Kickin' My Butt: A New Adventure In Plagiarism

When we last convened, Mrs. HM was sitting at the kitchen table in tears from her painful right-side head. As soon as she was able to function, she planned to take herself the the Convenient Care catty-corner from Dairy Queen. Across a side street from Hardee's, and across another side street from her pharmacy.

I was the only patient. I was given 3 pages of forms to fill out. Handed over my insurance card and ID. While I was paperworking, a man and high school age boy came in. The desk gal asked if he was sick. The man said, “He says he’s too sick to go to school.” Three or four times, the desk gal asked if the kid was sick. And still, the man said stuff like. “He says he’s too sick with a headache or vomiting to go to school.” It was kind of apparent that the man didn’t believe the boy. It was already 2:30 in the afternoon, so I don’t know why they didn’t come in the morning if the kid didn’t go to school. Anyhoo… THEY GOT TAKEN IN AHEAD OF ME! Maybe that had a mile-long trail of paperwork from previous TOO-SICK visits.

Once I got called back, all signs posted on the walls said to LEAVE ON YOUR MASK. I thought, “Here we go again.” Déjà vu from my own office, where they didn’t even take my temperature! The sleepy pregnant nurse who took my blood pressure said it was 150 over 90. “Huh. Last Tuesday, it was 135/76 at my own doctor.” So she said, “Are you in pain?” Um. YES! That’s why I was there! Anyhoo, then the nurse practitioner came in.

She asked about my symptoms. Then said my right eye looked swollen. “Take off your mask. OH! The whole side of your face is swollen.” I told her my neck balls (using the proper term) were also swollen for the past three days. She squeezed my neck balls! YOUCH! She told me to open wide and give a big AHH. Then she looked in my right ear, and said, “I see an angry red eardrum!” She moved to the left ear, and said it was also infected.

After a discussion of my allergies to the penicillins and the cephalosporins, she prescribed 10 days of Doxycycline, 100 MG twice a day. I went to my pharmacy to pick it up, and a former student of Newmentia, the current pharmacist, was walking by the drive-thru window, and said he’d just gotten it ready, and sent a lackey to the window to wait on me. Heh, heh. When I read the information sheet, it said Doxycycline is used for infections like ACNE, and other bacterial issues. So that pharmacist probably told all of Newmentia-Town that I have pimples!

I looked up Doxycycline with my estranged BFF Google, and saw that the most common dosage is 100 MG twice the first day, and then once a day for 10 days. UNLESS it is a serious infection that COULD LEAD TO DEATH! Surely I was on a misinformation site!!! Anyhoo… I just took my 3^rd pill. I’m still kickin’. If I don’t feel better by Friday, I need to return to Convenient Care. So far, my ear might feel a little less stuffy. But my molars still feel too big for my mouth.

There's a catchy little tune I've grown fond of this summer, which lends itself to today's subject. I know ONE OF YOU will be disappointed that I'm not styling my story after a Steve Miller song, but suck it up, Buttercup. I think I've been more than generous in accommodating your tastes to date...

Anyhoo... this song is called "Fillin' My Cup," by Hailey Witters and Little Big Town. Have a listen to the first few lines, and you'll get what I'm gettin' at.

I will call my version "Kickin' My Butt."

It ain't the toothache, it ain't the sinus

It ain't the new plague they call THE VIRUS

It's an angry red eardrum fuelin' this junk

Kickin' my butt!

Rumors Of My Rest Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

I usually get by on 5-6 hours of sleep. Mainly between the hours of 5:00 to 11:00 a.m. I start in my OPC (Old People Chair), and then ascend the 13 rail-less basement stairs after I hear The Pony leave for work. My sleep habits have been disrupted by this agonizing pain in the right half of my head.

For a few days, I seemed to be improving. Maybe I was simply staggering my meds of acetaminophen, aspirin, and ibuprofen so that none wore off too soon before the other started. Or maybe I just had a relapse. Anyhoo... I've not gotten much sleep for two days.

Monday night, I was crying with pain while sitting in front of New Delly. NOTHING helped. The aspirin wore off, and the ibuprofen hadn't kicked in. I was almost tearing my hair out. SO PAINFUL!

I settled in my OPC around 2:30, and finally drifted off to sleep when the ibuprofen made itself known. Awake at 5:00, the pain started again. I fought it and fell back asleep until 8:30. Once again, that horrendous pain came back. I went to bed. Lying on my left side did not provide relief as it had before. Nor did lying on my back. I gave up on sleep, and went to the kitchen to sit at the table with HIPPIE.

