So, there were six of us in that very bland, very tan room:
Air Force Guy (AFG). Late 20's to early 30's. Soft-spoken and not one to draw attention to himself. A smoker, thank God, since I didn't bring my smokes inside, and willing to bum one to me. I had a mini-crush going.
College Girl (CG). Early 20's and very quiet. Attractive in a way that she didn't herself seem to know. Slow to smile but when she did, it was way catchy. Very studious-like and demure. Would let others cut into her discussion without complaint. At some points, I wanted to scream to her, "Speak up for yourself!".
One-Arm Man (OAM). Country guy to the max, originally from Georgia. Easy going, but I could tell he probably listens to Rush regularly. He had a birth defect where his right arm ended above the elbow and he said one of his legs was a prosthesis.
Loud Crazy Mama (LCM). In her fifties, bright red hair that was showing gray at the roots. Another smoker, but she missed the one smoke break we went on when she was in the restroom. She is funny, quick to laugh, and even quicker to judgement. She was sure of the verdict even before I was, even though I was 95% sure walking into the sequester room.
Tattoo Cub (TC). Big butterball who covered his tattoos with long sleeves on a 74 degree day. Smiled easily, was a little bit country, but not too much.
We arrived at the courthouse at 11:30, LCM was a few minutes late. Each was ushered to the sequester room, after going through the metal detector, by a bailiff/deputy/whatever. It was a little uncomfortable at first because there wasn't really anything to talk about, since we were informed not to talk about the case until deliberations (I'm really getting into all those Law and Order terms now). With the room devoid of all decoration and our main topic of conversation off-limits, we chit-chatted about banal things for a good hour until we were finally called to the courtroom. An hour sitting and talking to five strangers who would rather be someplace else, although almost all agreed that we actually wanted to be picked. Only OAM had been on a jury before, but he said he had nothing else to do. I mostly wanted to be there, although I was having to take a personal day to be there.
Once we were seated in the courtroom, the judge proceeded to read verbatim from a sheet of paper about the rules, and how this was part of America, blah, blah, blah. Let's get on with the show, Judge!
We knew going in that it was a case of DUI, and that the Defendant, Mini-Mullet Guy (MMG), had supposedly refused the Breathalyzer and the Field Sobriety Exercise (FSE). I had always wondered what would happen in that circumstance, and now I was gonna find out. Each lawyer would give an Opening to let us know what we would be hearing and what to expect.
First up is the Prosecutor, Amazon Lawyer (AL). Needless to say she was tall. She was outwardly bookish, with straight blond hair and glasses. She also had the agonizing habit of not finishing a sentence without referring to her notes again. She clearly could have used a Tele-prompter. She also had the galling trait of Objecting to almost every sentence the Defense Attorney spoke. Country Defense Lawyer (CDL) rolled his eyes so many times his eye sockets must have been sore. She would start a sentence like, "And so, we shall be telling you....wait..." and then start sorting through her legal pad and poke at items with her pen until her train of thought got back on track. Annoying. She wasn't very prepared and didn't really prove anything, didn't explain how important the evidence (prior driving record) was, and generally had me thinking early on that MMG was going to be a free man soon.
Next up, the CDL started in on his defense. He had a soft, homey delivery that made me feel a little uncomfortable. His client was dressed in his company sweatshirt and jeans. CDL kept referring to MMG as his "hero". Self-employed, good country boy, hard worker. He came off more of a partier after confessing to having 5 beers in a 3-1/2 hour period and got caught with open containers while going 83 mph with two young chicks. "Supposedly", he kept telling the Trooper that he would take the Breathalyzer, but not the FSE, because he had sore feet and ankles from his construction job (that he had not been working that day). The Trooper told a different story, that he had started the FSE with the ole 'follow the pencil with your eyes while holding your head still', and MMG had been failing miserably, so he started refusing then.
Earlier when the CDL was cross-examining the State Trooper, they got in a little verbal sparring. CDL would keep telling the Trooper, "That's a yes/no question, stop embellishing!". After final arguments, we summized that the judge took them both to the wood-shed, because CDL apologized to us after we returned.
The prosecutor, AL, did a terrible job. She should have done the whole alcohol training thing, with a chart showing MMG's weight, what 5 beers would be percentage wise, etc. Not a mention, except for Trooper's description of him stumbling and being unsteady. I ended up doing an impromtu training session in the deliberation room for OAM, who insisted some people could handle 5 beers with no problem. TC was on the fence about it, but came around eventually.
