For a successful guy, Modric needed to sweat the small stuff a little better. He had planned on getting his shots before he went on a business trip to the Orient but he was pouring himself a voddie high above the Pacific when he remembered the missed appointments. A week after his return, Modric was moaning and groaning in a hospital bed. His golf buddy who also was a doctor gave him a proper dressing-down. "What the hell's the matter with you? Next time, we'll be spreading your liver on crackers. Smarten up."
Another junket to the Far East loomed. Modric checked a list of clinics and settled on one in Dearborn. Even though it was only early May, the air conditioning was ferocious. The nurse on duty was a squat dark woman with a flinty air. Modric handed her his sheet. "Ok, get in here and we do it." As the nurse built her arsenal from various cupboards and drawers, Modric noticed a young boy seated in a corner, fidgeting with a plastic bat.
The nurse finished her preparations. She walked over to a door and said something to the boy in quicksilver gibberish. The boy reluctantly walked over and the nurse closed the door behind him. "We are ready." Modric faced the examining table and loosened his trousers. As the nurse swabbed his haunch with alcohol, a tremendous pounding began on the door. "Babysitter no come today. Sorry. He go crazy when he no see me."
The nurse proceeded with her game of darts while her kid enjoyed batting practice.
"You got that right."
24 January 2015