For reasons known only to a faceless , ~ but I'm guessing, post-ironic~, bureaucrat, we share a parking lot with the Substance Abuse Outreach Team.
Generally this is not much of a problem as most of their clients people do not currently own either a vehicle or a license to drive a vehicle...or indeed , have any memory of how to drive a vehicle.They prefer to spend their (largely ill gotten ) gains on cheap drugs and even cheaper alcohol.
Occasionally they stumble into my Unit needing their heads sewn up or a referral to the ever-patient surgeons to treat their intravenous-drug-used-abscess-ravaged blood vessels but after a little altercation seven years ago when I hit one of their clients who was threatening an old lady and her Alzheimer-raddled husband, they tend to stay well away.
I was walking to my car when I overheard this one-sided conservation between one of their 'clients' and their intercom.
She was a young , malnourished woman trying to juggle a small white dog under one arm, with a can of XXXX cider in one hand and trying to light a hand rolled cigarette whilst holding a call phone and pressing the intercom.
She had clearly partaken of several cans of cider and some pharmaceuticals of dubious quality and legality.
'What do you mean...I can't bring my dog inside?' she shouted at the intercom.
'No...its not a guide dog!!!'
'I don't care about your stupid rules...he's my dog and I want to bring him inside!!!'
'Well...he's gay, ain't he???'
"Well I can't leave my poor little gay dog outside...what if some other dog comes over and tries to give him one...???"
'Well its not his fault he's a gay doggy...'
I probably should have walked over and told her that it was Sunday afternoon...
...and that the clinic was closed ...
...and that she was having a conversation with...well....herself.
But this blog doesn't write itself...