Friday morning I noticed I was feeling tired and achy, which is usually the indication of a sinus infection. I was not in the least surprised considering all that had happened in the week - working in a cold office, going outside into a heat wave and coming into contact with dust and dirt disturbed by all the moving. Mid-morning, I dashed to my chariot and roared off to see my friend the doctor.

Visiting the clinic always involves a certain routine, and this trip was no exception. However, the wait was unusually long. I'd taken a copy of Computerworld to read, but I had such a headache I had trouble concentrating. In addition, the rumble of the television was mind-numbing. (I hope there is a special place in Dante's Inferno for those responsible for morning network television.) Plus, a few feet away was a couple who kept engaging in blatantly hetrosexual behaviour. (What would children think if they saw such shenanigans!) It was after 12:30 before I left with my little plastic bags of drug samples looking like an upscale pusher. I scampered off to Chili's for lunch and finally made it back to work at 1:45.

Saturday at lunch, I broke bread at the customary Little Tokyo. As mentioned before, it is a small place that manages to shoehorn in 50-60 customers by the adroit arrangement of samll tables. To get to my tiny corner table pushed against the partition that creates an entryway, I had to wait several minutes while a couple showed how well their adorable infant could totter. With each tick of the clock I could feel myself turning into W. C. Fields.

Once seated, I realized there was another table a few feet forward and to my left. And another table a few few to the left of that table. Then a man and a woman appeared and took the middle table, effectively blocking access to my table. The man was the most egg-shaped person I've ever seen. Imagine a smaller egg on top of a larger egg on top of an even larger egg, and you have the silhouette. Withing seconds, his cellular phone chirped, and he was engaged in a demented conversation that consisted of the phrase "What's been going on?" expressed at various pitches. He was oblivious to the server's need to reach my table. By now I'd passed turning into W. C. Fields and was morphing into DeNiro in "Taxi Driver." As my right hand began to glide across my table in search of a pair of sharpened chopsticks or some blunt object capable of inflicting bodily harm, the fates intervened and he hung up. Two guesses what his first words to his lunch partner were. It starts with "What's" and ends with "on."