I should warn you that I have a lot of ‘terrible memory’ back-up posts in the wings, so – sorry ’bout that. Lloyd is wondering if it should be its own category.
Would you like to know how I learned that you’re supposed to let a receptionist know that you’ve arrived for your appointment? Let me share:
When I was – I don’t know, 4th grade? – I had a dentist appointment and got to go to Dr. Coe’s all by my big-girl self! Dr. Coe’s office was in a remodeled Victorian house, and as you walked in the front door, the waiting room was to your right, and the reception window was just to your left, with a chair directly beside it. I walked my little self in after school and sat down, right beside the window.
I got a little nervous, because it seemed like I had been there forever, but I was just ten, so what did I know?
I waited some more.
And yet some more. I could hear the receptionist talking, so I knew that my turn would be coming.
Or would it?
After an eternity I could hear the receptionist on the the phone, saying something like, “She never showed up and we’re about to close. Really? No, she’s not here.” Then she leaned out the window and saw me – “Oh!! She is here!”
I’m pretty sure I burst into tears, but the memory has faded, leaving only the aftertaste of that terrible, terrible fluoride treatment. (Did you have those?) That’s tomorrow’s memory.