Is Anybody Out There?

June 26, 2008


Is this thing on?

Good morning ladies and gentlemen. My name is Amy Lawson and I stand before you this morning to vent my fair share of frustration. Before I go any further, I would like to make a clear, solid point--and that is, nobody likes a whiner. I fully understanding that I am assuming the role of a whiner, and as such, I stand to lose popularity.

Today, my friends and ex-friends, I am willing to take this risk. You see, I am stressed--very, very stressed. And I know only three successful strategies for dealing with pressured situations:
1. Write about them.
2. Eat pounds and pounds of carbohydrates.
3. Draw pictures of my friends, co-workers, and neighbors in the nude.

Unfortunately I have eaten every granola bar, bread product, and Goldfish Cracker in the house and my husband is insistent that the nudie pics are inappropriate and "a law-suit waiting to happen." As such, I am left with no option but to express my feelings in writing.

My husband Jared is a chiropractor--a chiropractor who is in significant need of a new adjusting table. Yesterday afternoon, we drove a couple of hours south to pick up a table that was kindly given to us by a fellow practitioner. The tables was described as "beautiful" and "modern" and "in excellent condition." We wondered why this chiropractor was willing to part with this self-described "work of art," but chose to believe her assertion that she was nearing retirement, had reduced her hours, and wanted to give something back to the profession.

She didn't mention that the table was over thirty years old. And spring loaded. And dangerous. And looked like it had tetanus. And would probably send patients running in the other direction. Or catapult them through the store front window. Or eat them.

When I first laid eyes on the table, I wasn't sure what to say or how to react, so I walked down the hall, stepped in the restroom, grabbed my hair at the root and yelled....."YOOOOOOO!!!!!" When I stepped back out of the restroom I sort of looked around the waiting area, made an apologetic face, pointed to my rear, and mouthed the word "hemorrhoid." I got a lot of sympathetic nods from those sweet, shuffling Medicare subscribers.

When I walked back to find Jared, he was standing alone in the room with the torture device and he was obviously feigning optimism.

"So what do you think?" he asked, forcing half of a smile.

"I think you should get a lab coat, some circle shaped glasses, a lightening machine, and perform experimental monster brain surgery on this table. I mean seriously, if you want to do that, this thing is totally perfect."

To which Jared replied, "Well great! I'll back the truck up to the door."

We left the experimental laboratory (pronounced la-BOR-a-try) and preceded to Portland, Maine where we had arranged to pick up a few room dividers and a reception desk. I'll keep a long story short by letting you know that the cubicle dividers were the color of cat-regurgitated-stroganoff. But that wasn't the problem--in fact I have no problem with feline boof. The room dividers couldn't stand without the aid of a large metal desk, and as much as I like desks, we don't need four of them spread throughout Jared's treatment space.

And the reception station? Well the reception station was larger than our entire waiting room, and despite my calculations, I simply couldn't figure out a way to fit it through the front door of the office.

Based on yesterday's unsuccessful eighteen-hour workday, the newest item on my to-do list is, "Buy a front desk, some room dividers, and an adjusting table all for less than $17.96 by Saturday." And therein lies the root-cause of my current state of freaking-outage.

I'd like to express my sincere gratitude for your attention through this, the Annual State of the Lawsons Address.

I feel a great deal of relief from this opportunity to vent my frustrations. But if you'd be so kind as to send me a head-to-toe photo, so I can draw you walking next to the Statue of Liberty naked, I think I could make a full recovery.
Thank you.


Bahston Beans said...

Can you sue for false advertising?

jackie said...

I am so sorry about your misfortunes, but I am so happy that you write about it so well!! Thanks for a huge belly laugh today!!

Vanilla said...

I'm going to go and click on the ads on the right sid of the page a couple of times to help you out. That should get you 30 - 40 cents or something.

Anonymous said...

Oh Amy, that sucks.

Melissa said...

Is there like Craig's list or freecycle for Chriros? There should be.

akshaye said...

Awful.. hope that works out

Cheryl said...

Oh, so sorry to hear of your very frustrating day! I hope you guys find the equipment you need soon.

Boquinha said...

LOL! Ah, you're a riot.

Amy, we've been able to furnish our clinic mainly from, believe it or not, Big Lots (gasp!). I don't know if you have one up there (we're in PA), but after feeling mightily discouraged (much like you sound) and stopping in at Big Lots (after trying every other place you could possibly imagine, both in real life and on the web), I could hardly believe how much STUFF we got that looks really nice. I thought it was kind of a crappy stuf place, but apparently it's a mix. If you don't have one, maybe they ship? (I'm talking reception area, by the way, not tables--that we've had to pay a lot of money for) . . . I'll email you.

Minnie said...

That totally stinks, and while my intent isn't to laugh at your situation, I really needed this giggle today.
Sorry Chica, but it's funny.

Jess said...

Well, if nothing else, there may be a market for experimental evil brain surgeries. Is Jared flexible about the kind of work he does? Maybe James can fill in as a mini Igor.

Michemily said...

My question is, would people be able to tell that the picture of me next to the Statue of Liberty was me? And would you post it on your blog?

Katherine said...

You make it very scary for us in our thoughts to open our own Dental office.