Two places not to pick up a man. Or a meal.


Life is destined to be an adventure in learning, and I’d like to think that most of the time it includes growth opportunities, as we learn new tidbits and tales that teach us how to be more substantive beings. But this week has been a lesson in what not to do, or maybe just identify what I need to do less of. As I wandered around the city during my usual workless week I found that some of the places I end up tend to offer little insight into the human condition and even less of a chance to encounter a good meal. Here’s what I mean.

First Stop: The Senior Center

Sure, maybe you don’t hit the local senior center, possibly because you have not reached the age of 65, more likely because you still haven’t recovered the funds from when your 401 tanked 8 years ago. And you’re probably thinking you thought that us fatties were also part of the pre-Medicare crowd, and you’re right. But let me sell you on my local senior center, because it’s the jamming center of all daytime activities in my area. They feature classes, support groups and gatherings for all kinds of things. Unfortunately picking up a hot date or hot meal – those are just bad ideas. The biggest catch in our recent group was the sole single dude that came rolling in on a shiny chromed-out wheel chair that had a sweet 2-bedroom condo all to himself. Let me hear you… all the single ladies! But before you go sashaying your saucy little ass in his direction, you’ll going to have to fight your way through the competition. Being the only single guy in a group of 12 single chicks there’s already a line that has been formed to the left. And these little old ladies come for action, most carrying the alluring sample of homemade confections. Some have even whipped out the heavy equipment, sporting low cut seasonal sweaters, complete with dazzling rhinestone embellishments spread across the bosom. The real tramps have even gone so far as to seductively cross their legs in front of the gentleman, garishly exposing the “purrfect” socks with tantalizing little kitties embroidered around the ankle. Tramps. How can I beat these pros? And the food, ugh. No better. Even with a free meal, it’s not worth the price. We’re talking giant pans of lasagna that must have been filled with nuts and bolts because it had to be rolled out in a wheel burrow. And then there was an enormous bowl of lettuce that was clearly a collection of salad leftovers from the week gone by. Dressing in a bottle sounds innocent enough until you realize that somebody has suspiciously rubbed out the expiration date. I bet that’s what happened to the guy too. Better luck at my next visit.

Second Stop: The Hospital

Well, again this doesn’t seem particularly promising, but after listening to all those successfully married folk they swear you can find a many anywhere. Really, anywhere? Truly. Just last week I heard this bitch say that she was going to write a book for us stupid single gals called How to Get Married: Brush your Hair and Go Out. Seriously, if it was that easy I woulda bought a brush already. So let us just see. While at one of my many hospital visits, today’s bachelor strolled into the general surgery wing with parents in tow. For a grown man this is clear evidence that we’re dealing with a single guy. No man can deal with medical problems alone. They need somebody to listen to them whine. And hand them kleenex. Anyway, this guy’s a real stallion right away. We’re talking white hot piece of man action. Not quite a pony tail, but it’s clearly been too long since he’s had a hair cut. Just in case you wanted more proof of very single status. And it seems mom didn’t get a chance to lay out his clothes this morning because he’s wearing a big gray sweatshirt with a “DRUNKN MONKY” logo. Are you kidding? Is this a brand? Somebody started a business based on a two horrifically misspelled words? The only thing classier than this company is clearly the high quality standards a guy must have for pulling this gem off the shelf at Wal-Mart. No surprise it took him three times to communicate to the staff that he was here for his appointment. Some confusion about his name versus the name of the doctor. So confusing and all. Sadly I was called into my appointment and my moment for a love connection was lost to a misfortune of fate. Or wait. Maybe not. Just another hour later while I waited to be stabbed in the anesthesia wing my spelling bee champ showed up again. Fate recovered? No, just support that this genius doesn’t know his numbers either, and it appeared he got off the elevator on the wrong floor. Well before this trip ended up being a total failure, I made a stop by the urology unit where they usually offer free beverages, including coffee, hot chocolate and my favourite, hot cider. And before you think that sounds petty, let me share that the parking lot will impose an $8 fee for my visit today and I should at least be able to score a drink on the house. Sadly upon arrival I discovered that they had slimmed down their offerings, with the only choice being a a measly pot of decaf. Ew. Not even worth wasting the cup. How can they impose cutbacks when my medical bills have undoubtedly paid for new staff, new chairs and surely at least a bag of instant apple cider. Bastards. Maybe it is better to just stay home. With the cat.


One Response to “Two places not to pick up a man. Or a meal.”

  1. 1 sarah

    The meals served at the Swedish Hospital cafeteria are actually quite tasty if you have the time for more than instant cider. Maybe you’ll meet a nice doctor 😉

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