Fore

Mr. Lewy was brought in by his son.

 

Dr. Grumpy: "So, what happened? I mean, I spoke to the police earlier, but want to..."

Son: "A neighbor called the police, Dad was chasing invisible people down the street, screaming at them and waving a golf club."

Mr. Lewy: "There were people all over the house! And in my yard! And they were having a party, and I told them to leave, and they wouldn't! So I told them to get out or I was going to clobber them, and when they didn't I chased them outside and down the street!"

Son: "The police calmed him down and searched the house and yard, there were no signs of anyone besides Dad. They also took away the golf club."

Mr. Lewy: "It wasn't just a golf club. It was a 3-wood. And I need it back before the tournament next week."

Son: "Dad, you aren't in a tournament next week."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, so..."

Son: "And it was a 9-iron, not a 3-wood."

Mr. Lewy: "I'm not that far gone. It was a 3-wood. Know your damn Callaways."

Dialing for dollars

Doing some marketing surveys for $ over the long holiday weekend.

They often include questions to see if you're paying attention, like this one:

Then there's this, asking me how many patients with a given condition I've seen in the last month:

The first choice (which I had to look up) is from a Roald Dahl book. It's a disease contracted by eating shoelaces that turns you into a rat. Although personally I think it would be much cooler if it turned you into a cassowary.

Then you get stuff that makes no sense whatsoever:

 

 

 

Or this one, which didn't give me any options in case this wasn't the case:

 

And lastly, in the middle of a survey on treatments for Alzheimer's disease, I encountered this question. I can only assume the survey writer had a personal interest in the topic.

Reality check

Yesterday I was on my way home from work when there was a loud noise and the Grumpymobile immediately veered right. I pulled into a side street to assess the damage:

 

Sigh.

So I dug out the spare and its gear and got started, jacking up the car, unbolting the shredded tire, tossing it in the trunk...

I'd just started rolling the spare around to the front when a crew from the Grumpyville fire department drove by. They pulled over and 4 guys piled out. One of them took the wrench out of my hand, another handed me a bottle of water. They bolted the spare on, lowered the car, and put all the stuff back in the trunk in what seemed like 15 seconds (maybe they were secretly an Indy pit crew).

As they piled back in their truck one of them said, "sir, it's pretty hot out, and a guy your age should know better than to do stuff like this."