Below
is an excerpt from a memoir manuscript in need of serious editing. This is a reminder that I should do the
needed editing more often because it’s funny, some parts of it. Thank goodness those days are over, but this
excerpt from my memoir is not an exaggeration.
The funniness is in the strangeness and perhaps in my perspective alone.
I was heartbroken so I had to be rushed to the nearest ER?
Somehow
surviving the hang over and grief, I showed up at my work Chicago hotel
concierge desk and bawled. Seeking
guidance, hotel guests instead hurried away from my lobby desk, frightened.
I
was blowing the contents of my nose inside a bar napkin when Kathy, the front
office manager, walked to my chair and spit in my ear, “Sheila, we need to
talk, you come with me now.”
We
arrived at the front office back office. Dramatically, my whole body collapsed
to the floor. I remember I had a tight fitting, lovely purple dress and
matching purple tights on.
Kathy
said, “Sheila, get up and pull yourself together,” she breathed conference room
coffee into my face, “we have a full house today and what about all those
guests that really need a concierge?
This is what we’re,”
“There's
something wrong,” I loudly mumbled, “He left.”
“Okay
. You’re needed, here, now, Okay? Do you think you can get up in this chair?”
“No
moving, I can't move.”
A
cohort shouted, “Kathy, there's a line at the concierge desk.”
I
rolled onto my back and Kathy clamped her fists on her forehead, “You can't
move? What do you mean?”
“Call
an ambulance. Something's wrong.” I answered.
Instead,
Kathy called the hotel limo. How could
she deny me the hospital if I told her that was required? Two bellhops carried
me, legs included, to the back seat. The driver decided not to lift me but held
open the vehicle backdoor at a big Chicago Hospital Emergency Room
entrance. I was admitted for depression.
Sheila
Cull
Twin Cull ©
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