I really felt like I was either on Candid Camera or the victim a Clue-style murder mystery today. If only Tim Curry or Art Linkletter popped out from behind a tree, I would have hugged them!
I did my pee in a jug test Saturday but forgot to bring it to the lab Monday when they opened, so today I got up extra early and planned to drop it off before work. The only instructions I had been given were to do my business in this clear plastic “hat,” which kinda reminded me of the Flying Nun’s headpiece.
I was to do this from my second pee of the day on Day One to my first pee of the day on Day Two and store it in this large orange platic bottle that fortunately had a screw on cap. (By the way, do you know how much you pee in the morning? For me, it’s about 14oz, which is just shy of a pound. Further evidence that one should do their business before stepping on the scale in the morning.)
So, this morning, I packed up my little big jug in a brown paper bag and planned to drop it off. My first sign that this day was going to go downhill was the substantially sized wild turkey pacing in front of my car and talking up a storm.
Putt, putt, putt, cluck.
Of course I snapped a picture.
Now, if I had a peacock or some song birds or even a Phoenix strutting in front of my car, this drop off probably would have gone perfectly well. After all, songbirds help Cinderella make her gown for the ball, peacocks are a sign of good luck, pheonixes are known for rebirth. Those are ALL GOOD THINGS.
But a turkey? A turkey looks like a vulture. A turkey is fattened up and then slaughtered for an overly indulgent holiday. When I think about a bird that would represent my life, I would never EVER pick a turkey.
So, I avoided my gobbler stalker in case he had rabies–can poultry contract rabies?–and brought my pee into the lab. Within minutes they called me back to the area where they process paperwork and had me sit and wait until one of the administrators had an open space. They called someone else back there to wait (standing in a space the size of a modest walk-in closet, since there was no room to sit) and took her before processing my paperwork, even though I was sitting there with a warm jug o’ pee and was called first. But that’s neither here nore there.
They finally called me and I immediately turned over my license and insurance card and the form I had previously filled out, because I like to be prepared and efficient. Got that? I’m PREPARED and EFFICIENT.
The woman looked at my cards, then the jug, then me and asked where the rest of my paperwork was.
Ummm… I didn’t get any.
She then called the phlebotomist who took care of me Friday when they took my blood for my thyroid tests and then stuffed the jug and hat in the brown shopping bag for me to take home for the weekend.
The phlebotomist didn’t notice me at first, but when the secretary asked about the paperwork for my urine sample and pointed at me, she waggled her finger at me and said “I told you to bring those papers in and to not put them in the bag because you need to keep them.” Her voice suggested she wanted to add a head wobble to her finger waggle.
Fat chance, lady. You didn’t even tell me whether I needed to bring back the Flying Nun’s head gear.
I held back the sarcastic commentary and explained that I never received those directions nor was I given any paperwork. I asked what we–note: WE–could do. Surely, a major lab with computers and copy machines and fax machines and paperwork (lots and lots of paperwork) had record of me being there Friday and could simply reprint the forms so I could turn over my pee and go along my merry little way, ideally without ever having to collect my pee in a large orange bottle again.
They sent me home with my Sunny D container lookalike to check my car, house and purse for paperwork that I could bring back so they could properly process my specimen. I dutifully spent the next 45 minutes tearing apart my house and car looking for the paperwork. It’s not there because I don’t have it.
I remember exactly step by step what happened Friday. I didn’t bring my purse in: just a folder with all of my medical paperwork and one of my PCOS books I was reading. I was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved orange sweater. I was given the paperwork by the secretary and then had to give it to the sassy, finger-wagging phlebotomist who never returned it to me. She was distracted by one of the assistants who seemed to be new and flustered and came into the room at least three times to ask where the specimen bottles were kept. The phlebotomist was likely distracted, flustered and maybe even a little annoyed. I remember her complaining about it to another staff member as I was leaving.
I considered going back to the lab to problem-solve the situation. But then I checked Twitter for stress-relief purposes and saw that it was free pastry day at Starbucks. And I thought “I could really use a decaf iced latte” even though I insisted that I would NOT indulge in free pastry. But the coupon was there. And I didn’t even have to print it out, because you can show it to them from your smartphone. The baked goods didn’t even look great, but I do love their iced lemon loaf and crispy rice bars (not to be confused with Rice Krispie Treats even though they are nearly identical). Instead, there was one sad looking raspberry scone sitting all by it’s lonesome having survived the rush of thrifty pastry eaters on the run. I was feeling defeated, insanely irritated and entitled, and as a result, I handled it poorly.
Before I knew it, I was responsible for sconeslaughter.
Gone in 60 seconds–or at least before I finished the 2.5 mile drive back to work–with no witnesses.
And that, I think, it what the turkey was warning me about today: beware of fattening up.