What Now?

I bought me a brand new deodorant on a Black Friday deal that smells like the north woods. My damn all-around free spelling and grammar checker is demanding to change me to myself. I don't know who died and made this computer contraption boss.

”Hey asshole machine contraption, screw you!”

It's bad enough to deal with my human editor much less some dumb know it all grammar piece of crap. I had Mrs. Campbell for high school English and never got much lower than a B for a grade, except for that time I got a C. To tell you the truth, I never cared much for the subject, and reciting or composing the King's English correctly is not one of my greatest attributes. I think it’s unnecessary in today's world. Sometimes when being corrected by either man or a machine, the grammar correction is something that can and should be ignored. So, damn it, I'm leaving it in there and giving the word, myself, the royal boot to the head. Somehow that doesn't sound right.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the arrival of Tom’s North Woods scented deodorant. First thing in the morn’ I shower up. Since we’re in a pandemic, I refuse to get my hair cut. My shower consists of soap, shampoo, and for the first time a conditioner. My conditioner purchase is named Cactus Rose Water. I figure living in the desert, a conditioner with a southwest twist would be a great place to start. I have to admit, whoever squeezes the rosewater out of the cacti does a hell of a job. I heard this job used to be done by illegals as they crossed our border, but, currently, the company uses friendly robots from outer space. I can't verify this, but like the illegal election, I know that it's true. Damn robots are taking over all our middle and lower class jobs.

After my morning ritual, I dress, comb my thick luscious hair, and then apply my North Woods deodorant for men. As I'm applying this to my hairless pits, the aroma reminds me of my frequent walks to Walden Pond. I probably should clear this up for you. My armpit hair all fell out years ago. Why? Who knows. What is amazing, the hair transferred to my once hairless chest. Regrowing on my balding head would have been a more satisfactory solution, but beggars can't be choosers. Also, I never did walk around Walden Pond, as at that time I lived in Michigan. Everyone knows Walton's pond is in West Virginia. Good night John-boy, good night Mary Ellen, and good night Grampa. Had to mention gramps, he was my favorite Walton. I loved the Waltons and especially their pond. Grandma occasionally could be kind of mean.

Talking about mean grandmas, let me mention my foolproof North Wood scent testing technique. My deodorant needs a true science or faith-based exam to be certified as genuine. I need foolproof testing before I can endorse this product other than just my own experience. Since I applied the deodorant to my pits I hear whippoorwills, ravens, and even loons in the distance. I may be on Golden pond, as I think that maybe Henry Fonda is in the distant morning fog. I smell fir trees and decaying leaves as they become the new fertile forest soil. What a wonderful aroma, I must put this to a true investigation.

I crawl back into bed next to my sleeping bride and slowly raise my arm, so Marsha may revel in my new found scented deodorant. At first, she doesn't seem to be aware of my presence, so I slowly lower my bald pit closer to her nose. Slowly, she stirs. As this is happening, our sleeping pitbull also awakens. Immediately, I can tell the pup is curious about what I'm doing and begins to growl. The mutt is very protective of grams and is not about to allow any funny business. Marsh still isn’t a part of the reality we know, leaving me no recourse other than to lower old baldy even closer. Finally, I get a reaction. Mentioning my little woman isn't a morning person is still no reason for her volatile reaction. Instead of taking in the sounds and smells of the North Woods, she focuses on my pit. Not the pitbull, but my armpit. It is hard for her to focus on two things at once, thus the old saying about walking and chewing gum simultaneously. Geez, it's not like when the dog thinks it's funny to stick her butt in my face while I'm sleeping. Being more mature, my dog’s antics don't upset me nearly as badly as the armpit disturbed my wife. I believe I already stated, I have no hair, anymore, that could cause a tickle. Gone, but not forgotten.

Instead of her awakening and relishing the sensory overture I'm offering, Marsha yells, “Get that out of my goddamn face. What in the hell is wrong with you?”

That is the last time I offer her a morning bouquet of serenity. Instead of taking in the most wonderful smells of the North Woods, she gets up and starts her day with a seriously crabby attitude. It's like my shower and awesomely conditioned hair isn't even noticed. Older women have no appreciation for the finer things in life.

Since I'm up and no one in the house appreciates me, off I go to practice the fiddle. Slipping on my headphones, I start fiddling away. Just my luck, I can't hear anything on my left side. The damn cheap-ass headphones are broken. My cousin, Theo, in Albuquerque asked me the purpose of the headphones I use in my violin videos. That's right people, I do have a few family members who call me occasionally and it's kind of fun to spell Albuquerque without help from my stupid grammar apparatus. Always remember, three u’s and two q’s. I told her the only purpose is, I think it looks cool. If the violin player looks cool, it distracts from his scratchy ass violin playing. I have to keep on top of things in the technology era.

I noticed while talking on the phone that our tele isn't as loud on my left side. You know what they say, things happen in threes. Sure as shit, while listening that night to violin practice videos, both my Bluetooth headphones and earphones don't work in my left ear. What in the hell is going on?! Then, just like that, after raising my arm and taking a whiff, a revelation. North Woods air is extremely invigorating and clears the mind of unnecessary clutter. My electronic devices work, but my left ear doesn't. Shit, shit, and double damn it shit! Time for a plan.

