Delayed Connection

It was nearing 11:30, the time I was to find out from Steve just when his first knee surgery was to be scheduled. I was well aware of that as I walked into the Secretary of State's office in St. Paul. I knew from experience that my phone got no signal inside that office. Experience also told me I could be in there quite a while.

It was the usual run to their office. Some company sent documents there for verification or whatever other procedures they performed while we, the couriers, waited for the documents, now including a fancy certificate signed by Mark Ritchie or whoever the office holder is at the time, to return to the company. In this case it was one of the really big name Minnesota companies, and a good run because they always sent it via the fastest service and it had to cross most of the metro in a round trip.

I had amused myself on the way in by wondering what the sending company knew that I didn't. After all, the state is shut down, and that was one of the offices listed in one of the endless reports covering what would be and/or was shut down. Perhaps they knew it was open anyway, perhaps considered a vital service, though it seems nobody else's important documents, licenses, or whatever merited that label. At any rate, I wasn't about to turn down good money. If they hadn't bothered to call ahead, well, not my problem. It's not my job to second-guess whether the destination will be closed, but to try to deliver wherever they send me.

Envisioning turning the corner and finding an empty parking lot, I was surprised to find it fairly full. The were open. Cool. (Great restrooms in that building. Long drive.)

The waiting room was fairly empty of customers, however. Perhaps the word hadn't really gone out that the office was still open. But they made up for it by having only one person staffing the front counter. I took my number and prepared to wait. And people watch. And eavesdrop. All favorite occupations while sitting in this office. Once called, there's another wait for someone to come from the back, pull "my" documents out of the tray, do whatever to them, and return them to the front, where I'm called by the company's name. That wait was unexpectedly short. They returned the documents to me untouched, explaining that the company had forgotten to have them notarized!

Ooooohhhh, somebody's gonna be pissed!

Returning to my car, I called in to HQ. Mine, not theirs. Luckily, Donna answered. Brains, efficiency, and common sense all on the end of one little phone line. I told her somebody was going to have to call Company X and tell them their document were refused because nobody notarized them. Meanwhile, I'd be heading back with them. She handled it. And yes, I'm sure somebody upstairs in that company really was pissed!

Just as I hung up, my phone recognized that it now had signal, and a message waiting. I started to hit the buttons to pull up voicemail when it rang. This time it was Jessica, who was taking care of Daddy. She wanted to know what I wanted her to do since he'd been moaning that something hurt for a bit now, but wouldn't tell her what it was. Should he get Tylenol? Could he? Or something else? She thought it might be about the pressure sore on his behind, but he wasn't communicating well. I asked her to put him on the phone so I could talk to him. Some days I think I'm the only one he'll talk to or trust. Not that it always helps.

"Hi, daddy, how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

"Really? Jessica tells me that you've been saying something hurts."

"No, nothing hurts."

"Are you in any pain? Jessica tells me you've been moaning for a while."

"No, I'm not in any physical pain. Mental pain, maybe, from all the earlier... mumble mumble mumble."

Huh? I have no clue what he's talking about. (After I get home tonight he talks about his motorcycle accident, and I reassure him that, at 97, he just has not been out riding a motorcycle. It must have been one of his wonderfully vivid dreams. )

"Does anything hurt? Jessica thinks maybe it's the sore on your behind and you're too embarrassed to tell her about it and ask for help."

"Oh, I'm not embarrassed about anything."

"Well, how about putting Jessica back on the phone so I can talk to her?"

After listening on her end of the conversation, we agreed that there was nothing needing doing right now, but that if he started complaining again, feel free to call me back. She reminded me that with her CNA certification, she's officially qualified to dispense medications if they were needed.

So, now it's half an hour since I got out of the building, driving for most of that, and it's finally time to listen to my voicemail ("This is Steve. Call me." As if I can't tell his voice after 25 years!), and call to hear Steve's news. His first knee surgery is scheduled for the 25th. I'll stop by the 24th and pick up Fred Basset and bring him home until Steve can care for him again. Koda will love a playmate again. He hasn't seen Fred for weeks. We'll just have to put his favorite ball up out of Fred's reach. Fred thinks it's meant to be chewed up like rawhide.