Honesty?

It seems to me that these days, honesty is an attribute that is hard to find. I found proof of this while doing my home renovations.

We visited several building supply stores before settling on the one who gave the best prices and had the most  stock. I approached the owner, who agreed that if I purchased all  my lumber, etc at his store,  he would give me a 15% discount on everything. That was a great deal, but I also asked if he would guarantee the lowest prices,  which he did.

When it came time to make my order, my contractor and I visited the store. We provided a list of items and were given good prices, so we agreed and the items were delivered.

When we took notice, the guys who unloaded our stuff gave us a few extra items. I had two pieces 2x6x12 pressure treated lumber that I didn’t pay for. The total for the two boards was around $30. My contractor was surprised when I said that I was going to return them  and inform  the store owner of the error. “He will never know that you have them” was his reply.

My reply to this was that  I will know. How do I explain the importance of honesty to my son  if I knowingly keep those boards? My contractor was surprised, but said that it proved I had character. Hey, I was raised honest!

We ended up using the spare lumber,  so it was good that they gave them to me. The next time I was in town  I visited the building supply store.  When I went in, the manager  was at the cash, along with a few employees including the guy who unloaded the truck.

“I need these four things, and while you are at it, could you please charge me for two pieces of 12 foot 2×6 pt  lumber?” I asked, “I won’t be taking  them home, you dropped them off to my home by accident.”  I got strange looks  from  everyone. “Excuse me, you want me to charge you for lumber you aren’t taking?” the manager asked. The worker who left them at my home looks at everyone, including the  manager and says “You are Effing Crazy. I would have kept them, who would know?” I reply to him that I would know.

The manager awarded my honesty with a gift certificate for ten percent off certain items in the store, which I refused to take. While I was at it, I had to order eight twelve foot fence  boards for the patio we were  working on. The manager offered free delivery. I accepted his offer.

When I got home, I noticed that the lumber was already delivered. Instead of  the eight pieces  I paid for, there were twelve pieces of lumber piled next to the patio. At first I feared that by alerting the store  manager, the employee who made  both  mistakes and advised that I was insane for returning the boards might lose his job over this,  but I came to the realization that he should have done  a better job  and that giving me more than I paid  for was not doing anybody any good.

Immediately I called the store. I spoke to the manager.  ”You guys are making it hard to be honest!” I said. “Why Ted? Is there something wrong with your order?” he asked.

“You gave me four pieces that I didn’t pay for. I cannot bring them back as they are too long to fit in my truck, but if you want to drop by and pick them up, they will be right here where they were left.  I advised. He was dumbfounded. He said that in his line of work, they just don’t  see honesty like this. My reply was that if everyone was this honest, lumber and building materials would be much less expensive. He agreed. As for his employee, I think he was fired.

What an ordeal! In the end,  we finished the patio and it looks great. My conscience is clean, and I can be proud that I did the right thing.

Inventions and contraptions

While driving on  the highway today I noticed that the car in front of me was towing a trailer. All of a sudden, the trailer (which was used to transport a deep freeze) began bobbing up and down  and all over the place, eventually dumping the deep freeze into the ditch. I pulled over to see if the now puzzled driver was okay.

When I checked his trailer hitch, I was surprised to see that he never had a hitch, but rather, he had attached his trailer to the back of his Honda Civic using a rubber bungee cord. “I can’t figure out why it never worked” he said. 150 lb freezer on a 500lb trailer, attached to the bumper  of his car with a flexible bungee cord? I can’t see why it didn’t work either..NOT!

People seem to come  up with the dumbest contraptions  sometimes. I once seen a guy attempting to plow his snow covered driveway with a homemade snow plow. It was made from plywood, with two pieces of two by four nailed (Yes, Nailed) to his front bumper of a rusted out old Malibu. I had to stop  and watch. He took a big run and WHAM! parts of his plywood contraption, as well as his bumper, went flying everywhere. Talk about your splinters. Some smart, huh?

