Nutsack? Meet Mr. Vice Grips!
I had *SUCH* a nice peaceful holiday planned...
It involved a leisurely 4 day holiday filled with fun & family. Maybe some overingestion of dead turkey. Definitely some pie.
It didn't end up that way.
Oh, God. Where to begin?
Possibly last Monday. Had a day off to go see the Doc & run a few errands. Nice visit. Doc didn't harangue me about my weight too much. Test results were all pretty good, good enough to not need another visit for 6 months, anyway.
I did get a flu shot, which might have contributed to the coming storm of misery. Most years I don't get any bad reaction from the shot. Every so often, though...
So, the big kahuna: Wednesday night, the night before Thanksgiving. Come out of work to get on the shuttle to remote parking, and there's no shuttle there. Shut down in preparation for the upcoming Turkey Day parade.
Were we told about this? Ha! Of course not. We are peons for The Man, after all. Useful knowledge is for higher beings.
Traffic has been rerouted two blocks away, so I shlep my fat ass towards the nearest intersection in hopes of seeing the shuttle. I never make it.
Stepping off an unseen curb, I faceplant onto the concrete sidewalk. Remember being a kid and falling over? You bounced back up like a Weeble. Those days are LONG gone...
So, I'm laying there like an inverted turtle, trying to figure out why I'm suddenly in pain and kissing concrete. One of the building maintenance guys saw me, and got me up and on my feet. No crimson leakage or protruding bones, so I'm mostly OK.
Never did see a shuttle bus. A passing co-worker saw me and gave me a lift out to the remote parking lot, or I'd still be sitting @ Rusk & Smith, hoping for a cab to pass by. I call my boss to report the accident per regulations, and head home.
So, now I'm in pain. And, it gets worse.
I blow off the post-work trip to the grocery store, so no cheesy sausage balls for anyone this year. All I want is to crawl into bed and moan for a few hours.
I get home, undress and crawl in bed. 2 hours later, the phone rings. It's my boss...
"So, El Cap, I've got some bad news."
"According to the Accident Policy, I'm going to have to drive out there, pick you up, and escort you to the 24 hour drug testing facility down by Hobby Airport for a post-accident pee test."
It takes every bit of self-control I have not to immediately start spewing profanities.
"Um, I don't think that's really necessary, is it?"
"Well, the rules say BlahBlahBlahBlahBlahBlahBlahBlah..."
We argue back & forth, punctuated by her call waiting as various other HR Poobahs chime in.
Eventually, an 11pm call (Keep in mind this is the night before Thanksgiving...) to the HR Director gets a ruling that this was a post-work injury that occurred outside the facility, so the Accident Policy doesn't apply.
Whew. No late night piss test, but there might still be one after the holiday.
Things didn't really improve after that, but it didn't entirely suck. Dinner was good. Seeing family was good. My sister's dog didn't eat my parent's poodle. My cousin's druggie wife was safely locked in the County Jail, so she wouldn't need to be cavity-searched for jewelry & cash & prescriptions before she was allowed to leave the premises, so that was good.
The added suckage?
First Thanksgiving without Uncle Robert, Mom's brother. Miss him terribly...
Mom insisted on family portraits in the local park. Not too onerous, but very painful. By now my hands, wrists and knees were blooming some beauteous bruises.
The Sugarland crew of 5 cousins blew us off at the last minute to go shopping instead of eating dinner. We'd already bought the food and everything. Set up extra furniture. Feckin' ingrates. I offered to cut them a check for whatever "savings" they might get if they'd just some join us, but the lure of the mall proved too great.
There was one more major hit that swopped me upside the head, metaphorically speaking, but I'll save that for another post.
Now, where's my damned bottle of Tylenol??