Wax

This afternoon I worked in an Otology clinic, aka an afternoon of cleaning out wax from the ears of the geriatric population. To some this would seem like a nightmare. Old people smell funky and they are constantly wearing garments that double as table cloths. They tell these unnecessarily long stories about animals that they supposedly own, although they can't accurately recall the last time they saw the pet. The hairs they grow from their ear canals are an appropriate length for wig donation. But even through the thick stench of mothballs (what are those made of anyway?) I can't get enough of old people earwax. I removed thick orange cerumen from the floppy ears of Herbert and Helen Sunshine. Both over 85 and both with big ears and in grave need of hearing aids. We spent 30 minutes together in which I learned all about their cats Mario and Luigi and how Helen makes Herbert sleep with Luigi on the couch because of his bad snoring habit. I was so happy listening to them loudly argue in that "i love you so much i hate you" kinda way. I really was happy there. And I began to understand the importance of owning up to your biggest passions and being honest with yourself and others about the things you enjoy and desire. So hear I go. I love old people. And I love ear wax.