“Huh. C - A - P - O... uh, can I just write 'dancing'?”
“Sure, if you like.”
And then the doctor walked into the room and asked if I'd been dancing on tables or wearing stiletto heels or something. It took all my meager willpower not to yell “NO, I AM A COMBAT BALLERINA.”* Turns out fractures to the fifth metatarsal are extremely common among the combat ballerina population.
Mara got all excited about taking me to the doctor because she works as a technical writer for a medical software company and she got the opportunity to assure herself that other medicine-people who write things down are idiots.
I have never heard a more perfect mixture of glee and disgust than the one that infused Mara's voice when she looked at the sharps container.
MARA: Lift to assure disposal? Lift to assure disposal? Oh my god.
MARA: It should say something like “lift to dispose of sharp”. The word “assure” just implies a whole host of things that are SO INAPPROPRIATE in this context.
LEX: Huh. Okay.
MARA: And look at that sign on the door! “Before you Leave”? That's not just automatic computer formatting – somebody had to go in and capitalize that L on purpose. Whyyyyyy?
I was about to ask Mara if she needed a red pen, but then the doctor got back and dragged me into the other room for an x-ray. After the x-ray, the doctor asked where she could find my friend.
LEX: Oh, I think she's in the waiting room but if you don't see her there she's probably still editing your office.
LEX: Don't worry – she's a professional.
The doctor looked worried anyway. I don't know what's up with that. Maybe I should've assured her that I hadn't given Mara the sharpie.
* I am not actually a combat ballerina.