Thursday, January 06, 2005
In Danger of Becoming a Theme Week
I realize that this is my third telephone-related narrative in as many days, but it's totally unintentional, I swear. If I were capable of planning something like that, it would have been Degrassi Junior High: The Next Generation Week a long time ago.
But watch for my thrilling series of transcribed voicemails next month.
Anyway, the other night my mother left me a voicemail stating simply that "she had a message for me." Given the level of casualness (somehow that doesn't feel like a word, but I'm in a hurry) she employed, I figured this "message" was something along the lines of "the law school called, they want money" or "the army called, Uncle Sam wants you," and I didn't hurry to return the call. When I did call back, however, the "message" turned out to be that my grandmother was in the hospital, having had a pacemaker installed several days earlier.
Don't worry, she's okay. See how I tell you that right away? But I had to wait through about ten minutes of narrative to get that information. We started with the inability to move, the shortness of breath, the trip to the hospital... by the time we finally got to "she's okay," I was practically on the floor with worry. Well, I was driving at the time, so that's an exaggeration, but I did accidentally bump the horn. Other drivers love that.
The point is, health scares are no time for strict adherence to Freytag's Pyramid. Forget the dramatic unfolding of events and just cut to the chase.
So I called my grandma at the hospital and she actually did seem to be in good shape. She complained quite energetically about the food and the fact that Judging Amy is on TV so late at night, which I take as a good sign. She comes home today, supposedly.
I just think we need to work on information-disseminating processes within our organization, that's all.
I realize that this is my third telephone-related narrative in as many days, but it's totally unintentional, I swear. If I were capable of planning something like that, it would have been Degrassi Junior High: The Next Generation Week a long time ago.
But watch for my thrilling series of transcribed voicemails next month.
Anyway, the other night my mother left me a voicemail stating simply that "she had a message for me." Given the level of casualness (somehow that doesn't feel like a word, but I'm in a hurry) she employed, I figured this "message" was something along the lines of "the law school called, they want money" or "the army called, Uncle Sam wants you," and I didn't hurry to return the call. When I did call back, however, the "message" turned out to be that my grandmother was in the hospital, having had a pacemaker installed several days earlier.
Don't worry, she's okay. See how I tell you that right away? But I had to wait through about ten minutes of narrative to get that information. We started with the inability to move, the shortness of breath, the trip to the hospital... by the time we finally got to "she's okay," I was practically on the floor with worry. Well, I was driving at the time, so that's an exaggeration, but I did accidentally bump the horn. Other drivers love that.
The point is, health scares are no time for strict adherence to Freytag's Pyramid. Forget the dramatic unfolding of events and just cut to the chase.
So I called my grandma at the hospital and she actually did seem to be in good shape. She complained quite energetically about the food and the fact that Judging Amy is on TV so late at night, which I take as a good sign. She comes home today, supposedly.
I just think we need to work on information-disseminating processes within our organization, that's all.
