osso in beverly hills, potential original writing if grip gotten

Go. I'll read along.

Eb, what do you think - right away - when you hear the words Beverly Hills?

Eddy Murphy. Beverly Hills Cop.

Then I think about opulent lifestyles and movie stars.

Me too, in a way. Listening..

Adding in a kind of weirdness, my lab manager at that place at the time one day said to me, after I tried to crawl out of getting a patient's stick, Jo, that's not lab. I just froze and said no, no way. He was the one person I refused to go and take the blood of... and I could rattle off stars, whatever, from my past lab work or xray work, as in no big deal.

I had a past history of cool, but not that day.

Ah. But not even now clearly ethical to tell.

So. Moving along, I was a lab tech in Beverly Hills..

Come and listen to a story about a woman named Osso
A poor mountaineer, barely kept her dogs fed,
Then one day she was shootin the bull,
And up through the ground came a bubblin crude.

Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea, all the way from the Gulf.

Well the first thing you know ol Osso's a millionaire,
Kinfolk said "Osso move away from there"
Said "Californy is the place you ought to be"
So she loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly.

Hills, that is. Swimmin pools, movie stars.

So not.

Next?

I'm mixed on all this. We lived in a middle class neighborhood tending to upper while my father was mostly unemployed forever, my mother worked as an assistant at the university while she was going into alzheimers, and I worked 30-40 hours a week while going to school and not approved for outside employment.
If I had a quarter in my pocket it was a good day.

However, just like we lived there, then, for a time, I don't just judge everyone in a certain zone as all wonderfully well off.

Living, breathing Barbie Dolls. Legions of them.

Picturing this..


the real thing is almost weirder, but I was, as noted, only there about ten months.

Makes me wish I took photos, Roger.


as it was, we all near fixated on a good drugstore and its luncheon counter, so called, for takeaway. Also some cafe at the basement of one of the big Wilshire Blvd buildings, good food fast (corporate types, y'know). but we could split one dish.
Nat, our driver, re specimens, picked stuff up. Nat was a master of MoTown, as was Sharon, super lab tech. I've talked about her elsewhere on a2k. Nat, a black dude, Sharon, jewish from Buffalo. They were singing partners. Damn, that I had no sense of recording stuff.

I just remembered Nat's last name. I also remember a very fancy card from him to me, that I kept for quite a while, like years. Lab techs and associates are almost by nature itinerant, and I was the first one to leave. I'll look Nat up on the internet, but not chase him.

Sharon, I recruited for our lab later, we remained good friends, we both left that lab, and she died about a decade ago now. Would that we had talked as that got close.

As long as I'm talking about that place in BH, what about Siri (sp?) She was from Camaroon (sp). Graceful and smart woman, I'll make a stab that her name was/is Siri nomo Ongolu. May she be well. She tolerated me trying out her language.

It's late, back tomorrow with excruciatingly boring tales..