The straws that broke the camel's back:
The prior driving record. Only one line showed with the above 4 inches whited-out. It was for refusing a Breathalyzer back in 2002. The defense couldn't (or wouldn't) go into detail and just showed this to us. Back in the deliberation room we scrutinized it further. In Florida, it's an automatic 1 year suspension of your driver's license for refusing to blow, but the evidense showed be lost his priviledge for 2 years. Hmmm, musta had a DUI then, also. And with all that blank space above, MMG had obviously not been an angel on the interstate.
Next, admitting to having 5 beers. CDL argued (unsuccessfully) that, "See, he was truthful. He coulda lied. He had nothing to hide. He was not drunk."
MMG had no witnesses, although there were two women in the car who were supposedly friends and neighbors. Where were they?
MMG kept changing his story. First he told the trooper 5 times during the car ride that he would take the Breathalyzer, then half a dozen, then 3. Also, he said he offered again at the jail, but the Trooper ignored that. Hello, you're in the jail. I'm sure you could have found someone who would give the blow-test to you. Trooper said MMG never offered to take the test. I had to believe the Trooper on this one.
OAM kept arguing that there was no proof to convict, that we couldn't be sure he was impaired. The other four of us kept hammering back, "But he admitted to 5 beers and was driving 83 on a section of Interstate crawling with cops! How impaired do you want him to be?" Logic finally entered his brain and he agreed, begrudgingly.
When the verdict was read in the courtroom, there was not a flinch from MMG or CDL. They must have been expecting it, because they showed no surprise whatsoever.
I feel fine with the outcome. I'm just glad one more drunk driver is off the road, especially if he was a multiple offender. MMG is in his late 30's and obviously didn't learn his lesson the first
time. I said in the deliberation room that I'd be the first to admit to having driven drunk before. We all admitted it. Just because we never got caught didn't make it right.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Coming Soon
Tomorrow, Friday the 6th, I will be on jury duty for the first time. I can't say much now (the MAN may be reading! LOL), but I will post as soon as I can. It should be interesting, to say the least. And the least is all I can write, right now.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Braggadocio, Swagger, Arrogance...
The thing that I miss the most nowadays in our American Swoon is the ability to brag. Our chests are not thrust out like a proud tom turkey. Americans have always been the swaggering young upstart amongst the established countries of the world because we proved them wrong. Our way was the best. We established a standard that no one had ascended to before, besides the Romans, maybe. And now, we seem to be a post-Nero Rome. And we all know who our Nero was.
Some will excuse away everything that our past President, Vice President, and assorted goons have done to dirty our reputation. Where once we were shining princes coming to the rescue of our Allies, we are now the Bully of the world. Where once we only responded forcefully to real threats, we now (or rather, the past 8 years), instigated warfare (the "Bush Doctrine" that Sarah Palin now knows).
Countries of the world thought that they had mis-judged us. Where we were once the amiable big brother, we were now the abusive bigger sibling that gave wedgies to weaker brethren. Gave 'swirlies' to freshman dweebs. But, that's all changing. Thanks to some 'real people' in the White House.
Right Wing finger-pointers have made fun of the Obamas during this sojourn to Europe. I see it as sour-grapes from Republicans who have gotten the cold shoulder from former allies for years. Every video and clip that I've seen from this trip has been of leaders of other countries welcoming the humanity and realness of our First Couple. Maybe we can get back to where we once were.
Friends, Allies, Hope for the Future. It all looks good so far. Unless you listen to Right Wing Radio. They'll tell you Michelle Obama's arm around Queen Liz is a major Faux Pas. I saw it as a response to Liz's warm first contact.
I also see it as a first thawing of the frosty relations that we've had since we blew it after 911. And I'm Optimistic for the first time in around six years.
Some will excuse away everything that our past President, Vice President, and assorted goons have done to dirty our reputation. Where once we were shining princes coming to the rescue of our Allies, we are now the Bully of the world. Where once we only responded forcefully to real threats, we now (or rather, the past 8 years), instigated warfare (the "Bush Doctrine" that Sarah Palin now knows).