Talking about plywood, I seen a plywood Oldsmobile once. Apparently the thing had rusted badly, and since the guy was a better carpenter than a body man, he decided to fabricate plywood fenders and doors for his car. Some heavy. He then gave it a custom paint job with a roller on  a sunny day. We newfies are  some smart bye!

 

My dad and the Psychedelic Pickup Truck

Back when I was a kid, my dad decided to buy a truck. He had been doing a bit of work on the house and he found it a pain to try and bring supplies to the house with the old car. Without a whole lot of money to spend, his choices were few, and upon returning home from the city,  he and mom arrived in the driveway with a very beat up old Dodge pickup.

The truck was called a ‘Club Cab’, Dodge’s version of an extended cab pickup. Being a kid, I marveled at the cool back seat that folded out of sight when it wasn’t being used. I looked at the little storage compartments at either end of the cab as an excellent place to store things, such as cap guns and caps.

The truck was a light green color, highlighted by rust. The engine burned a little oil, but dad said that he knew where to get a new motor for a fair price. He ordered the motor from the Sears Catalog. When it arrived, he and my Uncle Albert put it together and into the old truck. My Uncle Albert was a whiz at cars, and although he never had any formal education, he could pick apart any engine and have it running by the end of the day. He was also great at painting cars.

Once they had the engine in the truck, my uncle made several  runs up the old dirt road that ran  through the community. With dust flicking everywhere, my dad grew excited that his truck now had the power to pull itself. The only thing left was that horrible faded pea green paint, but he couldn’t afford a paint  job. No problem, my uncle offered to paint it for him, for a good price. He suggested that since the truck was so big, one  paint color  just wouldn’t do.  He suggested a ‘two-tone’ paint  job. Mom liked blue, and suggested a navy blue with sky blue trim. My dad agreed.

My uncle took the old truck into his garage and went to work. In an effort to save money, he omitted one important step. When painting a vehicle two colors, the process  is to paint one color, wait for it to dry, mask the paint and then paint the other color. That way the colors don’t mix and it gives you a clean look. My uncle didn’t mask the truck. He simply painted the entire truck the sky blue my mom suggested, and before the paint was even dry, he sprayed the navy blue paint around the fenders and windows.

Excited to see his new paint job, my dad and mom, and me of course, headed for my uncle’s house bright and early Saturday morning. When dad opened the door, his smile turned to a frown. “What the hell?” he said. “What in the hell did you do to my truck?” he asked. Mom simply said “Horrible!”

My uncle rushed to the door to calm them down. He took one  look at my dad’s face and knew that he was in for it. “All my money, wasted. You ruined the truck!” my dad said.

“What do you mean ruined? This is beautiful! This is what all the Hollywood Celebrities are doing these days.” he lied.

I will always remember what he said next.

“It’s Psychedelic ” This is a Psychedelic paint job. It’s custom. Nobody else has this paint job anywhere. You now have a hot rod pickup truck with a Psychedelic paint job!” said my uncle Albert.

“Psychedelic huh? Oh well, if the big Hollywood guys have this on their truck, maybe I should move with the times!”  my dad said. He was smiling again.

Of course nobody knew what Psychedelic actually meant. My dad was far from  a drug user or a hippy, he was a straight laced Catholic who hated the liberal hippies who protested everything and as he put it, complained a whole  lot  as well.

Although my dad got strange looks  everywhere that he took his truck, eventually everyone wanted a psychedelic paint job as well. In no  time, cars and trucks everywhere had this same paint job. My uncle made a fortune all because he was too lazy to apply masking tape to my dad’s truck.

When rust began to creep back onto the old truck, my dad did the body work himself and brought the truck to someone else to spray it.  They painted it  a single tone  of blue. My dad’s psychedelic days were over. Thank heavens.

