This morning began routinely: wake up, get dressed, coffee, a few daily scheduling remarks and reminders shared with Doc H, school drop-offs, return home to the dog. All normal. Nothing new. Then the phone rang... It was Doc H asking me to search his robe pockets for his pager. I did and I found it. My husband saddled me with the pager for the day.
This has happened before. It doesn't happened frequently, but when it does, it runs my day. I become obsessed and unnerved by the little, archaic technological relic. I don't think drug dealers even use beepers anymore, right? Yet, here I am; saddled and strapped to the beast all day long. When the beast screams for Doc H, it's my call to action. I must immediately text Doc H with the call back number.
This bastard (the pager, not Doc H- just wanted to make sure that was clear) stresses me out. What if I read the numbers wrong? What if I text a typo? Transpose numbers? What if someone is on the other end bleeding...bad.
I know if I get in the shower it will scream at me mid-shampoo. I have errands to run. I don't want it screaming at me, drawing attention to me in Safeway. I don't want to clog up the Metamucil aisle like I did last time as I text the page. The busload of seniors from the independent living facility in my neighborhood are not patient grannies and grampies. One even mumbled I should learn to drive my buggy as she squeezed by me. Didn't she noticed I was traumatized? I was texting as fast as possible, my eyes darting back and forth between pager and IPhone, double checking the number, correcting the number all while whispering obscenities to myself? Didn't they notice the stress sweat forming on my upper lip? Cut me some slack lady!
Woman's clothes were not designed to carry pagers. Even if Doc H's pager had a clip, which it does not, women's clothing does support such devices. So I have to carry it...in a pocket. Women's clothes don't have those either... especially functioning pockets. We have small decorative pockets which may be large enough to carry a lipstick, not a pager.
My purse is not a viable option. Like most mom purses, my purse is a black hole. I'm afraid I would never find it in a timely manner.
So what's a Doc wife to do? I carry it like every other self-respecting woman who has something of value on her person... I stick it in my cup. I've got two cups, but you'll usually find it in the left cup. My silhouette is a little deformed as I push the buggy down around the store, but at least I know it's there, it's safe, and it's easily retrievable.
Now, if I could just figure out how to turn it on vibrate.
Click here if you're curious how my day went.