Farmer H came tromping back from the courthouse, where he'd gone to prosecute Crazy Stick-Road Man over running him off the road a couple years ago. The VIRUS delayed the trial, and Crazy Stick-Road Man demanded a trial by jury. Unfortunately, after waiting all that time, a guy came out and told Farmer H that Crazy Stick-Road Man had pleaded guilty a while back, and the case was canceled. "Sorry nobody notified you." Indeed.

Anyhoo... Farmer H happened upon me crying at the kitchen table. He said he would drive me to the doctor right then, but I hadn't even showered yet. I DID tell him that I'd already made the decision to GO TO CONVENIENT CARE while I was in town. After all, it's in the neighborhood. Does not need a begging phone call to be seen for actual illness, and a drive all the way to Bill-Paying Town. 

Yes. I can't deal with this any longer. It is NOT getting better.

My morning did not get any better, either. When I was talking to The Pony (day off!) while throwing away the paper plate that had held a banana peel and some dry Fake Honey Nut Cheerios, I accidentally THREW AWAY MY FAVORITE PEN!

I didn't realize it until The Pony had gone back to his room after refusing to feel my balls. You know. My NECK BALLS. Those glands under your jaw bone. Which have grown swollen and tender over the past three days.

I grabbed the bill for Farmer H's SilverRedO which I'd written out at HIPPIE. And couldn't find my pen, which I'd laid on that plate to carry around the counter. Sweet Gummi Mary! That meant feeling down in the wastebasket, fishing for it. I LOVE THAT PEN. It's called a Zebra pen. Just the brand name. No stripes. It's a fine point ballpoint. I've had it for years. I think it originally came in a two-pack from the Dollar Store. 

Bending over hurt my head even more. I tried picking some handfuls of trash out, laying them on the cutting block. My pen HAD to be there! Where else could it be? Then I accidentally found it in the empty individual box of Reese's Pieces that The Pony had thrown away.

Finding my pen did not help my head. But the shower did! Unfortunately, I don't live in the shower. It was time for town. 

AND CONVENIENT CARE! Diagnosis to follow tomorrow...

We Meet Again, And This Time There Is No Excuse

You give somebody a break for not doing their job correctly, and what does it get you? A subsequent substandard display of cashierwomanship!

I stopped by the School-Turn Casey's to redeem some winning scratchers on Monday. Who should I encounter behind the register? None other than Young Lass, who last starred in a post from October 20! It was published on October 20. I think it happened the week previous. Anyhoo... my point is that Young Lass has had AT LEAST 10 more days of experience, to be trained to do her job correctly. AND SHE CAN'T.

I gave Young Lass my scratchers. At first I had high hopes. She scanned the winners and reached the correct total. I asked for my new scratchers. She tore them off proficiently. THEN I asked for one Cash4Life with EZ Match. REEEEE! Hit the brakes, grab the phonograph needle! 

Young Lass asked the other cashier for help. She must explain things like Farmer H, because Cashier 2 said, "Huh?" Then they both fiddled around, and got me a ticket. But it was WITHOUT EZ MATCH! So I pointed that out, because I am not in the habit of buying things which I don't want.

Young Lass asked the rotund guy who has helped other people behind the registers. He's very polite and patient. I think he might be a manager. He got it figured out for Young Lass. Made sure she knew how to ring it up, then went off to manage something else. Young Lass made conversation as she opened the register.

"Lottery is such fun."

I'm pretty sure she was not being literal. I'm pretty sure she was being sarcastic. Which does not sit well with Mrs. HM.

Pardon the Not-Heaven out of me for patronizing your business, and daring to purchase a product you sell! Sweet Gummi Mary! We've been through this before! Do you think you should only sell items which you LIKE to sell? Candy, perhaps? Bottled beverages? Something easily scanned that does not require conscious thought?

I think a period of 10 days is enough to learn how to handle all merchandise for sale in that establishment. I am no longer sympathetic about the possibility of inadequate training. I am annoyed by a lackadaisical, entitled attitude. Don't blame the customer for what they choose to purchase. Try a little introspection as to why you don't like ringing up lottery.

THIS Should Have Been My HalloweenTale

Farmer H went to the auction on Saturday night. Halloween Eve. We don't really celebrate Halloween these days, with the boys grown, and nobody wanting to drive a mile up a gravel road to ring our doorbell and Trick or Treat.

At 7:00, Farmer H sent me an email. That's how I knew he was sending me a picture. When I'm in my dark basement lair, a picture sent by text won't load on my phone. All it does is that spinny wheel thing, and drain my battery power. But an email will come in instantly. I don't understand that invisible air wave juju, but that's how it works here in the Mansion.

