Today, when I got to work, I noticed that the thing I tripped over 2 weeks ago is now festively adorned with yellow CAUTION tape.
Seriously.
Turns out that the post itself has deteriorated enough to be wobbly, and the CAUTION tape is to help keep it upright.
That's right: the CAUTION warning is to keep a tripping post upright, not the dip who trips on it upright.
I giggled all dayumed day, though.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Owie!
one foot
two foot
caught foot
fall
That said, let me tell you about something I'm hoping you won't see on Fail Blog:
Yesterday, at work, I fell. My left foot caught on the protective post by the alarm system, and my right foot decided that my left foot should not be having all the fun...and I landed on my knees.
That's right: full on both my knees. It hurt so bad, I did ask that someone shoot me to put me out of my misery.
I've never known any of those people to move that fast in all my days there. And I now appreciate my knees and the work they do. Did you know that your knees work hard to keep you upright, and also in almost every movement you make? Well, nearly cracking a few of my own kneecaps has shown me the truth!
It's utterly amazing that I didn't also land on something hard enough to crack my skull open. The counter by the register, the wooden frame of the hut...I fell directly in the space that is, quite literally, just big enough for a person. I also somehow, brought my arms up to cushion my head, so I wasn't literally eating concrete.
I had to have help to get up, and to walk at first, but I came up laughing--a little public humiliation is healthy. Especially fun was being quizzed on what day it was...which I managed to answer correctly. And when asked if I knew where I was, I correctly responded with, "I'm in Hell." bwhahahahahahahaha
After 30 minutes and an ice pack, the pain wasn't getting better, so I did need to fill out the forms and take the drug test. Told 'em I wouldn't pass it, as I hadn't studied.
Nub, all full of sympathy and compassion for my pain (jokes on you--he was laughing harder than I was) took pictures of me with his cellphone during the drug test. They do the testing in-house and it's basically sucking on a disgusting tasting Q-tip. And keeping your mouth shut. Hence, pictures: proof that I could keep my mouth shut for a full 3 minutes all in a row. Nub then offered to call an ambulance, and to document with more pics. Uh, No.
Anyway, 3 hours at the ER to tell me that I hadn't cracked anything important. But it hurts like hell. The ER nurse informed me that, while taking the pain meds they were prescribing, I shouldn't do anything dangerous--so I said, "Like walking?"
Oh, and for what it's worth, I didn't swear until Nub actually showed up. I didn't swear while lying there in excruciating pain; I didn't swear when getting up; I didn't swear while trying to walk; I didn't swear at the ER when the doc touched my knees. I did't swear when getting the Xrays either. All that not swearing took quite an effort.
No wonder I'm very tired today.
two foot
caught foot
fall
That said, let me tell you about something I'm hoping you won't see on Fail Blog:
Yesterday, at work, I fell. My left foot caught on the protective post by the alarm system, and my right foot decided that my left foot should not be having all the fun...and I landed on my knees.
That's right: full on both my knees. It hurt so bad, I did ask that someone shoot me to put me out of my misery.
I've never known any of those people to move that fast in all my days there. And I now appreciate my knees and the work they do. Did you know that your knees work hard to keep you upright, and also in almost every movement you make? Well, nearly cracking a few of my own kneecaps has shown me the truth!
It's utterly amazing that I didn't also land on something hard enough to crack my skull open. The counter by the register, the wooden frame of the hut...I fell directly in the space that is, quite literally, just big enough for a person. I also somehow, brought my arms up to cushion my head, so I wasn't literally eating concrete.
I had to have help to get up, and to walk at first, but I came up laughing--a little public humiliation is healthy. Especially fun was being quizzed on what day it was...which I managed to answer correctly. And when asked if I knew where I was, I correctly responded with, "I'm in Hell." bwhahahahahahahaha
After 30 minutes and an ice pack, the pain wasn't getting better, so I did need to fill out the forms and take the drug test. Told 'em I wouldn't pass it, as I hadn't studied.
