whiskey is my girlfriend

i'm always sick. i blame this city and my dismal sex life. whatever the reason, i'm always sick. this week was no different. i had strep a few weeks ago and that apparently turned into walking pneumonia. but it took a loooooooong day for me/my doctors (yeah i had a round-the-clock team on the case.....oooorrr i went to a clinic for 4 hours but they were full of the homeless so i was shipped off to the ER for a few more hours where they were full of the real kind of homeless, not the chelsea kind, and i doubt i even saw an actual doctor. buuuuuuuut i'm getting ahead of myself).

here is my average-sized tale of my night in beth israel emergency room. (Ed. note -- for a hot second i thought of making this a poem. like iambic pentameter style. but the last poem i wrote was for my grandmother for her 90th birthday. she still has no idea what it is or who gave it to her. it collects dust on her nursing home shelf next to a statue of some saint -- we have no idea which saint or who gave it to her. full. circle.).

so mid-day wednesday, i start having chest pain upon inhale. i haven't crushed dominos in weeks and i wasn't hungover -- seriously, i wasn't. dick. so it's probably not a heart attack/the DTs...

around 5 pm, i sneak out of my office and trek to a clinic by my apartment where i wait. and wait. and wait. and wait. for over three motherfucking hours. mind you, i wrote "difficulty breathing. chest pain. painful swallowing." on the sign-in card. so when i'm finally seen and the doctor deduces that i either have pneumonia or a blood clot in my lungs (thanks birth control!) and wants to ambulance me to the hospital....those 3 hours could have made a difference...

i decide a cab is faster than an ambulance (that's a little sad, huh?) and get to the ER where they treat "can't breathe" in the same "take a seat" fashion before asking me to pee in a cup. and when i ask why i need to hand over a bottle of urine when my symptoms are lung-related, i did NOT realize miguel would just assume shank me to get to the next person in line. i'm also forgetting that holding my cup of pee was not on his christmas list. so i smiled, tried to show some cleavage as recompense but am interrupted by my own gross coughing fit. miguel's had enough and allows to lie on a bed in a secret office where my PA gives me the rundown on the happs in the ER. there's a convict loose.

i repeat.

there's a convict loose in the emergency room. i'm hoping he's the type of convict who likes to steal drugs or maybe evaded a few taxes. not the type who likes to rape asthmatic chicks hiding in PA offices. before i can ask any questions she takes a few pints of blood before throwing me to the wolves in the x-ray area. the perfect place for a convict.

i'm ray'd then am sent back out in the waiting area. i try to contain the wheezing and mingle with some cops who are kicking around. i flirt a little between coughs to find out the deal with this convict. he's most certainly on the loose, and he has stolen a polka dot tie. from whom? unknown. however it is most certainly a navy tie with white polka dots. i have another coughing fit and decide it's best to sit.

it's this moment i realize the ER is really prison. the first question asked: whatchainfor? the girl to my right has swallowed a fish bone. the boy to my left has seizures, but no one believes him. he has stopped taking his medication so as to have a seizure to prove them wrong. i admire his tenacity.

and in front of me awakens a homeless man. i almost didn't see him for he has made himself a fort (fortress really) out of personal belongings bags and paper hospital gowns. but he rises and hollers for a doctor to fix his foot. i ask him what he did to it. he says he "drank it broke." logical. i've drank my wallet and soul broke before, this guy was just worried about his foot.

epilepsy tells him to lay off the booze. to which he replies "whiskey is my girlfriend". which, thank god he realizes, is best in song, for he hops up and jigs on one foot to his new tune. and as if waiting in the wings....

cue the orthodox jews!!

homeless man: RABBI!! rabbi!
(probably not a) rabbi: hello, sir.
drunk: you're jewish! you come from israel!
jew: i come from brooklyn.
drunk: i come from brooklyn too!!
fish bone girl: small world...
whiskey's significant other: jews are very very rich! my father was a jew.
jew: so you are a jew!
me to spunky seizure kid: the plot thickens...
drunk: i am not a jew. my mother is irish.
jew: then you are certainly not rich, my friend!

laughter amongst the rest of the rabbis. and as this urban rendition of fiddler on the roof wrapped, i couldn't help but think: once again, the jews punk'd the catholics.

at this moment, i'm called back into the office, handed a bottle of dimetapp and sent on my way.