 

still busy…

For the past few weeks I have been slack when it comes to my blog. We are knee deep in home renovations. I do manage to check out the works of others (Hey, I gotta have SOME enjoyment!)

visitors from hell: a true story

A few years back we had a visit from one of my lady’s former friends. My lady knew this girl when she was fifteen, and we realized at that time how much a person can change in just a little while. Her friend, who I will call Wendy, married a nutcase who I will call Richard. This is not their real names, but changing names will protect their children from embarrassment if they ever read this…

Anyway, Wendy and Richard arrive on our doorstep unannounced, carrying suitcases, and holding two little girls under their arms. The weather outside (this was at 7:30 on a Saturday evening) was wet and raining, and our son was in the house in his PJ’s, getting ready for bed. While they moved their things into our house (still without even asking  whether they could stay overnight or if we had other plans), they allowed their two small children (6 and 4 years old), to go play in the sandbox (which was now flooded with rain puddles). Mind you, despite the ages of the children,  both are still in diapers, and that is all the clothing they wore that damp,  rainy weekend.

We had just finished supper a while before they arrived. My lady made enough home-made spaghetti so that she could bring the leftovers to work for the next few weeks. When Wendy seen the pot of spaghetti on the stove, she took the entire pot over to the table, and using the ladle, she proceeded to eat the entire pot of pasta. This girl is only 5 foot, but she is thick, and apparently she hadn’t ate in  a month or so, at least that is what we figured while we watched her devour all that food.

My lady also had a cheesecake in the fridge.  Mom had made  it for her, and she planned on having a piece and putting the rest in the freezer for later. Wendy flattened that as well, not one piece, but the entire cheesecake. Speaking of flattening things, when she let herself drop while sitting of  our dining room chairs, the thing collapsed under her. Now we have our entire pot  of pasta ate, the cheesecake gone, and now one of our chairs demolished.

Richard is the type of guy that talks endlessly, mostly total silliness. He told us a story of how he was once working as a roofer on a four story building.  He claims that he fell from the roof, nearly got tangled up in high voltage power lines, barely missed a barb wire fence, and landed on solid pavement some 40 feet from the roof. He then says that a hearse nearly backed over him by accident, and to make matters worst, while he struggled to get to his feet, he was chased by two angry dobermans. Either this guy is the world’s unluckiest person, or (like we both figured) he is totally insane.

While she was busy wrecking our home, her husband Richard sat on our front deck smoking a joint. We are both anti-drug people and really didn’t appreciate him bringing drugs on our property. The guy is also a chain smoker, and although he is  the only person who works in their family, he feels that he is allowed to purchase drugs and tobacco before even thinking of buying food and  clothing for his kids. I promptly inform him of our thoughts concerning drug use and ask him to refrain from using on our property. He says that it was alright, and if he needs a high, he will just pop a few pills instead. Wow, right? As for the working thing, he doesn’t  feel that his wife should work. She needs to stay home and raise his kids and have a hot meal on the table when he comes home from work. MY lady  would kill me for even thinking such a thing!

Anyway, they stay the night (uninvited), and by morning our towel  rack is pulled from the washroom wall, the toilet is plugged twice, the kids are using OUR bed as a trampoline, and Richard chooses to have a cigarette in OUR bathroom.

Next morning we devise a plan to pretend we have to leave. Using my cellphone, I call my home number, and then rush to answer. Apparently my uncle needs  us both out of town so we have to leave. This should work, right? Wrong.

They offered to ‘house sit’ while we are away. The ‘right neighborly thing to do’ they say. NOT! They stay on for lunch, where they knock off eight steaks I had thawing for our neighborhood bbq that evening, he drinks all  my beer, and then says that since he doesn’t allow her to drive, they can’t leave due to the fact that he is the only one  with a licence. Another night of house wrecking, we cannot go to our party, and I am nearly drove nuts; did I mention  that their kids were savage? No bedtime. The kids were awake and rambunctious all night.

The next morning it was either them or me. I get my dad to come by and ‘remind me’ of our appointment in the city.  He also adds that the painter is coming to redo the house, and that he might need someone  to volunteer to help. That sends Richard in a hurry to pack and leave.  Thank heavens. That was 2009.

