Barracuda

Today my dear and long suffering wife needed to go through one of those unpleasant medical experiences that mark the onset of late middle-age. And since she was advised not to drive after the procedure I went along so she wouldn’t have to walk the two or three miles home.

I suppose I could embellish this little article by describing the preparations she endured for the procedure but that would only embarrass her and make you, dear readers, sick to your stomach. Let’s just say it involved copious amounts of laxatives dissolved in vast quantities of Gatorade. It wasn’t pretty. But while she was undergoing intense medical scrutiny this morning I was suffering my own damn self.

The waiting room for designated drivers at the medical facility has a large TV. And this large TV was tuned to one of those early morning quasi-news shows full of talking heads obviously hired for the quality of their dental work and All-American appearances. The ability to read was probably another job requirement although it was clearly at the fifth grade level, or lower.

These vapid smiling hosts and hostettes read some “news” stories with breathless wonderment and glittering smiles whether the story was tragic or comic. They also would occasionally step outside the studio to an area where a small crowd of men, women and children would cheer wildly and hold up cryptic signs. The “interviews” with members of this mindless throng of shivering citizens consisted of three questions: What’s your name? Where are you from? Is it cold enough here for you? Each one of the answers was cheered with wild abandon by the nitwits sharing the sidewalk.

But let’s get back to the “news” stories. There was a story about the medical condition of the recently shot congress-person. This was followed by an interview with one of the late Ronald Reagan’s sons. As I recall it was the son who hadn’t danced in tights and who claims that Mr. Reagan did not have Alzheimer’s during his first term. Apparently the other son, the dancer, claims otherwise and I believe there’s going to be a new reality show coming soon that follows this family feud. I think the title is “Dead Presidents’ Squabbling Middle-Aged Brats” or something similar.

After some local commercials the show resumed with more “new” features. The first item was about who wore what at the latest awards show, where actors with huge egos congratulate themselves on their latest piece of insipid filmmaking and pose on a red carpet showing off outfits that cost enough to feed ten thousand third world children for a month. The morning show hosts were joined by a couple of fashion experts who made catty remarks that thinly veiled their anger at not receiving invitations to the big shindig. One of these experts said that this was only the first show of the awards season, which apparently runs from January to September, and those stars that wore atrociously ugly clothes would have many opportunities for redemption if they could stay out of re-hab long enough.

There were other stories, of course, along with weather reports and really annoying advertisements. But the topper, the big story of the morning, and I’m not making this up, was about a woman who had been attacked by a flying barracuda while kayaking in Florida. Apparently this lady and her gentleman friend were paddling around some swampy areas near an island close to the coast, minding their own business, when a huge barracuda, that nasty shark-like fish with razor sharp teeth and a bad disposition, leapt out of the water and bit her on the side. The bite was terrible. It punctured her body, opening a big hole, breaking ribs and allowing her lung to push out where lungs should not be. Now this is a terrible thing. And the smiling TV personalities interviewing this woman, her boyfriend and the guy who came to their rescue were beside themselves with deeply felt concern, expressed as sincerely as any learning disabled animatron figure can express any emotion. “How did you feel when you realized you had a gaping hole in your side?” he asked the woman. “How did it affect you when you saw the lung poking out of your girlfriend’s side and you knew help was at least a half hour away?” he asked the boyfriend. And on and on the interview went for ten agonizing minutes. Admirably the people being interviewed controlled themselves and kept their answers civil. I would have said “You mindless moron! How did you think I felt? I was bleeding like a pig, my internal organs were on display and we were twenty miles from nowhere? I was scared shitless you idiot!”

When I was imagining that last part of my answer my dear wife appeared. Come to think of it she could have been described with one of those words in that last sentence. Well, we returned to our TV free home to eat and rest. By the way she got a clean bill of health from the colonoscopy.

Have a fine day.