Countries of the world thought that they had mis-judged us. Where we were once the amiable big brother, we were now the abusive bigger sibling that gave wedgies to weaker brethren. Gave 'swirlies' to freshman dweebs. But, that's all changing. Thanks to some 'real people' in the White House.
Right Wing finger-pointers have made fun of the Obamas during this sojourn to Europe. I see it as sour-grapes from Republicans who have gotten the cold shoulder from former allies for years. Every video and clip that I've seen from this trip has been of leaders of other countries welcoming the humanity and realness of our First Couple. Maybe we can get back to where we once were.
Friends, Allies, Hope for the Future. It all looks good so far. Unless you listen to Right Wing Radio. They'll tell you Michelle Obama's arm around Queen Liz is a major Faux Pas. I saw it as a response to Liz's warm first contact.
I also see it as a first thawing of the frosty relations that we've had since we blew it after 911. And I'm Optimistic for the first time in around six years.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
To Those That I Want To Succeed
There are times that I don't really care who survives these tumultuous times. I deal with so many restaurateurs and managers daily that some blend with the others. There are many rumors going around about which restaurant is on it's last legs and those that are teetering on the precipice. I take the rumors with a grain of salt and go on. And then there are those instances where I actively root on those with the balls to start up a concept in these trying times. Last week, my new champion walked into my life.
Ordinarily, I tend to write off the 'concessionaires' who come in. They are ordinarily 'Mr. and Mrs. Joe-Sixpack' who think they have the best barbecue around, or the best funnel-cake, or the best what-ever. They have checked out the used equipment purveyor here in town and come in with quotes and scribbled notes about what they need.
This past week, I got a new customer. She is, shall I say, the most fun that I've ever had with someone who is starting their own business. Ida was the funniest, sunniest, most bubbly personality that I've dealt with in the almost two years I've been dealing with in this industry. She had the obligatory legal pad with notes about what she needed and quotes from other purveyors. But, she was special.
When I met her half-way in the door, she was smiling and it lit up the room. Usually when a new customer comes in, they are awe-struck when they see the expanse of stuff that we offer. She was just so giddy about being there, that it made my 'see customer, smile obligatorily' grin open to a half-chuckle. It didn't matter that she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with food stains, or her half-grown out weave. Her happiness was infectious, and I was smitten. And willing to help her in any way that I could.
She had a small concession stand and would be offering gumbo, burgers, and other similar wares in a good location close to the military base. I whittled down her needs and gave her some numbers that she was very happy with.
I wrote up a sales order and she wanted to pay right away, even though it would take a few days to get her items in stock. (Now that's our kind of customer!) I would have one of her items in two days and she told us that when she came in to pick it up, that she would bring in a sample of her gumbo. Double bonus!
Well, she did come in, and she brought in the sample. Two quart containers of gumbo with crab claws, a container of rice, plenty of Styrofoam plates, spoons, napkins, and crackers. I was flabbergasted, as were all my drooling co-workers. Not to mention the gumbo was very tasty. This was a first, as far as someone bringing in all the essentials. She had her act together. And she made some very good contacts in the process.
I certainly hope that Ida makes it good. I hope that she has so much success, that she will spread her joy and friendliness far and wide. She certainly brightened my week.
For that is what we need nowadays. Forget chain arogantness and mediocrity. We need more Idas and the happiness that is cooking good food and having fun doing it.
Ordinarily, I tend to write off the 'concessionaires' who come in. They are ordinarily 'Mr. and Mrs. Joe-Sixpack' who think they have the best barbecue around, or the best funnel-cake, or the best what-ever. They have checked out the used equipment purveyor here in town and come in with quotes and scribbled notes about what they need.
This past week, I got a new customer. She is, shall I say, the most fun that I've ever had with someone who is starting their own business. Ida was the funniest, sunniest, most bubbly personality that I've dealt with in the almost two years I've been dealing with in this industry. She had the obligatory legal pad with notes about what she needed and quotes from other purveyors. But, she was special.
When I met her half-way in the door, she was smiling and it lit up the room. Usually when a new customer comes in, they are awe-struck when they see the expanse of stuff that we offer. She was just so giddy about being there, that it made my 'see customer, smile obligatorily' grin open to a half-chuckle. It didn't matter that she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with food stains, or her half-grown out weave. Her happiness was infectious, and I was smitten. And willing to help her in any way that I could.
She had a small concession stand and would be offering gumbo, burgers, and other similar wares in a good location close to the military base. I whittled down her needs and gave her some numbers that she was very happy with.
