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Take that, Heathens!

Recently-- and by recently I mean yesterday-- my roommate had an accident. She managed to spill boiling hot water all over her hand, her attempt for a morning caffeine fix going horribly awry. Of course, being the considerate girl she is, she didn't yell out TOO loud because I was sleeping. Which I admire seeing as I would have let out such a medley of variations on the word fuck you could have filled a whole fucking dictionary.

So the first thing I saw when I got up and shuffled the ten steps from my room to the bathroom was her sitting neatly on her floor with her left hand in one of the bright pink mixing bowls... And even though I'm weird, I'm not THAT weird....I asked her what had happened. She explained, I asked her if it was alright, la dee dah. It wasn't until I got out of the shower and came out to find her in "OhmygodIwantmyMOTHER" mode that I seriously decided we make a quest to go to health services.

By the time we made it there, against the odds of locked doors and dudes on ladders with serious plumber butt, (say no to crack dude) we realized health services happened to be CLOSED on Sundays.
So we headed back to residence like hobos in sweat pants. The Greek guy at the front desk, our new best friend, sent us to the walk in clinic across the street from the school. It was a good 5 minute walk, 5 minute wait at the damn light, and when we got there, the place was ALSO closed because it was Sunday.

So we trekked back to to find that our Greek hero (Hercules anyone?!) had gotten other numbers for walk in clinics which were actually open. So we did what anyone without a car/bike/bus pass/magic carpet/elephant/Vespa would do and called a cab.

[insert typical cab scenario here- foreign dude singing to himself-- very friendly though!]

We got to the first place at 2:15 but it closed at 2. So we hopped back in the singing cab and headed for The Doctor's Office....Which sounded a shifty strip club if you ask me. (You do NOT want to know where that stethoscope's been, and whatever you do...NEVER ASK FOR A PAP SMEAR.)

It was actually a very clean cut place...
We waited maybe fifteen minutes before they took her in. I sat in the pristine stripper free waiting room and read the paper and I'm sure her half of this part of the story would be much more stimulating. But she's about as good at typing right now as Tom Cruise is at being normal.

When she finally came out she announced she had first degree burns, had to be salved and dressed. And I said, "But Allie you still have clothes on." Well I didn't really but the small piece of me set for stand up comedy happily provided an inward drum/cymbal combo after that mental stand in.

Either way, we ended up cabbing back to school, the standing cab tab probably JUST under 50 bucks for the day.

She spent the next 24 hours with her hand mummified in a way the reminded me of a dog hit by a car. I nearly died not making whimpering puppy noises every time I saw her. Then today she took the bandages off and it turns out the nurse decided to give her and extra layer of icing. Which would have been awesome had it been real icing and not burn cream.

And of course I made her feel like a freak by snapping pictures for ya'll ;D. The moral of this story is of course, don't get hurt on Sunday. Because God gets PISSED for having this thunder stolen.