While I was waiting for a cab, a bleeding motorcycle rider entered the emergency room of the hospital. The nurse said, “Glock, You get into another fight? “This time it wasn’t my fault,” he mumbled. She handed him a towel and said, “Apply some pressure on that cut and the doctor will stitch it up as soon as he is finished with the kid who has a green bean up his nose. Before you sit down check your knuckles at the desk. You know the drill.”
I thought that the little nurse had lots of moxie confronting this brute, but he complied and tossed a pair of brass knuckles on her desk. “Is that all?” she asked. He then pulled a large switchblade knife out of his pants and added that to the stash.
There were plenty of empty seats in the waiting room, but he chose to sit down right next to me. “Hi,” I said. “I hope you aren’t in too much pain.” “Nah,” he replied. “Last week the doc had to stitch up my stomach. Want to see the scar?” “No thank you,” I replied. “You have some interesting tattoos,” I said, changing the subject. “I especially like the one with the skull that has ‘Mom” written on it.”
“Yeah,” he growled. “Everyone has hearts, I thought that the skull was more original.” The door swung open again, and this time a man wearing an electric blue evening gown, long white gloves, and a rhinestone tiara limped in. He was carrying one of his shoes because the four-inch heel had broken off. He was weeping and his mascara was running down his face. He slapped his handbag on the nurse’s desk and sobbed. “Can I wait here? My friend was just brought in by ambulance.” The nurse said, “Give me your friends name, and I’ll tell the doctor that you are out here. Take a seat.”
“My name is Patti,” he said. I didn’t catch his friend’s name, but after he whispered it to the nurse, he looked around at all of the empty seats in the waiting room, glanced at the biker, and decided to sit next to me. All these empty seats, and I was stuck with a bleeding biker and a weeping man in a ball gown. Tears were still running down his cheeks along with his melting makeup.
I could see that his dress had been torn at the sleeve, and I handed him some tissues and whispered, “Your bra strap is showing.” “Thank you,” he sniffled adjusting his dress. “I’m sorry about your friend,” I said. “ I hope it’s nothing serious.” “Oh, no,” he said. “My friend fainted. I was crowned, ‘Queen of the Night’ and Temper fainted.” “Temper?” I asked. “It’s short for temperamental. Cute, huh?”
“Very cute, Patty-cakes,” the biker interrupted, “Doc better not touch your friend before he stitches me up. I was here first.” “Well, I never,” Patti sniffed. “I’ll bet!” Biker responded. “You are a very rude person,” said Patti. “You want to see rude, Sweetheart?” Biker responded, shaking his bloody fist. By now, they were both leaning in towards me. I was getting woozy from the bikers bourbon breath and nauseous from Patti’s overdose of Lilly of the Valley perfume.
“You’d better keep that towel on your wound,” I suggested to the leather-clad brute, and I whispered to Patti, “His name is Glock, and I don’t think it’s short for glockenspiel, so I suggest you calm down.” They both sat back fuming, but quiet. Glock was flexing his biceps, and I sat fascinated as Mom’s skull danced a little jig.
Finally, the nurse came out from behind her desk and said, “Okay, I want the three of you out of my waiting room. Patti, your friend is ready to go home. Glock, the doctor is waiting to stitch you up. Don’t forget to pick up your toys on the way out---and YOU”---she said, glaring at me. “Your cab is here.”
“Goodbye, Patti. Goodbye Glock,” I shouted as I ran for the door. Patti responded nicely. I think Glock said something inappropriate, because the last thing I saw was the nurse chasing him down the hall with a very large needle.
Esther Blumenfeld
CROSSING WITH THE BLUE LIGHT, Blumenfeld c. 2006