At this point I will describe myself a bit, not enough to dox, but enough to set a scene. Since losing all the weight I've gained some height; the doc has me a 181cm tall. This is about an inch and a half taller than the last time I had my height recorded. I'm wearing steel toed work boots that add about an inch and a half to my height, the old thicker Levis work pants, and a well worn Cardhart jacket that was loose on me when I was fat and now looks slightly comical. (And functional as all hell, this jacket is awesome and they don't make them any more. Work in one of these in -20°C with a 20kt wind and you will never wear anything else in winter ever again.) All the work I've been doing on the property has rebuilt my ams, back and chest so I have muscle again. Fold a normal piece of paper in half, then in half again. My palm covers that square; the length of my middle finger from first knuckle to tip is just under 20cm. With my arms outstretched palm up and horizontal, placing a yard stick on my shoulder joint, I can just barely curl my fingers around the end of the measuring device. I am now underweight for my body build; I've not been this thin as an adult ever, and with the muscle, I do look thin and gaunt but also wiry, not frail and sickly. Picture an older guy with giant gorilla hands, Orangutan arms, shoulders too far apart, and facing a kid that looks like he has never been in a fist fight. And I've joked here before on the other account that I have a resting "murderer" face.
He immediately noticed my sidearm. Back in the day when i lived in "the big city" my every day carry was a well made and well used .380. I love that pistol. The problem is that in my hands it looks like a pop-gun and the deterrence factor is replaced by a "tiny toy gun" visual. With that same .380, however, I could put three rounds inside a 2" circle at 30 meters. My big meat paws absorbed the recoil and kept the pistol pointed at the target. Bears, however, do not respect the report of the .380, so I swapped it out for a .45, hoping that with all the police and military use the ammo would be available and inexpensive. (Narrator voice: LOL nope) I have a CCW, but Idaho is run by nutjob protestant traitors worshiping at an altar made of firearms, so concealed carry and open carry are legal here.
I stand up, my jacket stays in the seat, and the guy at the counter is looking at me with a serious OH SHIT face. I look at the kid, he's taken a step back. I look him in the eye, sigh and say loud enough for the guy at the counter to hear "Kid, I don't want to do paperwork today, go sit down and be quiet, please." The counter guy's face tried to laugh, but to his credit kept it under control. The kid sat down and steamed for a bit. Can't say for sure but I think the counter guy called to accelerate whatever was being done to his car because he was gone in about 15 minutes. Once the kid was gone, I walked over to the counter to apologize, and had a nice converstion with the counter guy and his coworker. They gave me an address of a gun store to go get ammunition and some supplies; they told me to name drop them as one of the guy's dad owned a firing range and was a buddy of the gun store owner. I went to use the restroom and looked in the mirror; holy shit I looked homeless! No wonder the kid tried to start shit with me! I keep myself clean and wash daily, I brush my teeth daily so I'm not dirty, but the image looking back at me from the mirror gave me a pause. My hair and beard were longer than I thought they were as I really don't shave at the house since I don't have running water. There is no way I can go to a medical specialist looking like this. The truck is done, and I ask about a barber shop that can get me cleaned up, they give me an address.
The barber was fantastic. Lads, if you ever want to feel amazing, find an old school barber shop that does a full face hot shave. Hot towel, straigh razor, everything. If you see beauty products, walk out. If you see a shelf or two full of supermarket disposable razors, shave cream and the like, walk out. IF you don't see old paintings, war memorabilia or other indications of "old people work here" go find a place that meets those requirements. The barber happened to be Irish with an accent so we talked a bit about family history and it turns out our families had a similar trajectory. Run from the Brits, chased off the East Coast, relatives fought for Irish Independence. He mentioned all the Californians moving in, I asked questions about what happened here. I commented that it is not the liberals in California and Oregon moving to Boise; its the shitbags, borderline evil tech people that got lucky and wealthy so now they are better than us normal people. Trust fund kids trying to be a big fish in a small pond. "Not best people" moving in. I mentioned all the Teslas and BMW's I see, and it looks like the Trust fund idiots took over. I mentioned the fancy clothing shops that felt out of place. I mentioned that the last time I was here, I don't remember seeing any newer cars, it was mostly 4x4's trucks and construction vans. He told some stories. Turns out his family has been in Idaho since before it was a state, a great-grandfather owned a ton of land and cashed out only for his parents to squander the inheritance. Then he had a front row seat to the massive changes to the state in the last 25 years. All in all it was a great experience, and I came out looking human again. Best $125 I've spent in months.
The doctor was good, and over two days poked, prodded, took samples, asked a ton of annoying questions, gave a full physical, wrote a ton of notes, usual doctor stuff. They are seeing "immunocompromised" individuals in a part of the hospital that is accessed from a single entrance; covid patients enter the other side of the building. I was advised to minimize contact with people and not go into stores and restaurants due to Idaho keeping true to form and being full of morons. (Did I mention the mobile refrigerated trucks they use as morgues due all the shit bags dying of Covid? Yeap, they are real and I walked by them for a few days.)
Day two they hook me up the IV, escort me to my trailer on the roof of the parking garage, and I begin the monthly two day ritual of suck. With the shit they pump into me, I can't sleep, and I am not supposed to eat for the 24 hours they have me medicated. I installed a hook for the IV bags in the trailer, this was mentioned by both the doctor and the nurses that checked on me as I have done five of these now. I sat down to write this post, switching between writing and browsing the internet on the hospital wifi. I'm still a bit grumpy from the idiot at the dealership, and sit down to process what the doctor is telling me.