When Everything Works Out

A call arrived as I was eating dinner at the home of friends. A gentleman at the Biltmore needed a doctor. The meal was ending, so I took my leave.

Driving the twelve miles downtown, I parked and opened the trunk to retrieve my black bag. Dismayed, I realized I had left it at home.

I usually keep the bag in my car. My driveway is outside, and during hot weather I take the bag into the house to keep the heat from melting my pills. Getting a housecall jogs my memory, and I retrieve the bag, but I had driven to friends without giving it a thought.

I phoned the guest to explain that I’d have to return home. Before I could apologize, the guest apologized, explaining that he had run out of his blood pressure pills and only needed a refill. He knew his travel insurance would not pay for this, so he claimed to feel ill. He wasn’t ill. I phoned a prescription to a pharmacy and went home.

This blog is full of incidents whose entertainment value is based on things going wrong. But sometimes everything works out.