Holding Court

March 9, 2010 at 1:51 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

The hardest part of my job is dealing with the public. I’m good at it, but some days I wish people would just go away and leave me the fuck alone.

I’ve had a low-grade bug for a week or two now, given by some sneezy, wheezy person who meant no harm. I’ve had a swollen jaw, runny nose, spontaneous explosions from the facial area. (No word from The South, TYVM.) As luck would have it, my three-month check-up was yesterday.

While I learned more from the internet than my doctor regarding my jaw situation, I did get some extra attention. “Have you had your flu shot? We have them in stock, and can do you right now.”

The last time she said “I can do you right now,” I got a friendly finger in a most intimate place. She wanted to poke me. This time wouldn’t be so much fun. She allowed the nurse on duty to do the dirty work. I got three different injections; both arms and the thigh. They managed to get my pants off, sans digital invasions.

Not feeling much better, I beat feet to work. I’d prearranged with Dr T to be late, but I got there only fifteen minutes later than usual. Happy to see me, he lessened my enthusiasm with a swift dispatch. “The phone card people will be here soon. Art East will be supervising the installation. Bad news? You’re gonna have a bunch of tech monkeys climbing all over you for a couple hours.”

The waiting room at the doctor’s office seemed like sanctuary all of a sudden.

The gang arrived as I took over the till. In all, it was painless. I enjoy Art’s company, and he helps keep the crowds “ruly”. He’s fearless when confronting shoplifters. Ever wonder why a computer tech guy needs a small crowbar in his tool box? I tell people it’s for removing SCSI.

Your spelling of scuzzy may vary.

The night dragged on forever. Giggles was my lunch person, and he aims to please, so I busied myself as far from him as possible, while all I really wanted to do was read the paper between customers.

It took me three hours to read Monday’s Oregonian. Between tech installments, people on food stamps and the street regulars, I had someone in my face all night long. All three injection sites hurt, I had an atypical headache, and my fucking jaw started throbbing again.

That’s when Stuttering Richard came in and started farting.

It’s sad when you can identify someone by their farts. Stuttering Richard is shameless when it comes to expelling excess gas. He lets ‘er rip wherever and whenever, high-pitched trumpet blasts. I can hear him when locked in the office. Piercing. He came in, left a few squeakers here and there, deduced I wasn’t in the mood to be there, and blasted off into the night. Smell ya later!

On the way home, I got a call from my sister. Little Niece has come down with what I have, and was not handling it well. I was asked to keep an eye on her through the night; a request I had no problem honoring. Fortunately, by this morning she was back to normal.

Bed felt good, but I still have two more days of work to get through. I’m pounding coffee, popping pills and hoping for a painless night.

A painless, unscented night…


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