Riots on Broad Street tonight? I hope so. Photo update tomorrow from last nights tom-foolery.
ALSO.
I walked into an iron towel hook on Saturday afternoon and split my head open. I had my roommate look at my head - it was bleeding. Being the queasy man he was, he couldn't tell if it needed stitches. Being Red Cross trained by also concussed, I assumed it was didn't. I then went for a photo walk in the rain with a vintage briefcase, setting up the attaché in front of various scenery and snapping photographs. I should have known then that I needed some hospital attention, but first I went to CVS and spent upwards of $30 on crap I didn't need, including an $11.59 moisturizing cream (they make that?) and 9 volt batteries.
Then I went to Jefferson Hospital after mistakenly walking to a rehab clinic down the street from my house, which looked curiously like a hospital. I got there and went to check it, and was greeted at the Registration desk with, "Hello, thank you for choosing Jefferson. How can I help you today."
"My head's bleeding."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Can I have you social security number?"
Well, yeah, I guess you can. I've never had such a corporate experience at a medical facility, nor been treated with such incompetence. Three different medical professionals looked at me before a charming but rather condescending doctor who identified himself as a Senior Doctor on the Emergency Care Ware locked eyes with me and held his face about three inches of mine to tell me "everything would be okay." I had a hard time not laughing in his face. On someone elses body, I can tell if something needs stiches no problem. Yet, Jefferson Hospital needs a senior doc to tell me my boo-boo is gonna be just fine. Cripes.
Capitalism + Medical Care = Wierd.
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