Of Hospitals, Being Late, and Laughing Hard

Day 2 of the 2013 second annual cross-country Zymurgy Bob book scramble, lecture series, and serial cluster-(bleep), and things aren’t looking much better.

Starting the morning in the hospital, everyone was just sweeter than pie, although they acted a bit devious when I asked about leaving so I could make my book-signing in Eugene. They even gave me breakfast in bed – with scrambled eggs! I started to do my trick with breakfast, but I figured if they had too much fun, they might keep me forever, so I tried really hard and kept my face out of my breakfast.

Even so, the hospital friends started making up reasons why I should stay with them, so I called my son Mike to help me make a getaway. I didn’t mean to seem rude, but after Mike and I both tried to reason for my departure, I’m ashamed to admit I got a bit devious.

It appeared this game of “paste the wires on the fall-down guy” was really more important than they had let on, and I found out they had somebody hidden in another room, testing to see that I still had the wires, and was still going along with that gag. I reasoned that if I started taking off the wires, everyone would kind of see that the joke was wearing thin, and they’d let me go.

It’s amazing how well those wires were glued on, and it was only after losing a lot of hair that I finally got the wires off (although I missed a couple of those little sticky-pads, that I only found later), and just as I’d hoped, pretty soon I had visitors expressing regret that the joke was no longer funny.

Long story short, we got busted out of the hospital, and took off at a dead run for Eugene, with my wife Pat phoning ahead to let Jim at the Home Fermenter Center know that I was on my way (and already late). People who had come for the book-signing very graciously waited for me, and we did the lecture in Jim’s parking lot.

As I stood there, in front of a group of hobby distillers seated on folding chairs, in three-day old clothes, unshaved, unbathed, with tape covering my recent IV removal, and a terrible case of bed-head, another gentleman, in appearance very similar to mine (but I think his eyes were redder) crossed the parking lot to us and whispered to Jim in the end chair, “Is this an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting?”

Any day that ends with laughing your butt off can’t be all bad.

ZBob on the road

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