In the zone

Dr. BJ and I had the privilege of attending a training together – a privilege that was only possible because Dr. BJ sent me a text the morning of the conference, reminding me of the conference, but that’s another story. I’ll have my secretary type it up and post it later, right after she updates my calendars.

I arrived just as the presenter was discussing the screening of alcohol abuse. “We need to get outta here and go find Zone III,” Dr. BJ leaned over and whispered to me. Although I had just arrived, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. “Zone III. Isn’t that harmful?” I asked him. “I drink to a harmful level every night,” he replied. I took a look at the zones and the accompanying math/graphics and realized all of this was way too much calculating for me, especially on an empty stomach.

“Are they providing lunch?” I asked Dr. BJ. “I don’t think so. Like I said earlier, Zone III. Let’s go,” he stated. Just then, the hotel staff rolled in a load of covered hot food plates. “I haven’t had lunch rolled in like that since prison,” I told Dr. BJ. Prison food will not take you to Zone III, but I have a feeling it may be harmful – a lot of starches and carbs.

The lunch turned out to be better than expected, however, Dr. BJ was longing for a dessert. “I want to eat some chocolate and I can’t eat myself,” he stated. “If you could, you’d never leave the chocolate factory,” I replied. “So true. Speaking of chocolate, I like to play this game called ‘Count the Black People,'” he advised me. We played and counted to the same number as the number we now know and love, three; Zone III, that is.