Nub, all full of sympathy and compassion for my pain (jokes on you--he was laughing harder than I was) took pictures of me with his cellphone during the drug test. They do the testing in-house and it's basically sucking on a disgusting tasting Q-tip. And keeping your mouth shut. Hence, pictures: proof that I could keep my mouth shut for a full 3 minutes all in a row. Nub then offered to call an ambulance, and to document with more pics. Uh, No.
Anyway, 3 hours at the ER to tell me that I hadn't cracked anything important. But it hurts like hell. The ER nurse informed me that, while taking the pain meds they were prescribing, I shouldn't do anything dangerous--so I said, "Like walking?"
Oh, and for what it's worth, I didn't swear until Nub actually showed up. I didn't swear while lying there in excruciating pain; I didn't swear when getting up; I didn't swear while trying to walk; I didn't swear at the ER when the doc touched my knees. I did't swear when getting the Xrays either. All that not swearing took quite an effort.
No wonder I'm very tired today.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Anniversary
Tomorrow would have been my dad's 76th birthday. Saturday is the 22nd anniversary of his death.
I was told once, "You never entirely get over it. You still miss that person, no matter how long they've been gone."
I've learned that this is true. I was 21 when he died. The Toad was exactly 3 months old. We'd spent those last months, as a family, dealing with Dad's mortality--he was terminal with lung cancer, and there was no doubt that what time we had was exactly all the time we'd have.
Some years, I just feel blue and out-of-sorts. Other years, it hits like a ton of bricks. I used to think it was the milestone years that it would hurt more, but it's not. This year, it's already knocking me flat. I suppose I could justify it by saying that the last 18 months or so have been emotionally difficult, but I don't know that's the answer.
Rather than depress everyone around me, I'm trying to concentrate on the things that make me feel better when I remember him. He loved practical jokes. The good kind--the kind that follow the rules of 1) no personal damage to body or property; 2) no public humiliation or lies; 3) it'd be funny if someone did it to you.
So, in that spirit, I give you one of the funniest things he ever pulled--something that still makes us crack up laughing when we talk about it. My sister, at some point during later-childhood/not-quite-teendom, acquired a rubber bat. She was forever putting it in my dresser drawers, coat pockets, etc., mostly because I hated it. I hated the surprise of "what is this" and I hated the feel of the thing. It was squooshy in a way that just didn't feel right. I would also scream like a little girl (I'm told it was a heart-stopping, high-pitched, blood-curdling scream.)
My brother would get in on the fun by taking it and shoving it in my face at various moments--which lead to the aforementioned screaming, and cause my sister to yell and try to beat the tar out of him. Which also meant that all three of us would get hell from my mother.
My father decided one day to get my brother to stop his insanity (he was also, at this point, on a jag where everything that could be turned into an annoying physical gag was going to be.) My brother also had gotten into the bad habit of swinging his coat over his head as he stuffed his arms into it, knocking things and people out of the way.
So, my dad took two or three feet of fishing line, and tied the rubber bat to my brother's coat. He then made some excuse to get my brother to put on the coat. Dad made it sound very urgent that my brother hurry to get that coat on... My brother grabbed the coat. He swung the coat. A bat swooped at him. He swung the coat at the bat. The bat swooped again. My brother, by this time, is yelling and screaming. My dad is laughing so hard he can't breathe. My brother is still swinging the coat and the bat is still swooping at him, with an audience. Finally he subdued the bat by throwing the coat on the floor and stomping on it.
He is not amused, although everyone else in the family is.
Is it any wonder I'm as goofy as I am?
I was told once, "You never entirely get over it. You still miss that person, no matter how long they've been gone."
I've learned that this is true. I was 21 when he died. The Toad was exactly 3 months old. We'd spent those last months, as a family, dealing with Dad's mortality--he was terminal with lung cancer, and there was no doubt that what time we had was exactly all the time we'd have.
Some years, I just feel blue and out-of-sorts. Other years, it hits like a ton of bricks. I used to think it was the milestone years that it would hurt more, but it's not. This year, it's already knocking me flat. I suppose I could justify it by saying that the last 18 months or so have been emotionally difficult, but I don't know that's the answer.