This evening, we hear a knock at the door. Completely unsuspecting, I answer the door. There standing in front me was…I had no clue.  At first I guessed Jehovah’s Witness or someone collecting for some kind of cause, but nope, not that lucky. It was Wendy. She had doubled in size since the last time she visited in ’09. She just stood there, not saying anything, and then that annoying voice, I recognized her immediately. It’s not like they live close by. Their home is some three hours away from where we live, but they just ‘casually’ show up?  I wanted to run, but had nowhere to go. She gives a loud ” Hi” and then comes right in. She just looks at my lady and I and when I ask if everything is alright, she says “No, not right at all” and proceeds to sit in the dining room. My lady and I just finished renovating the dining room, complete with a seven foot glass table top and very stylish chairs, which the both of us covet, and she plops down (plop is a good description here and all I can think of is the last time she plopped down and wrecked a perfectly good dining room  chair) on our new chair. The legs seemed to wobble under the pressure, but did not break. I thought for a minute I might have to dig up the warranty card, but we were lucky this time.

The entire time she is telling us this story, Richard is standing the doorstep  smoking multiple cigarettes.

Anyway she goes on to tell us about Richard and how after dozens of warnings by his doctor concerning his four pack a day habit, X-rays now show several spots on his lungs. Just then Richard and the kids join us, and the  both of them are now in laughter.

“She is gonna burn all my stuff!” he laughs. She agrees. When he dies (not ‘If’ he dies), she plans to burn all his things because she won’t be able to look  at them without missing the guy. She also starts talking about how she already has the funeral planned, and how she plans to marry  him right now (before his divorce from his first wife is final) so that they  won’t take their home from them if he dies. We bring up a little word called ‘bigamy’, but the two of them are laughing so hard, they don’t hear anything.

So I ask a question. “What did the doctor say?” Wendy replies that the doctor said that they noticed four small spots on the X-Ray, so now they have poor old Richard wrote off. “Did you get a second opinion?” I ask, and again, laughter. “He’s finished, he knows it” she laughs. Richard is laughing as well. I have to wonder how many joints he had before coming into the house. This is all being spoken  about in front of their kids, who are obviously the smarter of the four. “Daddy’s a goner” says one of the kids, who is also laughing.

So they get news  about possible cancer, and instead of finding out how  they can fix the problem, they have the guy written off. Its like going  from  step one  to step five without doing steps two to four. When I was told I had cancer a few years back, my reply was “so what are you going to do about it?”. Their reply is “okay, I am dead” and accepting it. Scary. I try to tell him not to give up so easy, but he seems convinced that he will soon be a goner. While lighting up yet another cigarette, he relays his story of how tough he is (the story of him falling off a 4 story building again…my lady and  I almost burst into laughter)

Anyway, after the two of them nearly drive my dog insane by constantly picking on  him, and driving the two of us insane with their crazy funeral plans, they finally decide to leave. This is, mind you, at eight p.m. on a Sunday evening. On their way out the door, Wendy casually asks us a question. “When Richard dies, would it be okay if me and the kids move in with you guys while I get on my feet again?”. My answer was quick and to the point. “Not on your life baby!”

I think I offended her, but I also think I found out the reason why they showed up on our doorstep that evening. I imagine they will drop  by another friend and ask the same question.

When they finally pull out of the driveway, out two dogs and our cat check to see  if the coast is clear before coming  out of their hiding places. The wacky family nearly sent our pets packing.

Monotone Mike

Monotone Mike was my history teacher back in grade school. The guy would come to class and bore us to death each day. I am not kidding about the boredom, no matter what his mood, what the topic, whether he was in a good mood or if he was pissed, he always spoke in the same tone.

Mike didn’t write notes on the blackboard, choosing to recite the notes while we wrote them. Although this may have sounded like a great plan, most of us never made it through the lesson. You could literally hear people’s heads hitting their desks as they fell fast asleep. I was no different. I doubt that I managed to make it through even one of his classes.

