I live kind of out in the boonies in Central Florida. One of the closest towns is a massive retirement community, where you’ll find more gussied-up golf carts in the parking lots than Lincoln Town Cars and Oldsmobiles.
Not coincidentally, this town is the local mecca for medical and dental care, and during our occasional visits for these services, I get to briefly enjoy the sensation of being decades younger and a head taller than anyone else in sight — man or woman.
So I was in the waiting room at the dentist’s office while my daughter was getting her teeth attended to, thinking about the upcoming consult with the orthodontist, who has probably already nicknamed my kid “Porsche.” Suddenly, an elderly gent burst through the door and tottered up to the counter clutching a small vial.
“I brought my stool sample!” he announced loudly, flourishing the vial at the receptionist. She recoiled and told the old man he must be in the wrong office because this is a dental practice and they don’t collect stool samples.
“You’ve got to see my stool sample!” he insisted, and to everyone’s horror, he began trying to pry off the lid of the vial.
The receptionist, thinking the codger must be deaf, was shouting that he was in the wrong office, and swiveled her office chair as far away from the counter as she could in her little enclosure as the old man turned the vial sideways and removed the lid, intent on displaying his stool sample on the counter for all to see.
Which he did. It was a wooden, miniature three-legged stool, about the size of a quarter. The old fellow laughed and laughed and laughed, then made a present of his “stool sample” to the receptionist. People are weird here.[X-posted at Rumproast]