I wrote up a sales order and she wanted to pay right away, even though it would take a few days to get her items in stock. (Now that's our kind of customer!) I would have one of her items in two days and she told us that when she came in to pick it up, that she would bring in a sample of her gumbo. Double bonus!
Well, she did come in, and she brought in the sample. Two quart containers of gumbo with crab claws, a container of rice, plenty of Styrofoam plates, spoons, napkins, and crackers. I was flabbergasted, as were all my drooling co-workers. Not to mention the gumbo was very tasty. This was a first, as far as someone bringing in all the essentials. She had her act together. And she made some very good contacts in the process.
I certainly hope that Ida makes it good. I hope that she has so much success, that she will spread her joy and friendliness far and wide. She certainly brightened my week.
For that is what we need nowadays. Forget chain arogantness and mediocrity. We need more Idas and the happiness that is cooking good food and having fun doing it.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Finally...an update.
Sorry to those who may check in from time to time. I try to write, I want to write, I need to write. I start to write, and it all seems so banal. I used to think my writing was pithy, humorous, and timely. Hmpthhh. I guess that I'm my own worse critic. And there's so much more important things happening that it all seems so inconsequential. Anyways...
I finally found out last week that my polyps were benign and I don't have to go through the Hell that is Colonoscopy prep for 5 more years. I guess my hopes and prayers were answered and I inherited my dad's genes and not my mom's. Except for the addictive personality traits. Damn the gene pool.
So, I guess that I can breathe freer and not worry so much about the cancer link on my mom's side of the family. As far as my dad's side, I only have to worry about Alzheimer's, heart disease, and Parkinson's. Smooth sailing, indeed.
I finally found out last week that my polyps were benign and I don't have to go through the Hell that is Colonoscopy prep for 5 more years. I guess my hopes and prayers were answered and I inherited my dad's genes and not my mom's. Except for the addictive personality traits. Damn the gene pool.
So, I guess that I can breathe freer and not worry so much about the cancer link on my mom's side of the family. As far as my dad's side, I only have to worry about Alzheimer's, heart disease, and Parkinson's. Smooth sailing, indeed.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Thanks
Just wanted to say "Thanks" for all the well wishes. It was really just a minor procedure, but one that needed to be done, and I put it off longer than I really should have. When I get the results, I'll let you all know.
But please, if you have colon or prostate cancer in your family, get yourself to a doctor for a colonoscopy. Early detection is the best way to beat this disease, or a colostomy bag, or a casket. And the procedure was totally painless (just the prep was a little gross). My grandmother and two uncles might be alive today if they had heeded that advise.
And if you're looking for a charity to give to, one good one would be the American Cancer Society. http://www.cancer.org/. There is so much more that we can accomplish.
Peace.
But please, if you have colon or prostate cancer in your family, get yourself to a doctor for a colonoscopy. Early detection is the best way to beat this disease, or a colostomy bag, or a casket. And the procedure was totally painless (just the prep was a little gross). My grandmother and two uncles might be alive today if they had heeded that advise.
And if you're looking for a charity to give to, one good one would be the American Cancer Society. http://www.cancer.org/. There is so much more that we can accomplish.
Peace.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
My In "Auger" ation
The puns from family and co-workers came fast and furious. "Let me know how everything comes out". "It's gonna be a shitty day, isn't it?" I just rolled my eyes and went on. Although I did come up with the little bon mot in the title.
Anyways, what everyone told me about the procedure was true. The prep the day before is way worse than the procedure itself. First, you must stop eating by mid-night the night before. Then, at 1:00 pm, you must down a 10oz bottle of Magnesium Citrate, a laxative. The label says your first "movement will be in 1/2 to 6 hours later". I took two cringe inducing swigs (Yech, yeah right that's lemon-lime). Then remembered that I was about out of cigs. Crap (ha ha). Well, I threw on my coat and walked to the nearby Winn-Dixie and got a couple of magazines too. Stupid me bought a food magazine. Do not buy a food magazine if you're going 24+ hours without food. Then, I came back (rather quickly) to finish off the Magnesium Citrate.
Next, at 5:00 pm you start drinking a gallon of this stuff that has the consistency of anti-freeze. Thick, gelatinous, and gag-inducing. One glass every 15 minutes until you drink it all. That was one of the hardest things that I've had to do in my life. You hold your breath and down it all as quickly as possible, like you're doing a beer bong.