I did the music for a retirement party for a few old teachers the other week. I was surprised to find that Mike was one of the teachers who finally retired. I imagined the writing on the plaque.

‘To Mike, the man responsible for many days of good sleep’

The man  sure aged. At 67 years old, he looked 90 or more. He never stayed for the dance, claiming that he had to go home and sleep. I guess that all those years of helping us sleep (in class), he grew tired.

Have a great retirement Mike! ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzz

Honesty,growth and forgiveness

My blog has been relatively quiet in the last few days. This is partially due to the passing of an old friend. Mostly, it is to do with all the memories that  came splashing back in the last few days.

As I stated earlier, I met Deanna in the nineties. The 90′s were a decade I think I blocked from my mind, and things were going quite well for me, and then things got confusing. I began to remember things. I got to remember me and how I behaved and how I lived.

Life for me back then was work and party and alone and sad and hurt. By day I worked as a logger, and at night I cruised the bars, searching for something that my heart wasn’t ready to handle. How many good people did I push away during that time? Faces, names, places, it didn’t really matter. I wanted someone to be with, but as soon as people tried to get close to me,  I ran.

In the ten or so years that I grieved the failure of my marriage, I had many ‘relationships’, if you want to call them that. I even had one woman stay in the house with me, but only for companionship. There was no love, no holding, nothing physical. I just needed someone  to come home  to. When she asked if we could have something more, I rejected her. She was content to stay for awhile, but eventually she left. I don’t blame her. I was an empty body, no soul, no love.

Love. Now that is a strange word. I loved my wife, and she put me through living hell. So cruel. My heart was smashed into a million pieces. I vowed that this would never happen  again. My cure was simple. Never love, never hurt. Seemed easy, but it was a very difficult process. I guess I needed time.

People are so condescending. “don’t worry,someone will come along.” They didn’t, at least for a decade or so they didn’t; or maybe they did. Maybe all those relationships had possibilities if only I had gotten  the help I needed.

This continued into the early 2000′s. Then something happened. I seen  someone who changed everything. One look and I was hooked. I didn’t care if I was hurt again, for some reason  I had no fear of being hurt. We spoke and each word was like dynamite, blasting my fears away. I began to trust, hope, and heal.

In our conversation I discovered that she was far younger than I. 21 years my junior. This was a roller coaster for me. Morals and self judgement caused me to push again, but she wasn’t willing to be pushed. She pushed back. She made me talk about things that I was afraid to talk about. She told me that it was okay to cry, that I needed to cry. She made me realize that she could be my friend, that I was worth her friendship and her kindness. We became the best of friends.

There was people  who wanted this friendship to end. Those were like the one who hurt me. This time they tried to hurt her. Gossip and lies almost destroyed what we were building. In the past, I would have ran, but this time I seen what was at stake. Their cruelty only made us stronger. We overcame and we grew even closer. We loved. I loved. I over came the pain and the hurt that was handed to me and I began to grow as a person again.

The other night, my lady and I talked about the nineties. Prior to this, I never mentioned the ordeal I suffered, it was blocked away, safe from her, safe from me, but on this night, all the pain came  back, and she was there to listen. I am okay now. In  one week  I regained the ten years that I had hidden, and it has made me a stronger person. I only wish I could talk to all those whom I pushed away. I would apologize to them. I would tell them  that it wasn’t their fault,  it wasn’t anyone’s fault except mine. I should have sought professional help. I know that now.

This week, I mourned the death of Deanna, but celebrated the arrival of myself. I am back, 100%. I have many plans now, things I put off, stored on shelves, packed away in boxes.

I have duties here as well. I plan to finish stories such as ‘The Chain’, and my most recent ‘Penance’ series. Then I will move on. My stories will be more pleasant and fulfilling. I promise. That’s all for now.

SightsNbytes (Ted)

 

 

 

renovation HELL

over the last couple of weeks, our home has been in a state of renovation. Plastic throw covers over our furniture, clutter everywhere. This all began as a ‘simple’ project….

