300px-nurse_ratched.jpgThe Gentleman Formerly Known As My Boss, aka David…appears to have some doubts about my interest in going to nursing school.  Seems he recollects a certain sitcheeayshun wither your Sista did not respond in a very nursely manner.   You be the judge. (Yay! I can tell this story cause I don’t work there anymore!)

A few years ago when I was David’s assistant (David was and is still the Big Cheese over Big Mama Jama Events and a truly sick and twisted individual)  we had a rather large event that was to commence about 10:00 on a Friday morning.  There was much activity that morning and I was hard at work making some corrections to the Power Point presentation and for some reason, it seems that David had not arrived yet.  There may have been some horrible accident blocking I-40, but, it seems he was not yet there.  I had been in and out from the auditorium to my office (I had an office then. With a window. It was great) and I’m sitting there like a busy bee, trying to get this Power Point thing done. 

I heard a rather large KABOOM in the supply closet just outside my domain.  It sounded like something fell off the shelf.  I didn’t get up to investigate because I figured I’d deal with it later.    So I continued with my work.  I was probably in there 25 minutes when I finished and got up to head back to the auditorium. 

Then…I heard a voice.  A very muffled voice.  I thought they were calling my name.  I decided I was hearing things because I was so focused (scary, I know) on what I was doing.  Then I hear the muffled voice again:


I wasn’t hearing things.  The voice sounded like it was coming from the closet.  I walked back into the little common area between our offices and the closet and the voice was closer and it said “Sharon, I’m sick.”  It was Pat the Librarian. 

The Library was right next to our office.  Pat was the librarian lady.  She was about 60 and very, very refined and serious.  What you would think of when you think “Librarian.”  Very prim and proper.  So much so, she called her mother in law, “Grandmother.”  Gag. 

We used to laugh like crazy at Pat (behind her back) because she was such a control freak.  Pat was always yappin’ about her allergies.  She wouldn’t allow any flowers or anything with a scent within 100 feet of her because she had allergies.  One time, I had put potpourri in a container on the table in OUR common area and Pat asked me to remove it because she just couldn’t deal with it.  Whatever.

Pat’s allergies allegedly caused her to experience Vertigo and apparently, on this particular morning, her vertigo was really happening.  She had been in the closet (where there was a sink we shared with the Library people) and the vertigo hit and Pat went down.  The sound I thought was something falling off the shelf was Pat!  When all this came together in my mind, I began to laugh.  There, poor Pat was lying on the floor in this teeny closet, in her own vomit whilst I was hammering away on my Power Point just a few feet away for 25 minutes made me feel horrible.   So horrible, I could not control my laughter. 

I went and found Kitty (another funny little woman.  A funny little woman who had no idea she was funny and didn’t mean to be funny) and told her she had to deal with it cause I had a show to put on. 

For the rest of that day (and even at this moment years later) I could not stop laughing when I was retelling this story or even thinking about it.  Just recollecting that muffled sound of my co-worker calling me in distress struck me funny. 

I felt really bad for Pat.  I really did.  I guess somehow, psychologically, my nervous, uncontrollable, Depend-requiring laughter was a manifestation of how bad I really felt.

And David doubts my potential nursing skill…..HA!