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Et alors... - Nobody wears a white coat any more...
...a tribute to becoming a doctor.
ayradyss
ayradyss
Et alors...
Et alors: a construction often over-used as punctuation by French children, translating roughly to "and then".
I ran a little bit late this morning, getting out of the house. Almost forgot breakfast. Et alors...
I had to brush the snow off of Michel-Ange, but at least there wasn't ice. But it was so cold out. Wished his heater would warm up just a little faster, so I could drive without gloves. Et alors...
I got up to Lake and Anthony, about 5-10 minutes from being parked and inside the school building, at 8:15. Closer than I like to cut it. Et alors...
I tried to start moving, when the little leftward-pointing-green-arrow lit up. I forgot I was in third gear. Et alors...
Shifted to first, cranked the engine on, and gave it gas. Rooooar, chugga, chugga, sputter, plop. Et alors...
So there I was, in the left-turn lane of Lake, engine flooded, and my blinkers wouldn't come on. Cranked it again. Et alors...
Turned the car off, ran around it to tell the lady behind me to go around, got back in after unlocking the door, which I'd unconsciously locked, and the blinkers came on at least. Cranked it again. Et alors...
Forgot that when it is bone-numbingly cold out, Michel-Ange drains from being flooded very slowly. Cranked it again, several times, until it started making the 'rowr-a' noise that means the battery is getting low. Call home. Nobody answers, cell or landline.Et alors...
An angel in a green winter coat, twenty-something, cute, knocks on my window. "Can I help you push?" I love him. We push it, in reverse, into the gas station until the upslope defeats our strength. His boots are skidding, but I'm out of the left-turn lane. Et alors...
I go into the gas station, buy a cup of horrible coffee, and go back out. Try cranking it one last time. Chugga, rowr-a, rowr-a, rowr, rowr, row... There's no more power in the battery. Call home again, silently praying. Angel answers this time. He'll come get me, jump the car. Et alors...
I call school, call Lowene. It's 8:30. Tell Dr. Smith I'm having car troubles, I'll be late to class. "Okay," she says, and offers sympathy. I wait. Drink bad coffee. At least, now, I know it won't be flooded when next I get it started. Et alors...
Angel calls. "Where are you?" Lake and Anthony, at the gas station. "Oh...I thought you said Anthony and Wayne..." He pulls up five minutes later. My gloves are actually keeping my fingers a little warm. We get my hood popped (never did it before now), he digs into his trunk and gets his jumper cables. Et alors...
They're still tied together with you-don't-want-to-use us plastic thingies. Angel tries to saw them open with his key. I take them away from him, into the gas station. Do you have any scissors? "I'll look," says the mid-twenties guy behind the counter, his Arabic accent showing strongly. He comes up with a box cutter. A part of my mind collapses in ironic laughter. It's dullish, but I get the ties cut, thank him, go back outside. Et alors...
Angel's hood appears to be frozen shut. He can't pop it. I finally wedge a key under it and pull up while he pushes the button. Click. Whew. We connect the cables. I crank the engine. Chugga-Rooooar. Et alors...
As I'm kissing Angel goodbye and pulling out, the thought crosses my mind: How long do I have to keep Michel-Ange running to prevent him from dying again? So I call Daddy, and idle another 5 minutes in the parking garage, on his suggestion. Arrive in class at 9:15, to Dr. Smith's assurance that I only missed one joke, and that of questionable funniness. Et alors...
9:20, he catches me laughing at one of his comments. "You're in a better mode than I would be." I have to laugh, or else I'd cry, and crying never solves anything. Et alors...
Medicine was two hours of pure boredom. He was young, cute, and soft-spoken. He talked a mile a minute (32 pages of notes; 96 powerpoint slides in 1:50), and nobody understood anything he said. We had to constantly stop him to ask what the acronyms he used meant. But I did get the opening to Ishamael done. Maybe I'll post it later, see if I ought to continue writing it. Et alors...
Home, finally. Sleepy; I went over to Jefe and Lily's to see M and her man last night instead of going to bed at 11. It was worth it. We've decided that M will attempt to provide plot and inspiration for The Story from Australia, while I attempt to write more of it, via IM and e-mail. Because it would be a shame to see The Story die.
And so far, that's been my day. I did learn, a day or two ago, that I apparently inherited my lack of gag reflex from my daddy, who also has a very subtle and not-easily-triggered one. Must finish notes.

now feeling:: exhausted exhausted
now hearing:: Earl Hines - Glad Rag Doll

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