Water heater is working! I enjoyed my first shower in the trailer. I will complain about the cramped quarters (measurements to follow) later but for now I will just bask in my ability to avoid the Quail Ridge shower stalls, 9 out of 10 rating notwithstanding (yep just used notwithstanding in a blog post, take that bucket list!),and the possible trench feet brewing below my ankles.
Skin screening at the Quail Ridge clubhouse was a success. I walked over at 6:30 to find a mostly full room of people ready to have their skin checked out by likely the only trailer livin’ dermatologist in the state (likely the country but I can’t allow myself to get too grandiose). After flipping a long table on its side on the kitchen counter to serve as a quasi privacy shield I spent the next two hours diagnosing seborrheic keratosis, cherry hemangiomas, and actinic keratosis.
Woodie brought along his guitar and provided the entertainment for the evening. Everyone there was grateful for the time I spent and I was happy to give a little community service. Afterwards I spent a little time chewing the fat and listening to Woodie tell in his words, “clean jokes I have to use in Mesa RV parks”.
The next morning early while I was filling my trailer’s water tank before work I was hailed from across the way by one of my poker buddies, Rick, who was out walking his dog. He thanked me again for taking the time to do a skin screening. I hollered back a “you’re welcome” and asked him what kind of dog he had. He replied that it was half Jack Russell and half poodle. Like a speedy auctioneer (and before I could give him a hard time about walking and owning a poodle) he followed with, “but he acts more like a Jack Russell, and he looks more like a Jack Russell ”. I don’t care what generation you’re from, most guys I know don’t admit to owning a poodle. I gave him a free pass (mostly because I still felt bad about beating his three 8s with my flush the last hand at cards) but I have been working on my poodle material to use the next time I see him walking his dog. There’s nothing wrong at all with a little good natured heckling to win friends and influence people.
The work week in Sierra Vista was a short one as I was scheduled to work in my office in Peoria Wed –Fri. Tuesday after work I stopped by the trailer to grab some gear and finally empty my black and gray tanks (did not want that percolating for a week in the southern Arizona heat). In my haste to leave I inadvertently left my cell phone on the kitchen table. Fortunately, I was only 5 or 6 miles away when I realized I had forgotten it. Unfortunately, the soonest I was able to flip a U-turn happened to be within sight of a border patrol station. In my hurry to be home I didn’t realize until after I had already turned around that I would have been better off going through the checkpoint and then turning around. Judging from my limited view through the rear view mirror it looked like an ant hill had just been destroyed. Finally Rosco P. Coltrane was going to get a little action. As the squad car and truck both with lights flashing pulled me over I prayed fervently that I didn’t have any Central American (hey I’m being politically correct here) stowaway in the bed or under the hood (tiny people on average).
Me- “What’s the problem officer?”
Rosco- “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that you turned around in front of a border checkpoint station?”
Me- “I forgot my phone in my trailer and this was the first opportunity I had to turn around to get it”.
I would have arrested myself on the spot with that kind of lame excuse. As I was directed to stand by the hood of the squad car as the border patrol German Shepherd inspected my truck I was reminded of the time I was pulled over while my brother Lance and I were heading to clean the Alta Vista building late one night. I had crossed the first several feet of the gore point while trying to get onto the 51 from the 202. Etched in my mind is Lance laughing at me as I (a fairly straight arrow) was given a field sobriety test for the world to see. When I return I’ll be waiting for one of my Sierra Vista patients to say, “hey aren’t you that goofy looking guy I saw get caught trying to smuggle Mexicans (one political correction per blog) into Phoenix?”
If my mishap at the border checkpoint had been my only (or worst) mistake heading home I would have considered myself fortunate. In my hurry to get home and trying to make up for lost time I decided to eat dinner on the road. Tragically, dinner consisted of me stopping at the Subway in Casa Grande, ordering a 12” meatball sub, and attempting to eat it as I drove…….disaster. Being a doctor doesn’t necessarily mean you are smart nor have any common sense, just that you are persistent.
This morning as I left for work our 2 year old Zachary, waving wildly goodbye, raced me down the circle wearing a camo shirt and diaper. Maybe there will come a time when Glenn, wearing a diaper and sucking on a pacifier, chases my truck out of the trailer parking lot as I leave for work. But until that happens, as Dorothy long ago observed, there continues to be no place like home (of course if that happens I will go RV to RV confiscating the alcohol and /or get Glenn checked into a dementia ward).
3 comments:
You are hilarious! Meatball sub while driving, really?!? This is one of the MANY reasons you NEED Jill!! :)
Trailer park in Sierra Vista; poker night every wednesday; two year old son racing you down the street in a diaper and camo t-shirt, I see a pattern.
Yes the ups and downs of living on the border. In a trailer park no less. Good thing Jill and the kids are safely at home in a real house. Keep up the good stories and we love you.
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