You know that cockiness which comes from knowing you’re right? I got a bad case of it the other night after Tracey’s operation.
Riding the lift down with my brother and Tracey’s entire family, I glanced at the buttons.
“You’ve pressed G,” I said. I reached over and pushed 1. “You don’t have to go out that way, there’s a walkway across from the first floor.”
“We’re going to the ground floor,” Tracey’s Mum said. “That’s how we came in.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to go out that way.”
“Well, we’re going to.”
“My way’s quicker.”
“No, it’s not.”
Enter said cockiness.
“I think,” I said, all grin and raised eyebrows and chin down and hands spread in a smart ass fashion. And oh, that tone. “I think I’d know. I have been here for two weeks, you know.”
“I don’t care,” said my MIL, digging her heels in. “I’m getting out on the ground floor.”
“Have it your way,” I said as the doors opened and, except her and her lapdog husband, everyone got out with me. “But it’s a race now. We’ll be waiting with the engines running.”
And while we didn’t exactly run we certainly didn’t stop to admire the hospital model or displays of scary medical implements from the last century as we giggled our way past.
“This time of night the automatic doors are locked,” I told everyone. It was about 4am. “It’ll take them five minutes to work out they have to press a button to get out.”
When we reached the doors to the walkway they were indeed locked in much the same fashion. I reached over a pressed the button and they swung open.
“We’ve got this in the bag.”
Scooting around the curve in the walkway we arrived at the doors to the car park. They looked a bit different, but I didn’t give that much thought as I leaned in to open them.
They didn’t give.
I rattled them.
They didn’t give.
I turned around and everyone in Tracey’s immediate family, less her parents, were staring at me expectantly.
“I think we have a problem,” I said. “But we’re younger and faster. I reckon if we hurry back and go down to the ground floor we can take them.”
As one we power walked along the walkway back towards the automatic doors.
I rattled them.
They also didn’t give.
You know that moment when you realize the only justification for your cockiness was the inclusion of the word cock? And just in case I’d missed it Life gave the moment a backing track – the laughter and finger pointing from my other prisoners.
Moments later Tracey’s parents worked out where the after-hours button was to open the big glass doors on the ground floor and came wandering across to the car park where, above them, the rest of their family was waving madly to get their attention from where they were all trapped on the walkway.
“Hi guys,” I called down in a much more humble manner than the last time we spoke. “Any chance you might come back up and let us in!?”
PLEASE NOTE: The reference to a lapdog husband was for comical purposes only. He used to box. I don’t want to get any further into his bad books.
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Thank you again to everyone involved in keeping our Tracey alive and in with a chance. If you would like to do something wonderful please consider donating to one of the heroes of this ordeal – Care Flight which got Tracey where she needed to be quickly and safely. I gave them $100 as a thank you. This is a service we need to ensure continues because it saves live, keeping mummies around for their kids and hapless husbands.