Monday, April 20, 2009
Bypass Part 2 - "Is That A Wasabi In Your Pocket?"
So, having set the scene, coronarily, in Part 1, we now proceed to the events of the night in question. If I felt any more like Jessica Fletcher at this very moment I'm sure I would develop spontaneous osteoporosis.
My Facebook Status from Friday, April 10, 2009:
(Good) Friday + Market Closed - 8 hours of work = Awesome Friday (You Do The Math).
I shoulda known.
So anyhow, Good Friday, stock market was indeed closed, thus a day off. Did absolutely nothing of note. Saturday arrived, and with the good weather, himself feels a bit coltish. (I refer to an actual young male horse here, not to the famed purveyor of porn. Just to be clear.)
So, around 4:30pm (4:32pm exactly - I remember train times for some reason) I boarded a MetroNorth train in New Haven, bound for Grand Central Station. I have a tendency to do this when I find myself at loose ends with not much else to do. I wonder if the other folks I see at the train station, always with that same combination of anxious/bored on their faces are doing the same thing?
Uneventful trip south - quick walk through the station, #1 train downtown from Times Sq to Christopher St/Sheridan Sq. Over to Bleeker for a quick sushi dinner (For those of you fond of foreshadowing: yes, sushi. Low in saturateds, high in omega-3s blah blah freakin' blah.) From there, repaired to Marie's Crisis on Grove for some showtunes on the Worst. Piano. Ever. played by a lovely young lady named Franca. Left around 10ish, back to GCS, train to New Haven, back in Manchester & beddy bye by 1:30. I swear. There were no scenes of debauchery, no snorting of rendered duck-fat off the toned abs of some dancer named Jaysin at "Splash", no shots of bacon grease at The Pork Palace. Nothing.
So, you may be able to sympathize with my puzzlement at being awoken at approximately 3am EDT on Sunday the 12th. Yes, again, for those of you with an overdeveloped leitmotif gland, Easter Sunday. Shut up.
Now, this may come as a shock to some of you, but when somebody with a family history of heart disease is awakened by chest pain, this person does not automatically think "ZOMG, Heart Attack!". Think of it this way: If you lived in Japan, and were awakened some night by a vague distant rumbling noise, would you really think "Godzilla!" and run screaming from the house? If so, your neighbors would rightly think you a complete douchebag.
So, I took a couple of aspirin, sat up in bed and started reading from one of the Frank Herbert "Dune" books which I'm working my way through again for the umpteenth time. Something about giant worms and political intrigue on a galactic scale make things like a bit of agita pale in comparison.
Your narrator is practical and possessed of at least some common sense. After 30 minutes, not only had the pain not gone away, it had become sharp, almost to the point of being "stabbing". Adding insult, I was now feeling a radiating tingling/numbness down my left arm. And my jaw hurt. Dear Reader, even I don't need a house to drop on my evil ass before the thought starts to cross my mind: "Hey, shithead, you might, just might, be having a spot of heart trouble, here."
Coming Soon: Part The Third, in which our hero arrives in a modern American ER (Casualty Dept. for the Brits). There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth. None of it coming from me.