Highlands County’s dental health care service gave me an appointment to have my denture refitted last Friday, December 14, 1 PM. This is years after my regular dentist betrayed me for what I was determined would be the last time. I got myself ready, many details to check, explanation follows, and drove the dozen or so miles the poor have to travel to get public care: $35 for me, instead of hundreds. I’m five minutes early, the parking lot is oddly sparse. The public entrance is locked! There’s a sign: closed Friday, December 14 for a meeting, reopen on Monday.
I waked around the building, rattled every door. Nothing, no one, not a trace. Now the parking lots seemed overcrowded: beyond my own vehicle why were there any cars there? Why give me an appointment for a day they’re closed? Why not notify patients that all appointments that day cannot be kept? Why not suggest that I reschedule before I drove all the way up there when I can’t afford to drive one mile, let alone a dozen?
Imagine how much medicare could save if the hospitals were locked up, all entrances closed, when ambulances arrived! ER costs would plummet to zero. It would save the earth from new pollution over night! Five billion new corpses would take a step toward re-fertilizing the exhausted soil.
Perspectives, history, details to follow.
Related Post scribble
I started driving around Florida on a regular basis in 1982, spent at least a couple of months here each winter, prowling art galleries to sell the art I needed to subsidize my writing my novels. A temporary dodge became permanent for that decade, till I landed in Sebring and could no longer move. For the early- and mid-1980s I drove up and down the coasts, soliciting Miami, Palm Beach, Naples, Sarasota … Orlando, Jacksonville … I wrote while camped in this or that state park, loving many of them. I noticed: on the New York Thruway a sign saying Kingston meant that the Kingston exit would arrive in a mile or two, bear right. People can get lost no matter the directions, but the system was simple enough, I can’t imagine a better. But in Florida the signs would say “Next Right.” What does that mean? bear right at the second exit? the one after this one coming next?
How many people who want to go to Hobbe Sound got to Palm Beach instead? driving right past the Hobbe Sound exit, waiting for the next exist?
Friday I drive up to Avon Park. The dental clinic is on Stryker Road, also known as County Road 17. From Hwy 27 going north a big sign says “Stryker Road / Next Right.” Under that an arrow points Left!
As the Stryker Road light arrives, there is no left: except into a parking lot. There is a right: it’s called Stryker Road in speech, though the sign posted says “CR 17.” No where is there an explanation that they’re synonyms.
Locals probably don’t get lost too much, they know it’s Stryker Road, it doesn’t matter what the sign says. But no where is there a sign explaining that they mean “this” right when they say “next” right.
I’ve discussed the concept of significant number here, having done so at K., having gotten all that censored, now trying recreated my (and God’s and Jesus’ and Illich’s) teaching. If someone asks how old is the earth, and someone answers “four and a half billions years,” saying “four and a half billions years two hours and fourteen seconds” two hours and fourteen seconds later is not more accurate, it is less accurate. The seeming addition in accuracy is misleading, the specificity is inappropriate.
In school the teachers who taught me reading could read better than I only for a short time. In college any of the instructors could read better than I for freshman and sophmore years, and maybe part of junior year. But by graduation time I don’t think there were many who could read as well, let along better. In grad school I don’t believe there were any!
Where any records kept of these truths? (or falsehoods?) Maybe by God. Not by the school. But in Florida some illiterate clown worms his way into the bureaucracy. Now he’s there forever, it doesn’t matter who the Supreme Court appoints as winner of the inept election. Does the bureaucrat consult any of the best readers or writers on how to make a sign communicate efficiently? Is Samuel Beckett on call for Tallahassee? Tolstoy? Proust? No. The bureaucrat doesn’t hire Beckett, he hires Miss Tilly to teach reading: and the illiterate bureaucrat manages the authority of the illiterate teacher!