Hoodies- Now I Get It

This is a little story about my visit to the medical centre this morning. Nothing serious,  just some regular blood tests that the clinic had been nagging me about.

I really resent spending time and money just to get my medication but at least these tests were free… apart from my time and and travel expenses. Oh, and the blood can only be taken in the mornings after 8am so that means Saturday morning. And it is important not to eat anything for 12 hours beforehand.

So, there I was at 8.10 am, nauseous with hunger, number 16 on the waiting list, squeezed into a narrow waiting area with 14 other people (number 1 was already under way, which was some kind of relief).  Numbers 6 and 14 were on my left and right and blessedly both were occupied with magazines.  Maybe if the blood taker was fast, and  no more people arrived, I would get out without any claustrophobia.

Stories never turn out that way, eh? Otherwise we wouldn’t bother to tell them.  Shortly after I had decided that the situation was survivable, Number 14 was greeted by a long lost buddy. They were both male, and amped up to full volume.  I slouched into the seat and willed the newc0mer away.

No such luck. Blokey platitudes were exchanged.

How’s the world treating you?

Not too shabby.

What are you here for? They checking out the ticker again?

Just getting the old  warfarin checked. What I’ve got can’t be cured, just managed. Gotta take the warfarin for the rest of my life.

Any side effects with that?

Oh, just some sore bits but not too bad.

Pretty good at home?

Yeah, can’t complain.  I’ve got two boys now. The first one is eighteen months, the young one is just coming three months. He’s pretty neat. How about you?

Oh, my boy is six. The girl is ten. Second family.

Nothing wrong with that.

As for me, I am about to lose it. What the fuck is the overweight, middle aged idiot doing producing kids when he could drop at any minute. Second family, nothing wrong with that? What did Number 14 do with his first family? Decide he could get a new one on TradeMe?

What to do when you are in a public place and about to scream, “You disgust me.  Shut the fuck up or get a room”? Survival instinct was triggered and I slumped further in my seat and pulled my hood up and over as much of my face as I could.

At this point you may be thinking, “She has issues”. Well, so what? You want to make something of it? Go on, make my day.

So, there I was, a fifty-something woman, hunched down into her hoodie, wishing I had an iPod to  blast any other noise  into my brain. Not possible for me to look like a surly teen anymore, so what was I looking like? My best guess is that I resembled a street person with a substance abuse problem (it was early Saturday morning so I was dressed in other people’s old clothes, not my weekday professional camouflage). Never mind how I looked, my hoodie (actually Dave’s hoodie) got me through another 60 minutes of inane personal details and things I never wanted to know about their workplaces and colleagues.

My hoodie experience also had a silver lining (bad English teacher pun),  because it helped me to understand why young people put up their hoods indoors. I mean, for my generation hoods are to protect one from the cold and wind outdoors, or to keep warm after sport. We get annoyed at hoodied youngsters in classrooms and malls. They are rude right? And are probably hiding their faces because they are up to no good.

My hoodie protected me from the world. It insulated me, just a little but enough, from the threat to my personal space.

Something to think about, for hoodie-hating old folk. That person hunched into their privacy may be desperately trying not to tell you to shut the fuck up and get out of their face.