We originally planned (I originally planned, my lady had other ideas) to replace our windows. Since the interior of the house was trimmed in walnut, and the new window was made of white vinyl, my lady chose to change all the window casings and floor moldings  replacing the varnished walnut wood casings with some  sort of white paper product. Seems simple, huh?

Since the interior doors in the house were all varnished as well, that needed replacing (of course), so now we have all the casings, all the moldings, all the interior doors…what’s this? The new window is smaller than the original? That will darken the room, we need to add a bright color to the accent wall (her words, not mine). Enter lime green  accent wall. Oh No, now the other colors don’t match the accent wall. You know what that means…we need to repaint all the other walls in the living room, hallway, kitchen, dining room,  and porch to match this new  accent wall. My thoughts are “why not just change the color of the accent wall?” (of course that makes no sense), so we repaint the entire house. Finally it is done, right? Nope; now the ceiling has to be painted white to match the moldings and casings.

The ceiling was white, but apparently not the right white. In my day, white was white and black was black and there were no grey areas, but now it is all grey areas…

Right now we have a contractor replacing all the interior doors while he waits for the windows to arrive. The house is 25 years old and throughout that time (and poor work of shoddy carpenters) the openings for the new doors are all  crooked, which means more time to install them which means more money….We are fortunate to have a good dependable carpenter to do our work, as my carpenter skills range from knowing what hammer is and what a nail is and that is all.

There is, however a light at the end of the tunnel. The weekend  is coming. I just spoke  to my missus and suggested that we take the weekend for ourselves, and relax. Apparently this is ‘guy thinking’ because her response was that she couldn’t wait for the weekend so that she can start repainting the basement. Got to love her though, I do.

C’mon over when  it is all done, we are having a bbq and a few beers!

The truth behind my date with Marilyn

In response to the fictional story I recently wrote about My Date With Marilyn, below is the true account, and the experience that inspired me to write that piece.

My date with Marilyn was based on an actual date I had once. There were no Martins involved however.

I attended a Halloween  party  in town. This was the 90′s (my heavy drinking years) and I was plastered. I dressed as a Mexican gunfighter/outlaw from some old spaghetti western I watched once; complete with a poncho and a set of six guns. My face was covered with makeup, and a lone ranger mask.

While making my rounds around the bar, I drunkenly tripped over this missus, one with a perfect body and a mask of Marilyn Monroe. We did hit it off that night. She was intrigued by my costume, and although she seemed sincere, brains didn’t seem  to be her strong point….she really believed I was from Mexico and had come to town to save her. (Talk about gullible  for a twenty five year old gal).

Anyway, the night grew to a close, and being too drunk to function, I asked for her phone number and called her and me a cab (two cabs…never believed in one night stands, especially when I drank) and I went home…alone.

The next evening I called her. At first I hesitated (the thought of dating someone who I never seen without a mask on made me both excited and cautious), but I did it anyway. I should have listened to my instincts, but like I said many times in the past, the nineties weren’t the best years for me.

I drove out to a small community just outside town to pick her up. We planned on taking in a movie at the theater, and then maybe a walk on the beach…Hey Romantic,  huh?

When she came out, I was surprised to see that she was quite pretty. What a chance, asking her out on a true ‘blind date’ as the last time I seen her she donned that Marilyn mask and refused to remove it.

When she got in the car, her face was priceless. “Who are you?” she asked. I replied that I was Ted, the guy who called her for a date after meeting her at the dance last night. “I don’t know you, I met a guy from Mexico, and you ain’t from Mexico” she said.

I was dumbfounded. She really thought  I was from Mexico. I offered to buy another mask, laughing while doing so, but she failed to see the humor. “You mean  you lied last night, you had such a perfect accent and  all, I think I may have fell in love  with you” she said. Being both surprised and shocked, I tried to talk to her in my best Spanish accent, but to no avail.

“I don’t know you, this date is over!” she screamed. I remember my response.

“Could you at least put on your Marilyn  mask while you turn  me down?” I asked, just before she slammed my car door and headed home.