I thought Farmer H might have found some furnishings for Pony House. But when I opened the email, I saw his subject line: Present.

Ooh! A PRESENT! For li'l ol' MEEEEE?

 

Is that picture SPOOKY, or what? It looks like something out of a movie (I've never seen) like The Nightmare Before Christmas, or The Corpse Bride. 

It's actually a little chocolate cake in the shape of a heart. About the diameter of a grapefruit. It's in a container that looks like it might once have held an electronic "prize" from one of those game/vending machines in the front of the Devil's Playground.

Farmer H further explained: "Bought you a sweet"

To which I replied, "Because I'm so sweet!" Heh, heh.

Actually, there were TWO such (heh, heh, I first typed 'suck') cakes on the counter when I went upstairs. The other was in a proper Chinese Tupperware container. Farmer H said he's the only person who bid on them, and he got them for a total of $2. I have not yet sampled my sweet. He said both were for me, but I designated one to The Pony, who has also not tried it yet.

I'm just saying... Farmer H's presentation leaves a little to be desired. It's a perfect picture for Halloween.

What We Have Here Is A Failure Of Mrs. HM To Read Farmer H's Mind

Before Farmer H left for the auction on Saturday evening, he lectured me a bit on the treatment of my head pain from puffy sinuses as a result of the low pressure system this week that spawned several tornadoes. Little did he know that he was about to fire up an in-Mansion tornado...

 

"All you need to do is use some Vicks. Put Vicks in your nose. That'll open up your head."

 

"I might give it a try, but it's not stuffy like with snot from a cold. Just puffy. Squeezy. I'm NOT putting Vicks up my nose. That would burn. I might inhale it."

 

"My dad used to make us boys EAT Vicks when we had a cold! It worked."

 

"Well, you're still here. But that doesn't mean it worked. I read that Vaseline was first intended to be used for COOKING. But never that Vicks was safe to eat. I don't know where the Vicks is. I know we have some. I might have taken it downstairs."

 

"There's Vicks in the bathroom."

"Huh. Why don't I walk all the way in there, with my shooting ear pains, and stand around looking for it..."

"Do you see it?"

"No. I've looked in both sides of the medicine cabinet, and on the sink."

"It's on the left side of the sink. In a metal tub with my medicine."

You heard Farmer H, right? The words I just typed that came from his pie-hole? I looked on the left side of the sink. There were about 7 medicine bottles. No metal tub. No Vicks.

"It's not here. There's no metal tub. Nothing."

"On the shelf. Towards the bathtub. On the left of the sink."

"Nope. Only medicine bottles. No metal tub. No Vicks. I've had it. I can't stand in here any more. I'm taking my supper downstairs. My ear hurts too much."

"I guess I'll have to show you myself!"

I leaned on the sink, and Farmer H came stumping in. He moved three medicine bottles on the tiny shelf, reached behind them, and pulled out an itty-bitty flat round metal tin of Vicks. I've never seen one so small. It looked like an old lady's pill box that she'd keep in her change purse. About the size of a silver dollar coin, and as thick as an Oreo.

"That is NOT a metal tub! You never said the Vicks came in a tiny metal tin! I was looking for the blue jar of Vicks! In a metal tub container about the size of a Kleenex box. Since when is that little thing a TUB?"

"That's what it IS, HM. And it was exactly where I told you it was."

I beg to differ... 

 

I found the jar of Vicks downstairs. Not in a metal tub. I took whiffs of it through the evening. It might have helped a little. It didn't hurt.

Socking It To The Pony

Farmer H had business in Casino Town on Friday. He sprung that fact on me Thursday night, with an invitation to accompany him. I've been fighting another bout of the sinus ear/jaw/tooth pain, so at first I wasn't sure. However... since I haven't been to a casino in over two months, I agreed. 

I felt bad for The Pony, who had to work. But I selflessly volunteered to gamble some of his money for him, in slots of his choosing, at the bet and amount he wanted to risk. Unfortunately, he was NOT a big winner, but I returned with $75 for him. Farmer H left $40 ahead, and I dropped 3/8 of the casino bankroll I took along. Coulda been worse!

At least I had a good time, and a lunch of Catfish Nuggets and Tater Tots. Farmer H had the same. We combined our leftovers to bring home an instant supper for The Pony. Who beat us home by about 15 minutes! He only had to work a little over 9 hours. It was like a half-day of school for him! 

"Don't you like getting home around 5:00? Like a normal work day?"

"Yes! And I finally saw next week's schedule, and I have TWO DAYS OFF!"

At that point his phone rang. It was the manager. Moving his days off from consecutive, to Tuesday and Thursday. STILL, it's TWO DAYS OFF!

