HATRED…

August 29, 2009

 Styrofoam cups… They seem so innocent. They’re handy. They’re great for insulating your beverages.  They have even become so popular that they have their own hip-hop song. Check it out:

As much as I lovethat video my love is equally as strong for styrofoam cups. (Yes, I was trying to use a sarcastic font) Now I know what you’re thinking… Ohhh here goes Dave on a rant for Greenpeace, recycling, or beautifying America, or George H.W. Bush’s 1000 Points of Light.  No, that’s not quite, what I’m doing. Yes, Styrofoam cups = bad. Just to prove it here’s a PSA for you. 

So if I’m not on a Save the World rant, then why is there the uncontrollable urge to write about Styrofoam cups… Here’s why

Yesterday, I drove up to a local Bucks County Hospital of which it’s name and the patient’s name will remain anonymous (because that’s what I was asked to do.)  I’ll call the patient Job, because  this is a test in his life and he’s a fairly religious man. Job recently was diagnosed with prostate cancer and had to undergo prostate surgery. The surgery was scheduled and completed with what the doctors called, “record speed” and with no major complications! Excellent! So I decided it would be a great thing to go visit my friend to see how he was feeling, how he was recovering, and offer some support. This was an important step for me, not only to be there for my friend, but because this was the first time I had stepped back into a hospital, and/or rehab facility since my father’s passing.

For the most part, I handled it well manuevering through the corridors of the hospital. And as I wandered the hallways, I smiled at the people I passed and I spoke politely with the people at the circulation desk to find the proper room number and progressed towards the elevator. In the elevator, I continued my polite conversations with various people, learned of baby births and knee surgeries and the like, but eventually they departed and I was left staring at the opening of Job’s room. I crossed the threshold and arrived at my destination bed  # 2 (by the window)  and found Job.  Job was sitting upright in his hospital bed staring off into space, while the TV seemed to endlessly prattle to no one. Looking up, Job seemed very surprised and happy to see me, which was wonderful feeling and I’m glad I was a pleasant surprise. We talked for awhile about the news, our jobs, his family, his procedure, basically everything you could think of and I was emotionally very fit.  There were moments that would invoke memories of my father’s treatment and these would send me into small moments of silence, but they were quickly shaken off by a question or a thought. 

However, there was one thing that everytime I looked upon, made me think of my dad’s treatment and of all the hospitals and rehab facilities. The more I looked up it, the more I hated it… the damn styrofoam cup.  It was the same size, had the same appearance, the same lids and of course the same straws.  It even matched right down to the fact that the date was written on the side.  Yes, I know what a silly thing to focus on, but how strange is it that the Styrofoam cups in all of these hospitals and rehab facilities should be the exact same. Not even a ripple different, or a different color, or different width. They were exactly the same. You would think of all things that would set you off it might be the hospital room, the beds, the beeps, the gowns anything, but for me it’s the Styrofoam cup.  It was unnerving and sent me through a collage of images. I held all the emotions in check, finished my visit and left. The car and the drive home were a little bit tougher, because that’s where I got to let loose a little, it also didn’t help that the song What Sarah Said was playing… if you haven’t listened to it, go listen to that one.

For now, I think I’m going to start a boycott of styrofoam cups.

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2 Responses to “HATRED…”

  1. Leigh Says:

    Red drink, blue drink, styrofoam cup… Thanks so much for getting THAT stuck in my head. 🙂 So many more reasons to hate those damn styrofoam cups.

  2. Kat Says:

    It is normally those little things that will set off memories and the strongest of emotions. The big things we expect (beeps, gowns, etc). For me it was one day finding a tissue in the pocket of one of my grandfathers old jackets – he’d ALWAYS have one in his hand. I handled the clothes and house fine, but finding that little tissue brought out my own personal Niagara. You have to allow yourself those moments. Now, instead of tears, the thought of scrunched up tissues makes me smile – thinking of all the wonderful memories we had. 🙂


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