Ditch Doc

My air mattress doesn’t fit in my new apartment. The first night, I slept on the four foot long couch, and woke up every two hours. The second night, I slept on the floor, and woke up with all my vertebrae at different angles. The third night, I took the cushions from the couch and put them on the floor. Getting close, but still a bit uncomfortable from the ponderous weight of my lower body hanging off the end of the cushion and twisting my spine upward. So I spaced the cushions out, one for the chest and one for the hips, and slept for TEN HOURS!

Greydog phone tree: “Using your telephone key pad, please enter the first four letters of your destination city.”

Ditch: “3678″

Greydog: “For Fort Assiniboine, press 1 … Fort Macleod, press 2 … Fort McMurray, press 3 … Fort Nelson, press 4 … Fort St. James, press 5 … Fort St. John, press 6 … Fort Saskatchewan, press 7 …

Glad I wasn’t looking for Fort Vermilion!

After two months of arduous labour, I have finished writing my second MCAT, and I just discovered that the Bard himself once wrote the same exam. Here’s what he did with his prep materials:

“I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I’ll drown my book.”

That collar wouldn’t have suited him as a doctor anyway.

I’ve decided that the difference between someone who goes to pre-med straight out of highschool and someone who tries to get into med school via that anonymous college is something like the difference between two men wishing to travel from Kinshasa to Paris, one of whom takes out his Capital One card, orders e-tickets and heads for the airport, while the other looks at the sun to find North, grabs his machete and his bugspray, and strikes out into the jungle.

It seems that the Lord wants to me meet some of His Eastern children after all. I found out only today that the bus doesn’t go to Fort Nelson tonight, so I have to stay until tomorrow night, meaning that I will be going to the Ukranian Catholic parish in Prince George for the Divine Liturgy tomorrow morning. Can’t wait.

The most noticeable effect of having only one radio station is that the whole town has a soundtrack. Let’s say you leave work humming whatever was on. You pick it up again in the car without missing a beat. You park at the restaurant, walk past a chromed-out over-suspended pickup woofing out the same thing, find a table, absent-mindedly tap your foot while you scan the paper for people you know…

Are you tired of washing a ton of pots after eating? Worried about dwindling global fresh water deposits? Then why are you still boiling perogies, eggs and frozen corn in different water?

According to the morning news, “Investigators in Europe, Asia and North America are now involved in the alleged plot to blow up ten airliners over the Atlantic…”

Even the rudest oncoming drivers become so much more polite when you flirt with the centre line. Ignore it and they become downright saintly.

…when you pick up the phone to call the station for your schedule, and can’t remember the number.