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I don't even answer. I just keep on walking. I don't even make eye contact.

 

Ya know those people who ask you where you get your hair cut? When I see them down the block, and one of them look like they're about to try to talk to me? I say: don't even think about opening your mouth. It works.

 

I just pretend that I'm talking on my cellphone... using my thumb and pinkie as the "cell."

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Speaking of scams, the guy dressed only in the blanket is back out on Fifth Ave today. He has been working this since before I lived in New York, i.e. ten years or more. Warm weather only, of course. It is the most pitiful spectacle you've ever seen - the first dozen or so times, anyway.

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Yesterday, I walked around the back of a pick up truck parked outside my local hardware store. I neglected to notice the two by four's that were sticking out of the back of the pickup's hold. Smackedd right into it, got a nice sized egg on my head, along with some serious lookings scrapes and bruises on my cheek/chin. That was more painfful than annoying..but what was annoying was that today it was very apparent that at least a few people I interacted with did not believe me when I told them how it happened. :lol:

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Yesterday, I walked around the back of a pick up truck parked outside my local hardware store. I neglected to notice the two by four's that were sticking out of the back of the pickup's hold. Smackedd right into it, got a nice sized egg on my head, along with some serious lookings scrapes and bruises on my cheek/chin. That was more painfful than annoying..but what was annoying was that today it was very apparent that at least a few people I interacted with did not believe me when I told them how it happened. :lol:

 

I am totally sympathetic to that feeling of powerlessness and rage when other people arbitrarily decide they know the "real" story in a given situation and give you the look. I once had a big black and blue mark on the back of my calf (I don't remember how it got there but I am prone to B&B marks) but a friend I had at the time asked me if someone had kicked me. Imagine that! I just wanted to kick him, and not in the back of his calf either.

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I had a dramatic black eye once, and recall someone saying to me "I bet you were asking for that."

 

He was right, of course... :lol:

 

Okay bub. This belongs in the When Compalining is Really Bragging thread.

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Also: family practitioner = GP, but GP isn't a term that's used anymore. It's generally PCP (primary care physician). Also internist.

I may be off base here, but it was my understanding that a Family Practioner was a doctor who specialized in general (adult) care, pediatrics -and- basic Ob/Gyn.

 

This part I'm more sure of: Internists specialize only in adult care, and board-certified internal medicine docs have background in a variety of specialties. Wikipedia:

Although internists may act as primary care physicians, they are not "family physicians," "family practitioners," or "general practitioners," whose training is not solely concentrated on adults and may include surgery, obstetrics and pediatrics.

 

 

Edited to add: I like the calmer, child-free atmosphere of internist's offices. :lol:

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It depends on the "family practitioner." Some treat the whole family, some do not. It's a broad term. Same with general practitioner. Physicians who get licensed, but do not get board certified, can call themselves FPs or GPs - but you don't really know what their training is.

 

There are many "internists" who are not board certified. Actually plenty of physicians in general who are not board certified.

 

Something else to look out for, now that you mention it.

 

 

Some internists treat some children and teenagers, if the problem happens to be something that internist is trained in, which doesn't require specific pediatic focus.

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Last night, I went to Ametller, the new Basque/Andorran place on Christopher Street. The tables are this huge metal, embossed ceiling tiles, which are bad enough because plates and glasses don't sit right but they also have sharp edges. As I was sitting down, my shirt got snagged on an edge and a gash was torn right in the front. It's completely unrepairable. At least the owner was apologetic and offered to pay for the shirt (which I took him up on--it was one of my favorites), but gee, could it maybe have occurred to him when he was designing the place that these @#$#@ tiles make really lousy tables?

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