Resting Bitch Tonsils

8 Jul

caller-clipart-scared_phone_call

“TONSILLITIS. PHLEGM. GREEN. PHLEGM.”

This is not how I like to begin public conversations. Actually, this is not how I like to begin any conversation. Especially one that takes place at 8:30AM. On a petite shuttle bus.

I am not a fan of phone conversations. Which is odd, because I love talking, and I love my phone…so you’d think the combination would be equivalent to a cookie pizza, or a puppy who can turn into a stress-free turtle, on those days when you just don’t feel like cleaning up piss and going for walks.

But no. Phone conversations are annoying and cumbersome. Why can’t we just text? (The title of my romantic memoir. Or, rather, someone’s romantic memoir about me.) Why can’t I just tell my secretary to make the call? (He’s been on vacation for nearly 23 years, but I’m confident he’ll show up at some point, tanned and ready for work.)

When someone calls me, I feel panicked, like, oh my God, the last time someone called me was before THE WAHR, what could this possibly be about??

Internal panic makes my voice sound like a stereo that once experienced an *accidental* strawberry sauce bath: “Hello?” I hear myself whisper. (I have nodes on my vocal chords, so sometimes, I try to speak and literally NO sound comes out.) I clear my throat. “HELLO??” I accidentally SHOUT, in my clear, nodes-free teacher voice.

Static. A pause.

“He-” I begin again, only to be interrupted by the person on the other end.

The conversation continues much like this–with ample starts and stops, and a lot of whisper yelling–until one of us decides to say, “Ok, great, I’ll text you the info to confirm. Thanks!”

You’ll TEXT ME the info?? Why couldn’t you have TEXTED me this entire conversation? You’ve raised my cortisol levels for no significant reason, and now I’m more likely to gain weight over the course of my lifetime. Also, my nodes are acting up. I haven’t prepared them for this. Will YOU be paying for my surgery? I want Adele’s doctor. And I want Adele to be there. SHE NEEDS TO BE THERE.

Anyway. This is why I don’t like phone conversations. Unless they’re with Adele.

On this particular morning, I had to make a phone call pertaining to tonsillitis, which I thought had been cured after ten days of drinking, while on antibiotics. But apparently, I was mistaken. All of my symptoms had returned with a vengeance.

Since I am a working woman, and a mid-day doctor’s appointment means a serious disruption to my work-life balance, I decided it necessary to call the office right after opening, so as to secure an appointment time that would convenience me.

The office opens at 8AM. I make the transition from train to office shuttle bus at approximately 8:25. I arrive at the bus stop at 8:30, which leaves me five minutes to occupy myself with extracurricular pursuits. Usually, I just lean against a wall and do my anti-Resting Bitch Face exercises (these include repeatedly raising and lowering the corners of my mouth, while thinking of peaceful things, like beaches and tax returns.) I’m pretty sure these exercises will result in even more wrinkles, but my mom says the resting state of my face isn’t very “pleasant looking,” so I’ve added “Anti-RBF” exercises to my long list of self-improvements.

This morning, however, people would have to deal with my natural grimaces because I had a health-related call to make!

I dialed the doctor’s office, where I was received by a pleasant, no doubt RBF-free operator, who told me to press buttons until Sandra was done with her breakfast sandwich and free to take my call.

I waited. And I waited. I wondered if her breakfast sandwich had bacon, because that would make it greasier and might mean she’d have to wash her hands after eating.

I continued to wait, until I saw my shuttle bus arrive. Shit.

I had two options: either hang up in a panic and call back later, or risk the humiliation of a public phone call.

How much do people really listen to other people’s phone calls, anyway? Sure, I know all about the birthday party that Wendy from Acton is throwing for her son this weekend, and how her mother is very concerned that ordering pizza might “send the wrong idea” to neighbors, and how Wendy will need to discuss things with her husband before making any decisions, and that her husband’s name is Robert, and that Robert has “a lot going on this week…”

But I only know all of that because the man sitting next to Wendy on the train yesterday burped into my ear, which caught my attention and inspired me to pay closer attention to my surroundings.

How much do people really listen when there’s no one there to burp?

I decided to continue with the call.

I boarded the shuttle, which was a lot quieter than usual. Where was the hum of the AC? Why wasn’t at least ONE of these six or seven people talking?

“Hello,” a human voice said on the other end of my phone call.

SANDRA!

“Hi,” I whispered. (My nodes were particularly active this morning, and I also didn’t want to display all of my dirty laundry for these shuttle people. I was already wearing a shirt that I’d found in my dirty laundry, so no need to beat a dead horse.)

“I, uh, had a bout of tonsillitis two weeks ago and it went away with medication but now…”

“What was that? You had what?”

“Tonsillitis,” I said, slightly louder.

“Name?” Sandra asked, like she was taking my order at a 1960s diner and was tired of serving food on roller skates.

“Sophie.”

“Date of birth?”

What was this woman going to ask next?? My social security number? My underwear size?? Why I’d said “No, not today,” when that cashier at Marshall’s asked if I wanted to donate a dollar to The Jimmy Fund last week??

I told her my birthday.

“Ok, so what are your symptoms?” Sandra asked.

“My throat is still really sore and I’m having some…phlegm,” I nearly whispered.

“What? I’m sorry, I’m having trouble hearing you.”

There was still not a SOUL talking on this bus, besides me. Even the driver’s intercom had shut off. He was probably airing my conversation to the other bus drivers for their early morning amusement.

“Phlegm,” I said, at a perfectly normal volume.

“Could you repeat that?”

Seriously?

I felt the nodes parting like the red sea. Oh no. There was going to be a flood.

“PHLEGM,” I nearly yelled. “I HAD TONSILLITIS AND AM NOW EXPERIENCING A LOT OF PHLEGM. GREEN. PHLEGM. TONSILLITIS. PHLEGM. GREEN. PHLEGM.”

Whoop, there it was.

The man behind me shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I heard another man clear his throat. (Oh no he did NOT just appropriate my issue! There is only room for ONE phlegm monster on this petite shuttle bus, and that monster is ME.)

“Okay, the doctor can see you tomorrow, mid-day,” Sandra said.

“What’s the latest time she has?” I asked. I had already put an arrow on my back, why not annoy one more person in the process?

“That is the only time she has. Shall I put you down for tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

I hung up the phone. I felt eyes on me. Oh, that’s real nice, guys, way to single out the “sick girl.”

I tried to distract myself with texting, but then I felt something happening to my body.

A sneeze. A freaking flawlessly comically-timed sneeze.

I tried to hold it in by holding my breath and tensing my body, but then realized this wasn’t a fart; this was a totally different animal all together.

As the oxygen began to drain from my body, I felt my resistances weaken, and out popped a loud sneeze. Not a gross one (I am a LADY) but a nice, loud one.

None of the windows of this tiny ass shuttle bus were open, and I’d just infested the incubator.

When we finally arrived at the office, I scurried off the shuttle, as if to say, “Don’t worry, guys, you can still live life to the fullest, even if you get tonsillitis!”

I’m not sure they noticed my efforts to be positive and upbeat. But on the plus side, all of my apologetic positivity meant a lot of raising and lowering of the corners of my mouth.

Tonsillitis and public humiliation: the best cures for Resting Bitch Face.

 

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