"I guess maybe they got in trouble for working you so much, those 70-hour weeks."

"Mom. I've already worked 58 hours THIS week. So I don't think that's it."

"You said you have three new people. So I bet they need the LLVs for them to get training."

"Yeah, probably."

"What time do you go in on Saturday?"

"I'm scheduled for 9:30, but with it being SATURDAY, I'm pretty sure someone won't show up, and they'll call me in early."

"Are you getting up to be ready, just in case?"

"No. I'm scheduled for 9:30. If they call me early, I'll get there when I get there."

Poor Pony. Friday was rainy all day, with temps in the low 50s. I was afraid he'd freeze. He didn't want a jacket when he left. He has a rain jacket and pants in his car. At least he was wearing pants instead of shorts. IF you consider black with tiny white polka-dot legging-looking garb to be pants. It was still classier than the booty-shorts of the fired-and-quit colleagues earlier in the summer.

The Pony said he was a little bit cold, but he worked through it. His biggest concern was the fact that part of one foot turned black.

"Oh, that's just from your sock. Or your shoes getting wet."

"I DID wear my new socks without washing them first. I HOPE that's all it is."

Nothing a 2-hour soak in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom couldn't fix...

Lock The Doors And Set Up A Wooden Stand

I went to my bank on Thursday. It was not a satisfying experience. But you knew that...

I swear, the corporate office needs to lock the doors of this branch location, and set up a wooden stand like Lucy Van Pelt's booth dishing out psychiatry advice!

The lobby closes at 2:00. I got there before 1:30. I walked inside behind an amply-rumpused blond woman who strode in like she was on a mission. By the time I got up the one-step sidewalk and through the doors, Blondie was behind the counters, over by the vault and safety deposit box area. I'm pretty sure she wasn't robbing them. The Teller said something to Blondie, who came out and sat down in the chairs by the glass office of the worker who was so unhelpful to me over the credit card issue.

The Teller came to the only open window, which had a sign saying NEXT WINDOW PLEASE, even though the other two clearly had signs saying CLOSED.

"What can I help you with?"

"Three things. Two are really easy, but one will take a little time."

"Oh. Well. I'm the only teller here. So I won't be able to do anything that takes time. What is it you wanted to do?"

"Get two rolls of pennies for this dollar, withdraw $60 from my checking account with this withdrawal slip, and redeem three EE Savings Bonds."

"We don't redeem savings bonds."

"You did last week!"

"Well, yesterday we were notified that we can't do it any more."

"Then how am I supposed to redeem my savings bonds?"

"You'll have to reach out to the Treasury Department."

"Why did they change the policy yesterday?"

"Because too many counterfeit savings bonds were being cashed."

Huh. I wonder if that was a veiled insinuation as to the validity of MY savings bonds! My Public Enemy reputation is hard to shake. Anyhoo... The Teller took my dollar and withdrawal slip, and said, 

"I'll be right with you. I had this other lady first."

Not a problem. I could see cars at the drive-thru. And Blondie was cooling her plump heels in the waiting area. Turns out she was wanting change, and right after giving me my two rolls of pennies, The Teller told her,

"I don't have any pennies to give you. I mean, we HAVE the pennies, but they're in the safe, and I can't get to them right now. Somebody else will have to do that."

"Oh, I don't HAVE to have them now. I still have some. I was just going to stock up. Just give me the others, and I'll be fine. I'll come back tomorrow."

I guess she runs some kind of business that actually takes real money and dispenses change. Anyhoo... here's my question. 

IS MY PATRONAGE NOT AS IMPORTANT AS ANY RANDOM DICK, HARRY, OR TOM?

Why should I be told I can't be helped, in the order that I have arrived and been waited on? Should I stand there for eternity, or until closing time, while The Teller waits on everybody else at the drive-thru, just because they might have simpler needs? What's next, giving preference to those who have $10,000 in the bank, ahead of those who have $100 in their account? Will The Teller only assist those customers with simple needs? 

 

Because be sure to let me know, and I will NOT take up time opening a new credit card account through their bank. Or apply for a loan. I'll just use them as moneychangers, and take my fortune elsewhere. To a bank that might actually ASSIST ME in my banking needs.

How can the corporate office justify keeping this facility open, paying the costs of insurance and electricity and taxes on the property, and harboring two unusable fax machines, to only have ONE PERSON waiting on customers? Set up that little wooden booth, with a folding chair to sit on, a bucket of money out of sight at her feet, and a sign on the front saying: THE TELLER IS [IN]competent. Unless her job description only involves making change, and making deposits and withdrawals.