1pm. I went to the vet to get Buddy some more antibiotics, as he is still squirting gravy out his south end.
The cute vet, said Buddy had to go back on antibiotics for twice as long as previously.
“Yes, doctor.”
Buddy was better for about 3, or 4, days and then the diarrhoea started again.
I had to wait at the counter for a considerable length of time while the nurse got Buddy’s pills together.
Due to the Covid19 restrictions only two people were allowed in the waiting room at any time. People had to wait in their cars for a nurse, or vet to come out and attend to them.
So, I am standing at the counter, I’m sure looking as though I am taking up a valuable space doing nothing, another guy is waiting just outside the door, and in comes a hugely fat, dishevelled woman in, what looks like, unwashed, black track pants and an oversized black windcheater, explorer socks and crocs that were too small for her so that her considerable heal hung out the back on each shoe, resplendent with a hole in each sock at each of her heals, you know the dress code, shopping centre poor. How does that saying go, fucked backwards through a bush? Er? Nor, that’s not ryte? …something through a bush backwards…? Oh yes, and she stank of cigarettes.
Anyway…
She just came in and stood, I wondered if she was on drugs. Everyone one was busy and she just stood with resting bitch face, mouth slightly open, eyes vacant.
“Can I help you?” asked the other nurse when she finished her phone call.
“Is it going to be much longer?” the fat woman moaned.
The nurse checked her screen. “There are two people in front of you, still,” said the nurse.
“Well, Lola is getting really distressed, can someone come and get her out of the car and bring her inside?”
Lola, I thought. Her unemployed, up the duff, stripper daughter.
“Yes,” said the nurse. “If you can go back to your car, I will send someone out.”
So, the fat woman walked out into the carpark and stood gazing back in through the windows, with the same vacant expression, dumb-mouth-gape, clearly waiting for whoever it was who was coming out to her.
The nurse went and got an attendant. “She is getting distressed it is a euthanasia situation.”
“Oh, okay,” said the attendant and she headed off.
My nurse came back with my pills, and while I was paying, the attendant came in carrying Lola.
I headed out, and there was the fat woman in her car, her face screwed into distress, stained with her tears, still dripping from her considerable jowls, and my first thought was, just when you thought she couldn’t get any uglier.
Oh yes, my friends, I know I am going to hell.
Or conversely, I am the living embodiment of why hell simply doesn’t exist.
Who can say?
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