The first thing in the morning, I schedule an appointment with an ENT(ear, nose, and throat doctor for my lower intelligent readers). Medicare does have advantages for even seniors without advantage plans. A little medicare joke. By noon I'm off to see the sorcerer of the ears. This might be kind of fun, me thinks. Grammar buddy is not truly happy about my last sentence.

As I open the door to the doctor's office, immediately the other masked patients lift their heads and sniff the air. The deodorant magic is still working. Praise be! The nice receptionist lady gives me the required paperwork and I surrender my pictured ID and insurance information. This is going a lot smoother than my recent trip to the emergency room. I give the name of my referring doctor as the renowned Dr. Google. Having medicare virtually means I can refer myself to specialists without having my primary physician doing so. My primary doc seems to be a minimalist and if a patient takes on this added duty it is a-ok with him. Once in a while, a specialist gets uppity (usually his rule-abiding assistants) and my overworked primary doc has to write a note saying it's ok. Sort of like high school when it's decided a class or two needs to be skipped in order to go to the mall or just to cruise. When I attended school, there was no Dr. Google and my parents wouldn't approve, generally. So, I or a fellow student would supply the necessary note from home. Easy peasy.

Well, I take a seat and within an hour hear a voice saying, “Andy Lukcomeinsky, please.”

Hot damn! A young, beautiful, and hot, but masked like we all are, Hispanic lady is coming out to the holding tank (waiting area).

I stroll up and say to her, ”Which way?”

She seems to ignore me as, again, I hear from the other side of the waiting room, ”Andy Lukcomeinsky, please.”

After over 70 years of having my last name mispronounced, I'm very used to the vocabulary surname massacre. I should have changed my last name to Jones years ago. Good thing that most of us in the office have some degree of deafness, so the lady I mistook for the audiologist accepted my lame-ass apology.

I got to use some of my limited Spanish, ”Lo siento, senorita.”

She responded,”It's okay.”

The receptionist asks, “Dr. Google referred you to the ENT?”

I assure her, “Yes, he did.”

“Okay, please have a seat and the audiologist will be with you soon for your hearing test,” the nice receptionists said.

About thirty minutes later the audiologists comes out and asks, “Mr. Lukecome?” He hesitates and states, “Is there an Andy here?”

I get up and off we go to the soundproof booth. Cool!!! My right ear has come to play and passes with flying colors. My left ear fails miserably and the hearing tester chuckles in the “repeat the word after me” session when I think he said wench. I had a feeling that might be incorrect but I call them as I hear them. As I’m leaving the soundproof room, it’s apparent that my examiner is noticing the North Woods fragrance as I depart. It probably was the highlight of his day, as next up was an older man who couldn’t hear a damn thing. I noticed his wife was incessantly talking, which may have caused him to be stone deaf. I know once in awhile I become stoned and deaf plus dumb. I reckon it's a trait that keeps married couples together. Maybe not the stoned part.

Off I went to the ear wash lady. She made that old joke about growing potatoes in my ear as she dug out the wax. Seems like something more original could have been produced after all these years, but what the hell. Good ear cleaning jokes are hard to come by. After merrily digging for a few minutes, off I go. Come to think of it, the ear cleaning is before the test. Sometimes my realities become confused or it could be said, I’m not always on top of what’s what. Anyway, I didn’t let the ear swabber have a whiff of North Woods. The joke was lame sixty-five years ago and is even lamer today. She needs to improve on her material.

I asked my friend Alice to whip me up an ear joke and, WHAMO, in less than a minute she came up with this little ditty. That Alice cracks me up. With the internet, it’s easy to come up with new material. Come on, ear cleaners of America, new jokes are out there! If you can’t find new little funnies, go ask Alice.

Next up is the man himself. We’re talking about Dr. Z, the ENT. We are going to get to the root of my problem. Shit ya, it is happening. First of all, I have to send kudos to the entire office. Not one person asked if I had a fall. I heard enough of that baloney at St. Mary’s ER. The good doctor looks at my tests results and exclaims my hearing in my left ear should return in a couple of months after my inner ear infection clears. That was one good prognosis: no drugs, no hearing aids, but just time. All of a sudden we are both sniffing the air surrounding us. It smells like being on the beach in rural Oregon. What a marvelous scent.

Dr. Z asks, “ Did you recently purchase a deodorant from Mr. Bezos on Amazon.”

I respond, ”Why yes, the North Woods scent.”

“I just purchased the seaside fragrance!” Dr. Z confesses.

What a wonderful combo the two aromas make! As I prepare to leave his office, he says to make an appointment with the receptionist for a follow-up in February. Maybe another Amazon shopping trip is in order, like the new unmatched sock phase, a different aromatic deodorant for each pit. I could start a new hygienic trend.

As I stop at the receptionist’s desk to exit this fine establishment, she says, “Your next appointment will be in mid-February. Um, is Dr. Google really your primary care physician?”

Finally, she has broken my spirit. “The referring was done by me,” I admit.

The young lady shakes her head, ”You got me there. Even though I figured you were fibbing, I looked him up to make certain he didn't really exist.”

Imagine googling Dr. Google? We parted on a good note with the promise of a return visit in a couple of months. Most of the old people's fun revolves around doctor appointments.

Hasta la vista baby!