I drank that crap along with some jello and water and nothing else. I can now empathize with Ethiopian kids (I kid). Really, hunger is not something to make fun of. Friends and family make fun of it, but they've all been there, most of them, anyways.
So, I show up bright and early at the endoscopy center with my chauffeur (Dad). The folks are all friendly and shit and show me to the changing room. There, I find my medical wardrobe and it ties in the back, along with some cute baby-blue sock thingys. Did I mention that it's about 35 degrees outside and not much warmer in the "pre-procedure" area. They will not have a problem with my "junk" getting in the way. Nor will I be getting any date invitations.
Next, in the pre-procedure room, a woman with a heavy lisp inserts my intra-veneous line while we sit there watching the pre-inauguration ceremony. I get to hear more southern, conservative invective regarding the new President. I think that's where I come up with the hilarious "In 'Auger' ation" phrase. And this is before the drugs. And my feet are cold, even with the nifty little socks with the rubber designs on the soles (still got them, don't know if I'll ever wear them again, but I paid for them anyways, damn it!). I'm ready to be put under, please, now.
Minutes later, I'm directed to the "Procedure Room" (PC). Funny how they always call it a "Procedure". Not a "Reaming", or something with "Herschey" in the title, always a "Procedure". All nice and calm and peaceful-like, like you're having your teeth cleaned, or your manicure done. Only more invasive.
We're now in the PC, and I'm placed on my back while the technician connects the E.C.G. lines to the three pods on my hairy chest (that will hurt like Hell upon removal). They put a nice comfy blanket across my legs to get me all cozy and shit and talk all nice and friendly and shit. The nice technician puts that little thing in my nostrils with the oxygen. They ask me to lay on my left side 'Oh, God, here we go'. The Anesthetist tells me (while hands re-arrange my pretty robe) that I won't feel anything within around 30 seconds while pushing the plunger into my I.V. He lied. I was out within 2 seconds of the drugs entering my I.V. Oh, thank you, God and the drug manufacturers.
Next thing I know, someone is saying "Good Morning, Sunshine". I awake actually feeling pretty good. Really, I felt better than before I went in. I looked across the room and actually said, "Good Morning, ladies!" They make good drugs nowadays, and they're legal, too. They could make a killing off of this stuff.
Now, I knew from other people that the nurses would be expecting me to fart a good one before they would release me. But, honestly, I didn't feel bloated at all, and I told the nurse that. "Yeah, you've already performed for us, so if you don't feel bloated, you should be fine." I guess I got lucky and got Henny Youngman's granddaughter for a post-op nurse.
Now, I've never been a "bottom" (If you know what I mean). And I didn't feel violated at all. I felt no difference, period, except that I felt "good". They must have put a little THC in those drugs is all that I can think of. I'll have to ask on my next visit what kind of lube they use.
The nurse helped me get dressed. Actually, she insisted that she put on my underwear (up to my knees) and my socks and shoes, so that I wouldn't have to bend over and get woozy. I finished dressing and she put me in a wheelchair (hospital rules) and rolled me to a room to await the final reckoning from the butt-doctor. I kinda had flashbacks of my grandpa in the Nursing Home *shivver*.
After waiting in the small waiting-room and critiquing the color scheme and furnishings for 15 minutes, the butt-doctor finally came in. He said that everything went well, in his opinion. They found "several, three or so" polyps that didn't look 'meaningful', yadda, yadda" and that we would have the results in three weeks or so. "Don't worry, I didn't see anything to worry about".
So, we'll see. Does he tell everyone that? I'm not terribly worried, but you never know.
I do know that breakfast with my dad at the IHOP on the way home was one of the best breakfasts that I've had in quite a while. Starving yourself for 30+ hours will do that. Even if the waitress was mediocre, and it was, you know, IHOP.
Anyways, what everyone told me about the procedure was true. The prep the day before is way worse than the procedure itself. First, you must stop eating by mid-night the night before. Then, at 1:00 pm, you must down a 10oz bottle of Magnesium Citrate, a laxative. The label says your first "movement will be in 1/2 to 6 hours later". I took two cringe inducing swigs (Yech, yeah right that's lemon-lime). Then remembered that I was about out of cigs. Crap (ha ha). Well, I threw on my coat and walked to the nearby Winn-Dixie and got a couple of magazines too. Stupid me bought a food magazine. Do not buy a food magazine if you're going 24+ hours without food. Then, I came back (rather quickly) to finish off the Magnesium Citrate.