Oh well, some  things just aren’t meant to be I guess. Lesson learned here? Never date a woman  you meet at a Halloween  dance, especially in costume. Things could have been worst, she could have turned out to be a Martin.

toilet paper and unwelcome house guests (or ‘a laugh at my expense’)

What is the deal with Toilet paper (or bathroom tissue, or toilet tissue, or ass-wipes)? Why can’t there be a delicate (read ‘delicate’) balance that manufacturers can use to make the perfect TP?

This weekend my family had a guest in the house. His name was Friggin’ Flu. I think my son met him at school, made friends with him, and eventually FF followed him home. When my son came into the house, he had already began to show signs of contact with this unwelcome house guest, his eyes watering, his skin pale in color. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but then my ever gracious host of a son introduces FF to me. In no time at all my temperature was a-rising and I began to weaken. Thank heavens I had the sense not to introduce this rude visitor to anyone else close to me. I told my lady about our visitor and she visited the drug store to pick up a few essentials that may actually scare off the rude visitor before he could ruin the long weekend.

By Friday, my son’s temperature was 104, so along with my ever present box of kleenex, I headed out the door,son  in tow, rude visitor with us, and my lady, who drove. Half way to the hospital my son informs us that he was getting sick, and did, all over the back seat of the car. He even  threw up on the headliner, as well as on my favorite hat and  my lady’s coat. I dropped my lady and my son off at the hospital, and headed home to clean up the car. Of course that idiot of a visitor, Friggin’ Flu came with me. Apparently he had this thing with hospitals, he hated them.

While cussing at FF, I inadvertently turned my head from the road for a brief second and when I looked back up, I see a 2000 lb moose standing directly in front of me on the highway. The good Lord must have been watching over me because somehow I managed to get our rackety Chevrolet Cobalt around the back leg of the enormous animal and then steered right back on the road.

By now the smell  of my son’s vomit, coupled by the bile in my throat from that near death experience had caused me to get very nauseous, so much that I had to pull the car over on the side of the road. Bent over the edge of the ditch, I got sick as well, (hey, at least it wasn’t in the car!) I noticed FF giggling as I heaved most of the week’s suppers.

When I got home I worked to clean the car the best I could before experiencing yet another piece of my house guest’s power, Diarrhea. I made it to the toilet when my lady called. She needed me to bring in my son’s MCP card so that they could admit him  to the hospital. She said that we were in for a six hour wait to see the doctor. This weekend kept getting better.

I swallowed a few meds that promised to give relief from  Diarrhea and I was off…in my vomit filled cobalt, along with that ignoramus of a sidekick, back to the hospital. Getting to the door and running for the nearest bathroom, I just made it to the toilet. I am thinking that I am now in Heaven. A  toilet seat, a locked door, no sign of FF, and then I reach for the toilet paper.

ONE FRIGGING SQUARE AT A TIME! What the hell? Piece by piece the small squares of paper break  off  in my hand. How  am  I supposed to wipe clean  with this? It gets worst. In an attempt to grab enough paper, the roll hooks  in the stupid holder and now I am getting toilet paper pieces. Small pieces of the small squares! How the hell  do I deal with this? Half an hour later, the toilet paper dispenser disassembled using a dime I had in my pocket and I finally have enough paper to successfully wipe my ass.

When I come out from the bathroom I am greeted by two security guards, my worried girlfriend, and some foreigner doctor who is buckled over in  pain. Apparently he had been waiting for 45 minutes to use the only available bathroom  in the entire hospital. He rushes in like a madman. I smile while leaving, fully realizing that there isn’t a piece of toilet paper anywhere near that hell hole of a bathroom. Not only that, I think that I may have plugged the toilet as well.

When I get back  to the waiting room, we sat and waited another two hours before finally getting in to see the on-call doctor. He looked very familiar! Where did I see this guy? Oh ya, the bathroom (hehehe)

Long story short, our son had a fever, the doc recommended Tylenol and Advil, and we were on our way home. She drove. What a day!