Can I go home yet?

I am now seeing a physical therapist to help manage these stupid headaches — which I still contend are a part of The Mono, but my doctor disagrees ("I've never heard of mono causing headaches.") even though my Googling clearly proves him incorrect. (got all that?)

So as I was laying on the table —

— We interrupt the following whiny post to declare one bright spot to my week — Mrs. Chicken ever so kindly awarded me this —



— and I must thank her for giving me such shiny bling!

We now resume today's lament:

OK, so —

As I was laying on the table, receiving a heavenly massage from a man named Scott, we started talking about my job as a reporter and then he starting reminiscing about how he used to be a city council member in a community near here.

I froze.

Have I interviewed this person? OMG, no wonder his name sounds familiar. How very awkward.

"Oh. Um ... when were you on the council?" I asked.

"It was a few years ago," he said. "I'm not on it anymore."

The chicken story. Eek. Is this the guy I interviewed when the city council wanted to ban pet chickens? How humiliating. How many bad puns did I put in that story anyway? Did I tell him my maiden name? I bet he doesn't know which reporter I am. Please, given that I'm naked, don't let him recognize me.

"So ... um ... what sorts of issues did you have to deal with during your term?"

Please, please, don't say chickens.


"Oh, well, there was some stuff involving the charter school. But that was about it. I was only on the council for two years."

"So, nothing about .... livestock?"

The therapist laughed, clearly puzzled.

"No. Just the school."

thankyouthankyouthankyou

On returning to the newsroom, I did a quick search through our archives. And no, I did not interview my therapist/former city councilman for the stupid chicken story. Still, his name is naggingly familiar.

I'm getting old. When I first started in this business, I remembered everybody — names, under what circumstances I had interviewed people, whatever happened to so-and-so... Now I'm lucky if I can remember the way home.

Oh, and also?

A city editor just asked me to babysit the police scanners. Have discovered I am deaf. Volume adjustment required. As a result, the scanners are now so loud that other (younger) reporters keep shooting me looks.

Just you wait, sonny. One day, you too will be going to physical therapy and wondering if the person rubbing your back used to be a source. And you too will pray that if anything explodes, you will feel the vibrations because God knows you will never hear the calls go out on the scanner.

On my way to AARP membership. 13 years and counting...

My ob/gyn's office just called. During the conversation, I said "pap smear" so loudly — presumably because of the deafness and, of course, because the scanners are blaring — that the two people in front of me just turned around. How long until I start sharing the intimate details of my digestive ailments with co-workers? Or complaining about my stiff joints and need for more fiber?

I am so glad it's Friday. Am ready to slink home.