Next, at 5:00 pm you start drinking a gallon of this stuff that has the consistency of anti-freeze. Thick, gelatinous, and gag-inducing. One glass every 15 minutes until you drink it all. That was one of the hardest things that I've had to do in my life. You hold your breath and down it all as quickly as possible, like you're doing a beer bong.
I drank that crap along with some jello and water and nothing else. I can now empathize with Ethiopian kids (I kid). Really, hunger is not something to make fun of. Friends and family make fun of it, but they've all been there, most of them, anyways.
So, I show up bright and early at the endoscopy center with my chauffeur (Dad). The folks are all friendly and shit and show me to the changing room. There, I find my medical wardrobe and it ties in the back, along with some cute baby-blue sock thingys. Did I mention that it's about 35 degrees outside and not much warmer in the "pre-procedure" area. They will not have a problem with my "junk" getting in the way. Nor will I be getting any date invitations.
Next, in the pre-procedure room, a woman with a heavy lisp inserts my intra-veneous line while we sit there watching the pre-inauguration ceremony. I get to hear more southern, conservative invective regarding the new President. I think that's where I come up with the hilarious "In 'Auger' ation" phrase. And this is before the drugs. And my feet are cold, even with the nifty little socks with the rubber designs on the soles (still got them, don't know if I'll ever wear them again, but I paid for them anyways, damn it!). I'm ready to be put under, please, now.
Minutes later, I'm directed to the "Procedure Room" (PC). Funny how they always call it a "Procedure". Not a "Reaming", or something with "Herschey" in the title, always a "Procedure". All nice and calm and peaceful-like, like you're having your teeth cleaned, or your manicure done. Only more invasive.
We're now in the PC, and I'm placed on my back while the technician connects the E.C.G. lines to the three pods on my hairy chest (that will hurt like Hell upon removal). They put a nice comfy blanket across my legs to get me all cozy and shit and talk all nice and friendly and shit. The nice technician puts that little thing in my nostrils with the oxygen. They ask me to lay on my left side 'Oh, God, here we go'. The Anesthetist tells me (while hands re-arrange my pretty robe) that I won't feel anything within around 30 seconds while pushing the plunger into my I.V. He lied. I was out within 2 seconds of the drugs entering my I.V. Oh, thank you, God and the drug manufacturers.
Next thing I know, someone is saying "Good Morning, Sunshine". I awake actually feeling pretty good. Really, I felt better than before I went in. I looked across the room and actually said, "Good Morning, ladies!" They make good drugs nowadays, and they're legal, too. They could make a killing off of this stuff.
Now, I knew from other people that the nurses would be expecting me to fart a good one before they would release me. But, honestly, I didn't feel bloated at all, and I told the nurse that. "Yeah, you've already performed for us, so if you don't feel bloated, you should be fine." I guess I got lucky and got Henny Youngman's granddaughter for a post-op nurse.
Now, I've never been a "bottom" (If you know what I mean). And I didn't feel violated at all. I felt no difference, period, except that I felt "good". They must have put a little THC in those drugs is all that I can think of. I'll have to ask on my next visit what kind of lube they use.
The nurse helped me get dressed. Actually, she insisted that she put on my underwear (up to my knees) and my socks and shoes, so that I wouldn't have to bend over and get woozy. I finished dressing and she put me in a wheelchair (hospital rules) and rolled me to a room to await the final reckoning from the butt-doctor. I kinda had flashbacks of my grandpa in the Nursing Home *shivver*.
After waiting in the small waiting-room and critiquing the color scheme and furnishings for 15 minutes, the butt-doctor finally came in. He said that everything went well, in his opinion. They found "several, three or so" polyps that didn't look 'meaningful', yadda, yadda" and that we would have the results in three weeks or so. "Don't worry, I didn't see anything to worry about".
So, we'll see. Does he tell everyone that? I'm not terribly worried, but you never know.
I do know that breakfast with my dad at the IHOP on the way home was one of the best breakfasts that I've had in quite a while. Starving yourself for 30+ hours will do that. Even if the waitress was mediocre, and it was, you know, IHOP.
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