CoffeeChronicles ...and It Wasn't Me This Time

Hey Chroniclers!

We made it to the Valley of the Sun! Oh boy, was I excited! My first Spring Training game! 

LET’S GOOOOO!!!!

I found a spot to park and began to walk the short distance to the field. Who did we come upon? Diane Stone! Is this a big surprise to any of you? Probably not. Diane is easily one of the biggest, most loyal Dodger fans many of us know. 

We were excited to see her. She was excited to see us— the excitement was palpable! That was until her former high school teacher, Mr. Smith, and his wife, Wendy, walked up. As soon as they arrived, we were pushed aside unceremoniously, much akin to chopped liver, and Diane reacted to Smitty like a puppy whose human had just walked into the room after a five-minute absence. We were no longer her favorite squeaky toy.

After she’d gushed over Smitty and Wendy for about 12 minutes, she looked over at the HB and me and remarked bemusedly, “Oh, you’re still here?”

Smitty is out of focus, sorry Smitty.

At least we got an intro. Diane smiled at Smitty warmly, gestured half heartedly at us, and said, “I used to work with them.” She then went back to hugging Smitty tightly. 

The HB was curious about Diane as a student and asked Smitty about her. He said, “It was hard to tell.  She was a regular class ditcher. She spent much of her time in the girls’ room smoking cigarettes or in detention. I do remember her as the leader of the mean girls.” 

Smitty looked at Diane and asked, “Wasn’t it you who had the crush on that tough guy, Danny Zuko?” 

I’m pretty sure he had Diane confused with Olivia, but that mistake has been made often. Diane has gotten pretty used to that.

— —

We made it into the stadium, and found our seats, but the HB was suffering from a real pain in the butt, and this time it wasn’t me. It was her sciatica acting up. She tried to soldier through as she writhed around in her stadium seat up until the eighth inning. When she couldn’t take the pain any longer, we ended up on our way to the ER of a local hospital.

It was at this point that I had to pretend not to be disappointed about having to leave the game before it was over. I have learned that my feelings are not important and that if the HB says it’s time to leave, then leave, we must. End of discussion. (If anyone knows who won the game and what the score was, would you text it to me? Thanks in advance) 

We ended up at the window in the ER lobby, waiting our turn to talk to the intake lady. Hey, it’s all fun and games until the pregnant lady standing beside you has her water break and splash onto the floor. I'm not kidding. It was like a romantic comedy or something.

The HB was definietly uncomfortable

Anyway, after not too long, the HB finally got into an exam room. The doctor, a nice guy, attempted to make her laugh. I explained to him, “I’ve been trying to make her laugh for 36 years. She has no funny bone, Doc.”

She gave him a half smile and, with a raspy, threatening tone (a tone that I am quite familiar with, bee tee dubs), through gritted teeth, ordered him to give her drugs. It was very reminiscent of the attitude our 150 lb. Rotty had when I would tease him with a tennis ball. 

The doctor read the room and quickly took his leave. 

They gave her two shots in the bum and a couple of pills to take the edge off. She had a glassy-eyed smile as we walked back to the hospital parking lot and drove all over Peoria in search of a pharmacy that was still open.

After two unsuccessful attempts, I got her more dope, and we drove back to the RV, where she went blissfully to sleep for the first time in two nights.

Whew! Now, I finally got some rest, too.

You know what to do!  Drink ‘em if you got ‘em!

#coffeehousechronicles