Scarle' fer ya!

I really didn't know where to put this story. It happened in the waiting room of the maternity hospital, so it could have gone under the Insomniac Baby banner. It involved a group of society that I don't have a lot of time for, so it could legitimately have been posted on the Insomniac Shit List. In the end, I decided it wasn't a tale I'd like to associate with my happy pregnancy and nor could I easily categorise it for the Shit List, so here it is, on the Tirade:

I was sitting in the waiting room of the maternity hospital for a few hours yesterday. It was really busy and lots of people were taking and making phone calls to say "I'm still waiting. I've been here for hours." The waiting room was incredibly busy and there were stacks of people waiting for visiting hours to begin aswell, so the whole place was jammers.

There was a young couple - aged anywhere between 16 and 20, their skin was too bad to be able to tell - sitting beside me on the benches in the waiting area, who had been getting streams of phone calls (about four or five each) all day. They'd had essentially the same conversation with each caller: "Naaah! I'm stiiill bleedin' waitin'..." or "Naaaah! We're stiiill bleedin' waitin' ta be seen by de dooooctor, bud..."

Eventually, she went in and was out again after 10 or 15 minutes. "Y'aaal righ'?" says he. She replied at the top of her voice, in the middle of the crowded room: "Yeah. I'm grand. 'S only de trush."

"Oh, my God!", I thought to myself. "I can't believe that you've just yelled that out in front of everyone. I am absolutely mortified on your behalf."

"Ah, just de trush?", says the boyfriend loudly, to be heard over the din of the waiting visitors. "Ah, jaysus, dat's alrigh' den."

"Oh, my God!", I thought to myself. "I can't believe that you've just yelled that out in front of everyone. I am absolutely mortified on your behalf."

Then, one by one, the girl begins to return the phone calls of her concerned parents and friends: "How'r'ya Ma! 'Sgrand. 'Sjust de trush!"; "How'r'ya Concepteh. Yeah, 'sgrand. 'Sjust de trush!"; "How'r ya Angeleh. Jaysus! 'S de bleedin' trush!"

At this stage I was beginning to wish that they would either vacate the bench beside me and leave the waiting room, or failing that, the the ground would open up and swallow me. I didn't think it could get any worse. I was wrong.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and starts dialling. "How'r'ya Ma? Yeah, she's grand. 'Sjust de trush!"

Enough! In the parlance of our maternity hospital waiting rooms, "Jaysus! I'm bleedin' scaaaaarle' fer yez!"