Pavlov would be proud

Late last night I got an email from my healthcare provider. I get these when there is essential healthcare news my provider wants to share with me. Since I just recently visited a couple of specialists and had some special tests done on special parts of my special body, I have been anticipating important results. When the email came, I was out dancing and enjoying the company of a high tech robot that I like to call Senior Ponzi Scheme.

Senior Ponzi noticed that I checked my email and scurried away. I soon got a text from "SPonzi@WhoULookinAt" that asked "where you go so quickly, I forgot to say good day."

The interesting thing about modern culture is this ability to not only get way too much information from doctors who know way too much about medical information than we do, but also Mexican built robots that know how to text.

So I ran off to check my latest medical results because that is what you do when you are waiting for important medical results concerning your long term health. As I was running away from the dance hall, which is ironic, because, well, first, who goes to dance halls anymore and what sort of person runs away from them? Second, in retrospect, I could have checked the email in the quiet of the bathroom or something, instead, I ran to my waiting limo.

Which is when a gang of outlandish gay ruffians tackled me, beat me senseless and took away my cellphone. I bruised my elbow, which left me in terrible pain, unable to chase them down and retrieve my phone. I laid in the street, trying to cry, but unable to, because it was at that very point that I realized what a Pavlovian idiot I had become. The minute I got the email from my healthcare provider I dashed off to see the results, not bothering to say good night to Senior Ponzi, tip the dry cleaner who continually was cleaning my winter jacket, kiss the princess who had been waiting until midnight or even bother to punch former heavyweight champion Mike Tyson in the face for 5 dollars, which is a new game people can play at the Dance Hall I frequent.

Here is what I know about the language used by medical professionals in letters to consumers, it can not be understood. Recently I got an email that said something to the effect that I had a large tumor growing on my brain and I had probably an hour to live. Outraged I called my oncologist, who said she knew nothing about this, checked the email and said that what all those words actually meant was that the last time I had been to her office I illegally parked my car in a spot reserved for medical professionals.

I made it home late this morning, with no phone, a bruised elbow and a need to check my email. I immediately ran up to the 16th floor of our house, which also reminds me that as I age, I really should stop buying thin houses with a high number of floors. This house is 10 feet by 5 feet, but 40 stories high. It is insanely stupid to live in such a shoebox. After running up all those stairs I realized my laptop was on the first floor, where by cat likes to use it to view Kitty Porn, go figure.

Instead of running down all those stairs again, I grabbed one of the tablet test models that Apple sends me on an hourly basis. That part is true, Apple is always sending me products to test and lately I have been sent well over 300 test Ipad 4 models. I picked one up, searched my medical files and found that the results of my latest test showed that my cholesterol level was too high, which was both surprising and of little importance to me. This was, of course, not the test I have been waiting for.

Thank the good lord sweet Jesus that Senior Ponzi called soon after and asked if I would like some of his famous Spanish waffles, to which I said, sure, let me finish my breakfast first.