(no subject)
Thursday, November 23rd, 2023 07:06 pmHow interesting. I go up to my doctor's ($75 in cab fare there and back and no, she is not 'just round the corner' from her old place.) Ask her to ascertain if the Baker's cyst behind the knee is in fact a Baker's cyst and not, say, a blood clot. It's not a blood clot but equally it's not a Baker's cyst either. She could find nothing behind my knee to cause the stiffness and swelling and *extremely painful* shenanigans in the calf. (Physio worked on those a bit yesterday, just pushing gently at the calf while I tried not to scream in agony, then said 'It's much looser than it was last week.') So off I go for xrays and ultrasounds tomorrow. Mh.
And I am done with Beck cabs and their automated voice messaging dispatcher. State my address clearly 'Five forty three Blahblah St, Toronto.' Chirpy computer voice: 'If this is five-oh-five Blahblah St, press one. If not, press nine and try again.' 'Five hundred and forty-three Blahblah St, Toronto.' 'If this is 543 Someother St., press one. If not press nine and try again.' 'Five. Four. Three. Blahblah. Street. Toronto.' 'If crackle fi-crackle crackle Stree-crackle' Hang up and call Diamond and get, oh frabjous day, an actual human being. Diamond it is from now on, especially since both drivers took devious side streets whenever the traffic on Yonge or Bayview or Eglinton started to turn into a parking lot. Which it did on all three, at one o'clock on a Thursday. Construction, I must assume.
And of course, no sooner had I put my call in than a garbage truck rounded the corner and started picking up the garden waste. Thursdays are not the day to take cabs. But luckily there were three empty spaces right in front of my house and the thoughtful truck driver pulled into them so cars could get past, one of which was my cab. This is why I called for a cab ninety minutes before my appointment. And in the event I was in and out by the time my appointment was due to start.
Also I am not yet diabetic, which was a relief. Pre-, of course, but given my sugar addiction not a surprise.
And I am done with Beck cabs and their automated voice messaging dispatcher. State my address clearly 'Five forty three Blahblah St, Toronto.' Chirpy computer voice: 'If this is five-oh-five Blahblah St, press one. If not, press nine and try again.' 'Five hundred and forty-three Blahblah St, Toronto.' 'If this is 543 Someother St., press one. If not press nine and try again.' 'Five. Four. Three. Blahblah. Street. Toronto.' 'If crackle fi-crackle crackle Stree-crackle' Hang up and call Diamond and get, oh frabjous day, an actual human being. Diamond it is from now on, especially since both drivers took devious side streets whenever the traffic on Yonge or Bayview or Eglinton started to turn into a parking lot. Which it did on all three, at one o'clock on a Thursday. Construction, I must assume.
And of course, no sooner had I put my call in than a garbage truck rounded the corner and started picking up the garden waste. Thursdays are not the day to take cabs. But luckily there were three empty spaces right in front of my house and the thoughtful truck driver pulled into them so cars could get past, one of which was my cab. This is why I called for a cab ninety minutes before my appointment. And in the event I was in and out by the time my appointment was due to start.
Also I am not yet diabetic, which was a relief. Pre-, of course, but given my sugar addiction not a surprise.
