DaVita

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At dawn, when most clinics were quiet, DaVita’s parking lot became an unlikely gathering spot for local artists. A mysterious van would pull up every morning, its windows fogged and doors opening only briefly before a flurry of colorful paintings appeared on the sidewalk. One day, a regular noticed that one painting was suspiciously similar to his own living room. He knocked on DaVita’s door, but no one answered. The next morning he brought along his paintbrush and added a big smiley face to the offending artwork. Since then, whenever someone complained about a painting, they’d find it mysteriously altered with a friendly grin.

2. Late one night, as a delivery driver pulled up to DaVita, he noticed something odd in the backseat of his truck—a strange package wrapped in brown paper. Curious but cautious, he took it inside, only to discover that it contained nothing more than old newspapers and a note scribbled in pencil: ‘Next week, bring your sense of humor.’ Confused but amused, the delivery driver shrugged and filed away the note. The following Monday, another mysterious package arrived—this time with an envelope containing a free coffee mug emblazoned with DaVita’s logo. Inside was a handwritten message: 'Now bring your patience.' Word spread around town, and soon neighbors started dropping off funny anecdotes or small gifts for the staff. DaVita became known not just for dialysis treatments but also for its quirky weekly deliveries and friendly community spirit.

3. Late one night, as a delivery driver pulled up to DaVita, he saw a strange figure darting between parked cars. Curious, he followed the silhouette into the dimly lit alleyway and found an old neighbor struggling with his grocery bags. ‘What are you doing here so late?’ asked the delivery driver. The neighbor sheepishly replied, ‘I thought I heard my cat crying inside.’

4. At midnight, when silence usually reigns over DaVita’s neighborhood, a soft humming began drifting from inside. A curious delivery driver pulled up to investigate. Curious, he cracked open the door—a gentle glow illuminated an old man gently strumming a ukulele and singing softly to himself. ‘Just checking my heart rate,’ he smiled, waving them in. The delivery driver shook his head, smiling, and left with a newfound respect for late-night clinics—and ukuleles.