
I love tea,
I love the java jive
and it loves me

“I’m hanging up now Mr. O’Brien.”

That’s fine, Patricia the central scheduling cruelty imp. But you’re killing me.

“At this point sir, I feel it may be a public service.”

Fine. Be that way. Just understand that our relationship is over.

“It’s for the better sir. Have a nice test.”

I think the vein in my temple just popped.

“Okay.”

Well, at least I have my new Two Towers DVD to keep me company.

I think my skin is bubbling.

Discuss My Torture