Rather than depress everyone around me, I'm trying to concentrate on the things that make me feel better when I remember him. He loved practical jokes. The good kind--the kind that follow the rules of 1) no personal damage to body or property; 2) no public humiliation or lies; 3) it'd be funny if someone did it to you.
So, in that spirit, I give you one of the funniest things he ever pulled--something that still makes us crack up laughing when we talk about it. My sister, at some point during later-childhood/not-quite-teendom, acquired a rubber bat. She was forever putting it in my dresser drawers, coat pockets, etc., mostly because I hated it. I hated the surprise of "what is this" and I hated the feel of the thing. It was squooshy in a way that just didn't feel right. I would also scream like a little girl (I'm told it was a heart-stopping, high-pitched, blood-curdling scream.)
My brother would get in on the fun by taking it and shoving it in my face at various moments--which lead to the aforementioned screaming, and cause my sister to yell and try to beat the tar out of him. Which also meant that all three of us would get hell from my mother.
My father decided one day to get my brother to stop his insanity (he was also, at this point, on a jag where everything that could be turned into an annoying physical gag was going to be.) My brother also had gotten into the bad habit of swinging his coat over his head as he stuffed his arms into it, knocking things and people out of the way.
So, my dad took two or three feet of fishing line, and tied the rubber bat to my brother's coat. He then made some excuse to get my brother to put on the coat. Dad made it sound very urgent that my brother hurry to get that coat on... My brother grabbed the coat. He swung the coat. A bat swooped at him. He swung the coat at the bat. The bat swooped again. My brother, by this time, is yelling and screaming. My dad is laughing so hard he can't breathe. My brother is still swinging the coat and the bat is still swooping at him, with an audience. Finally he subdued the bat by throwing the coat on the floor and stomping on it.
He is not amused, although everyone else in the family is.
Is it any wonder I'm as goofy as I am?
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Why Bother?
What is it with people who think that because we work retail, it's probably not really work? Take, for example, the skeletal woman who came in the doors, looked at me, and asked, "Where are the blocks that click together for floors?" While I was beginning to answer, her husband came in, and she said, "We need to go to flooring, it's this way." and they walked away.
Then, there's the guy that comes in and asks me where the pvc pipe is. While I try to tell him which aisle I think it's in (face it, people, pvc pipe is not something I'm going to go look at, if I can help it) he corrects my "aisle 13" and then heads to where he said it was.
Finally, we have the jackass that comes in nearly every day, and ALWAYS asks if we have something....like drywall screws. His jackass trick is to stand in front of the drywall screws, looking at them, and asking if we have them. I got to be the lucky girl on Saturday, and it went like this:
Jackass: Don't you have any spring flowers this year?
Me: Yes. That's what all this is. *moves arms to indicate the entire garden center*
Jack: So you think you'll be getting them in soon?
Me: That's what all this is out here. *more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: No, I mean spring flowers. That bloom now.
Me: THAT is what ALL this IS. *again with the non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Would they be inside then?
Me: No. THAT is WHAT ALL this IS out HERE. *even more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Oh.
Then, there's the guy that comes in and asks me where the pvc pipe is. While I try to tell him which aisle I think it's in (face it, people, pvc pipe is not something I'm going to go look at, if I can help it) he corrects my "aisle 13" and then heads to where he said it was.
Finally, we have the jackass that comes in nearly every day, and ALWAYS asks if we have something....like drywall screws. His jackass trick is to stand in front of the drywall screws, looking at them, and asking if we have them. I got to be the lucky girl on Saturday, and it went like this:
Jackass: Don't you have any spring flowers this year?
Me: Yes. That's what all this is. *moves arms to indicate the entire garden center*
Jack: So you think you'll be getting them in soon?
Me: That's what all this is out here. *more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: No, I mean spring flowers. That bloom now.
Me: THAT is what ALL this IS. *again with the non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Would they be inside then?
Me: No. THAT is WHAT ALL this IS out HERE. *even more non-verbal cluage*
Jack: Oh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)