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Posts Tagged ‘A true conversation’

The siren call of the Asburian night life.. Paul Goldfinger photo of the AP skyline across Wesley Lake. ©

By Eileen and Paul Goldfinger, Editors at Blogfinger.net

Scene:  It is a stifling peak-season sunny July Saturday afternoon. The Grove is crowded and there is nary a parking space except for one across from where we are standing.

Eileen and I are gardening on the Delaware Ave. side of our house.  A car pulls into that sole remaining space, and a young man emerges. He looks around and then walks over to us.

He:  Can I park here?

We: Yes, but be sure you are close to the curb.

He:  Checking his tires. “I work at the Brick Wall in Asbury, and someone told me that I can park in Ocean Grove for free.”

We: It’s not only the workers who park here, but your customers as well, and we’re not happy with the idea.

He:  Oh….I’m sorry.

We: No need to apologize.  It is legal for you to park here.

He:  I’ve been paying over $100.00 week to park for work.

We: Wow.  (We felt bad for him….he obviously is a “working stiff.”)

He:  Well, thank you.

We:  It’s OK.   Bye.

He:   Smiles and heads towards the New Jersey Avenue Bridge across Wesley Lake to A. Park.

 

We:  We agree that A. Park is exploiting their workers by neither providing parking or paying for parking.  $100.00 is a lot for this worker. We should feel compassion for these young people, but this is Asbury’s problem to solve, and it is a reasonable concern for Grovers.

The AP City Council refused a plea from Neptune to help us with this parking situation which is their fault, and now they demand that we open our  bridge-gates.

That is Chutzpah!

 

BILLY ECKSTINE:

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Del Ponte’s Bakery, Bradley Beach. July, 2019. Paul Goldfinger photograph. ©

 

By Paul Goldfinger, Editor @Blogfinger

Scene:  Morning at the Del Ponte’s Bakery in B. Beach. We wanted some coffee cake to go.   There was a small line when we arrived.  Eileen got on the queue while I stayed back, observing the activity.  In front of me was a young man waiting his turn. He wore a backpack and white rimmed sunglasses.

Instead of eyes front, he kept repetitively turning to the left, looking out the window.  Del Ponte’s is located across from the BB train station. Before I struck up a conversation with the man, a woman walked in and stood behind me.

Me (to him:)  What are you looking for?

He: I’m looking for the train.

Me:  Oh.  I thought you were looking for a certain pastry.

He:   No, it’s just drinks.  (The man was clutching two bottles of ice tea, and he seemed nervous about missing the train.)   I have to meet my brother in New York.  He’s leaving for Indiana, and I want to say good bye.

Me:  Oh. (I’m feeling nervous for him.)

He:  He’s going to Notre Dame for graduate school.

She  (the woman who was in line, but eavesdropping on our conversation):    Why don’t you get going now and I’ll get the drinks.

He: Thanks, but I’ll pay. (At that point he puts money on the counter and then runs out the door, across the street and through the park to the train station–he made it.)

Me:  (to the woman) That was so gracious of you…..(She smiled)

 

BILLY SWAN  “I Can Help.”

 

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Who is this woman?

Who is this woman dressed in scrubs ?

 

Everybody's a doctor.

Everybody’s a doctor.

By Paul Goldfinger MD

 

Scene: The waiting room of a large  orthopedic group.    I am waiting for my appointment with a PA (Physician Assistant) since none of their 16 doctors could see me for an acute knee problem.

Young woman from the back  (YWFTB) wearing scrubs emerges from the back and gazes over the waiting room: “Paul,” she says.

PG: “Here”—I stand up

YWFTB: ” Follow me”   I follow her into the back.  We enter a maze of rooms. The walls are covered with “best doctors” certificates.   She points to an examining room and in I go.

She says, “Larry the PA will be in.”  She leaves and shuts the door.  Nobody wears name tags or introduces themselves..

Then another young woman dressed in scrubs   (AWDS)  walks into the room. She does not identify herself. Maybe she is chief of surgery.

AWDS :   “Why are you here today?”   (So, who is this person and what qualifies her to ask me medical questions?)

PG: “Who are you?”

AWDS : “I am assisting Larry, the PA”

PG:   (annoyed with being questioned by someone who probably isn’t trained to take a proper medical history from me ) “My knee hurts. I fell on it.”

AWDS (Sensing that I am not thrilled with her questions): “Larry will be with you soon.”   (So that’s how it is—the doctor has an assistant, and the assistant has an assistant; I bet they bill for a doctor’s visit—-it’s all Obamacare’s fault.)

Larry enters the room wearing a white coat and no name tag.  He looks like a regular guy.: “What’s the problem today? ” (Thinking to myself–“Please don’t roll your eyes at this pseudo-doctor in a white coat. And doesn’t this guy get a last name? Only the doctors get last names here? My patients called me “doc” even though the nurses said, “Doctor Goldfinger” will be in soon.—we had no pseudo-doctors. I liked “doc,” but I had a name tag with my actual name on it.)

Larry examines my knee. He seems to know about knees. Larry suspects a small fracture not visible on the xray.   He orders an MRI and says that the next visit will be with a doctor. ( I’m thinking: “I hope that doctor has a last name, because I don’t want to be seen by a doctor who only has a first name.”)

PG: “Thanks” (I won’t call him doctor, PA Larry, or just Larry) No title will do.

Back in the waiting room I wait for the official  MRI  request. 15 minutes go by. I turn off the TV–no one notices.  I go to the desk and say, “Why am I still sitting here?”

GSD: (Girl in scrubs at the desk—-They all wear scrubs as if they are  going into the OR very soon)

GSD:   “Oh—nobody gave me your chart. I’ll get it now”—She goes in the back. She returns and gives me my MRI paper. I really want to leave.

Finally I get on the elevator—going down.    A woman about my age gets on with me. (I mean, she enters the elevator with me.)

WMA (woman my age): “That was fun.”

PG: “Did you see a real doctor?”

WMA: “No, just the assistant. It’s not like it used to be.”

PG  (Thinking “Well, at least we’re both walking out of here. Be thankful for the bottom line.”)

THE CLOVERS.   I wonder if Medicare will pay for this treatment  prescribed by the pseudo-doctor in the song.  That potion should help my knee, because the “doctor” and all those girls in scrubs gave me nothing for  my pain.  Like the song says, “It’s all about the bill.”

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