Nostrils tingling, it was on across the government center plaza, toward the Metrodome, to my ramp and into the car, escaping the city for the weekend. As expected, traffic was heavy. Heavier than this morning's rush hour, in fact. I'm glad I only had to go to Maple Grove, and not points west. Lots of campers and trailers and big trucks. And a giant oversized load rig with a backhoe that seemed uncomfortably close as I passed. Then exit, wind through the construction obstacle course that is northwest Maple Grove, and to the doctor's office. Easy to find, and just a mile from home.
My childhood memories of the doctor's office go something like this: Show up for your appointment and wait. Kids cough. And wait. Babies scream. Then wait some more. About the time you're sure you're going to die of germ exposure, starvation, or boredom, the nurse calls you back. You end up in a room, sitting on that bed-like thing, nearly naked and freezing. And you're lucky if 45 minutes later, just before hypothermia sets in, the doctor arrives for a three-minute look-over. He looks, he listens, he pokes, he prods, and then sends you on your way with a Tootsie Pop. (Because, note, he is not the dentist.)
My how things have changed. I filled out a form and was whisked back into the bowels of Park Nicollet Clinic by a friendly woman in colorful scrubs. She directed me to the insurance desk where another woman in a purple fleece vest had to look over all of my insurance stuff. Apparently the clinic has to process your insurance to see if it will be paid before you get to see the doctor. She didn't say much, just sat typing and not looking at me. So I looked around. A long hallway traversed the center of the building; we were in a bright atrium of sorts. There were numerous signs with arrows hanging above hallways: "A" "B" "C" "F" and so on. What is it about the interior of a clinic that screams "clinic"? You could look at one corner, one reception area, one piece of art, or some chairs, and you recognize immediately where you are: A Building of Healthcare. Is it subliminal messages in the wallpaper? Subtle color combinations? Practically, the interior decor in most non-healthcare offices and clinics or hospitals is similar. But you'd never confuse the two.
Eventually, the she gave me a piece of paper with "A 101" written on it. Hooray! My insurance is approved! Now walk to the "A" hallway, turn left, go to the end, and find Room 101.
My physical was so slick. Almost no waiting. Nice, friendly nurse (again, colorful scrubs). Slick flat-screen computer monitor over the doctor's desk area. When it came time to undress, they had a gown for me. Not some papery thing, either...real fabric. The doctor was prompt, talkatively friendly, and informative, too. And the room wasn't too cold. Everything checked out; I am healthy. All-in-all, it wasn't a bad hour. Even when I had a tetanus booster. (Speaking of which, arm soreness is setting in. Hadn't noticed that until now. Oooh.)
Now it's back home to pack for...drumroll...a pre-wedding retreat! This begins in Eagan or somewhere over that way this evening. The retreat comes highly recommended, and if you go, the state knocks $50 of the cost of your marriage license. We will be a captive audience from 7 o'clock this evening until 9:30 Saturday evening. Yes, 9:30 p.m. I have no idea. I hope it is fun.
But first Jenni and I are going to Richfield, where Jenni's dad Dan, a detective with the Richfield PD, is "camping" out atop a Rainbow Foods. He's helping raise money for Special Olympics Minnesota by taking part in Cop on Top. Rumor has it we're going to get dinner and bring it to him up on the roof. I am skeptical: Is Rainbow going to let a whole passel of people, including a two-year-old, wander around on a store roof? I smell a 10-mile long list of liability issues. I suppose we'll find out. I'm going to bring my camera just in case.
Speaking of photos and grocery stores: It appears the Cub Foods is moving toward some kind of genetically engineered carrot-potato hybrid. I plucked this out of a bag of baby carrots yesterday:
Here's a closer look. See what I mean? Potato skin. Clearly.
Cub carries two brands of baby carrots: Bolthouse Farms and Farm Fresh. The Bolthouse Farms carrots are always just the right amount of moistness. Perfect carrots, really. Farm Fresh, naturally the cheaper brand, has more questionable-looking carrots (as it turns out, Farm Fresh one of Supervalu "Signature Brands," meaning these are the "Cub brand" carrots) . Sometimes they are funny shapes. And the bags are always very wet inside. I leave mine open in the fridge to dry it out, and even that doesn't work. I know I shouldn't whine, because it is my choice to buy them. And buy them I do, because they are cheap. But when I saw the carrot above I was a bit alarmed. Are our friends at Supervalu, er, Farm Fresh trying to slip these new cotatos past us unawares?
Not this sharp-eyed masticator. But in the end, I suppose I'll eat it anyway. Off to the Richfield Rainbow, then on to learn how to be an obedient husband.
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