A Box of Crayons . . .
I have the uncanny habit, much to the dismay of my wife, to bring unnecessary attention upon myself. It is even startling that I write the aforementioned statement, since she often accuses me of being in an unemotional cocoon, never venturing far enough for people to see the real me.
The incidents that I am going to describe occurred several years apart, but with much different outcomes.
I had the fortuitous, or unfortunate, depending on your outlook of being at a medical facility to have a test conducted. The waiting room was full of people, filled with trepidation, no doubt about the procedures they were to undergo.
I waited my turn in line, and was finally greeted by a woman with a haggard countenance. I gave my name, while she stared at the computer screen. Without diverting her attention, she handed me a clipboard and told me to fill out all the forms.
The waiting room was depressing, and its occupants barely spoke or moved, until the bellowing sound of this cantankerous woman, shouted out one’s name. I finished filling out the forms as instructed, and handed them back to her. I was barely back to my seat, when she shouted out my name.
“You did not fill out the forms completely,” she snapped.
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you did not,” she demanded, pointing at the blank section. “I need you to fill in this information.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Take a look at the section,” I answered calmly. “None of what’s there applies to me.”
She stared at me with such disdain. I felt the situation was about to get out of hand. I contemplated whether to acquiesce and just fill out the section or continue with my obstinance and leave it blank.
“What do you mean none of this section applies to you?”
“How unfortunate,” I said. “I see you were never given a box of crayons in school.”
“What!”
“There is no option for me to indicate brown on that form.”
“Brown,” she shouted. “Why brown? You’re black!”
This exchange brought the waiting room to life. It reminded me of the old E.F. Hutton commercial, when everyone stopped, clamoring to hear what would be uttered next. No way to gracefully extricate myself from the situation, and not appear foolish in front of my wife, I became resolute and refused to back down.
“My, my,” I said, “You are either in need of new spectacles, or the advancing years have not been too kind to you, for you are unable to discern the differences in hues.”
“What,” she blustered.
B.MBooth