Until recently…
A little while ago I got a new job. I am an account representative with a local company. I take a lot of pride in what I do and generally feel pretty good at the end of the day. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case a few months back.
First off, I think I am a pretty average-looking guy. I don’t have any facial scars or any feature that stands out for any unattractive reason. I am fortunate enough to have all my hair. At this point in life my father had a hairline that followed the path of a set of headphones from his ears. God bless his soul, he would comb the shit out of that bad boy forward.
The biggest problem with the way I look is that I am fat. It doesn’t bother me that much, but I would like to get skinny again. Basically, I don’t lose sleep over the fact that I enjoy cheeseburgers and beer.
Back to my job…
I apologize for the use of the term “special person,” as it is in no way meant as an insult or to be derogatory toward someone with a mental/learning disability.
Some of my duties at work include visits to a lot of the company’s accounts which tend to be restaurants. It so happens that one day I went to a restaurant to look at a piece of equipment that had been acting up. I had never been here before and didn’t think much about it. Once I got to the place I asked for the owner and noticed that there was a “special person” working in the back. I shrugged it off and waited for the manager. I eventually spoke to the manager and she took me into the kitchen to look at the piece of equipment. Once I got back there I noticed that there were lots of “special people” working here. I was basically surrounded…and I am absolutely terrified of special people. It is irrational, and sad and embarrassing on my part.
I was traumatized as a child by a “special person.”
Time for a flashback…
When I was little we had a “special person” on my block. He was older but liked to play with us kids. We had always allowed him to play with us and he was always nice, just a lot bigger than we were. The guy actually competed in the Special Olympics in some of the strength based events. So he was A LOT bigger than us.
One day a friend and I were sword fighting with sticks and in the distance I heard someone making the “raspberry sound” (which is when you put your tongue between your lips, close down and blow.) Sounds like a fart. You know. The special guy liked to make that noise when he ran, my guess is that he thought it was the sound an engine makes. So he came running in as we were sword fighting, I didn’t think anything of it.
What I should have noticed was the deflated bicycle innertube in his hand.
We kept sword fighting, he came running in and swung that innertube as hard as he could. At my face. He belted me in the face so hard that I still remember it 20 years later. I immediately went down, started screaming, crying and potentially shitting my pants. (It likely happened; I don’t remember for sure but given how hard he hit me coupled with recent events, odds favor poopage.) So, to this day, I am still scared of special people.
Now that you have an understanding of that, I am looking around at lots of “special people” all around me, staring at me as I start to work on this piece of equipment. I am nervous, so very, very nervous. I am looking around, starting to sweat profusely. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Needless to say, I wasn’t looking my best.
It so happened that they were in the middle of their lunch rush and the place was quickly filling up with customers. I did my best to keep my head down and get my work done. Eventually I looked up and happened to meet the eyes of a large, greasy mechanic at the lunch counter. Upon eye contact he began to speak to me. He didn’t speak with a normal tone or inflection. He spoke loudly and slowly while looking directly at me. He said, “Hey Buddy.” He drew it out so long that it took about 2 full breaths to draw out the enunciation on those two words.
At this point I am trying to figure out why he is speaking so slowly, so I don’t say anything and just look back at him. He follows that with “What is your favorite sandwich?” Now I am completely confused. Then it hits me.
I look around and realize this guy thinks that I work there, and that I am “special.”
Panic.
I try with everything in my power to explain that I don’t work here, that I don’t have a mental disability, that I am just a normal guy. I couldn’t form the words, I just kept stumbling over my own traitorous tongue. I tried for a good 30 seconds and became so flustered that I just hung my head in shame and finished working, still scared, now embarrassed and beginning to develop some serious self-image issues.
I look like a “special person.”
Monday, October 25, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
I Am 29, And I Shit My Pants In Front Of An Attractive Woman
This all started out with blurry vision. No, I didn't drink myself into a coma and shit myself. At least I wouldn't remember that, and could feign ignorance while hiding the evidence. I am a grown man and have shit my pants.
Now when I tell this story, some of you may wonder why in the fuck are you telling your friends this story, let alone making it public knowledge and posting it on the internet for God knows who to see. The answer is simple, I am fucking stupid. I have to look at stuff like this and laugh about it, and hopefully you will join me in laughter and limit the mocking that is sure to come. These are the nuances that make us human/flawed. This isn't necessarily something that defines my life, but it is a big fucking deal right today. You might be a star athlete, a talented musician or perhaps really good at naps; I shit my pants in front of an attractive Asian babe, and I couldn't have been happier.
Here we go.
I recently had some blurry vision in one of my eyes, so I went to an optometrist to see what the fuck was going on. He basically freaked out at what he saw, and sent me to a ophthalmologist the next morning. I went to the ophthalmologist the next morning and he too couldn't tell what was going one, but felt it was very serious and sent me to a retina specialist the same day.
The retina specialist gave me some insight, he told me that he believed that I had a Retinal Hemangioblastoma and that it was very serious and I would need to see the head of the retinal oncology department at the closest medical center. He told me that I had a high likelihood of having a very severe genetic disorder known as Von Hippel-Lindau Syndrome. Awesomesauce.
I was to meet with the specialist the next day, so I went home and did some research on the tumor in my eye and on the disorder that I may have. Scary fucking shit. I basically had a 50% chance of having the disorder. The disorder had an average of mortality of 45. So, I was looking at a 50% chance of dying a very miserable death at 45.
The next day, the retinal oncology specialist confirmed what I had been told and scheduled me for surgery in a couple of weeks. In all reality, I didn't take this very seriously at the time. I felt it was out of my hands, and all that I could do was try and live my life like I normally do. I didn't know if I had the disease, as it would take 4-12 weeks to get the results back from genetic testing. I am not a high stress individual, and I kept myself preoccupied with menial tasks.
Fast forward to surgery day.
I arrived at the hospital and checked in for surgery, I sat in the lobby with my mother for about 45 minutes waiting for my name to be called. It was surreal, very ominous when the moment came. Needless to say, I was scared. I had never had major surgery, the only thing missing from my body's original parts were my wisdom teeth. I was fucking terrified, a few weeks of distraction and hiding my fear was being forced to a head and preparing to erupt. I met my nurse, he was a very nice guy. He asked if I had to use the bathroom, and kept me talking about work. He did a fantastic job of distracting me. He told me to strip down to my underwear and put on my gown and lie down on the hospital bed. I did as he asked and was down to my lucky pair of underwear. This was the point of no return for me. I sat there mostly naked, completely exposed. I was as vulnerable as I ever have been.
I put on the gown, and it made me more uneasy. I lay down and waited for his return. He came back with my anesthesiologist. My nurse put a saline IV in, and as he did I noticed that the expiration date was Sept. 11. Fucking Christ, the universe likes to fuck with you. The anesthesiologist told me what was going to happen, he was going to give me some medicine to knock me out, then they would place a tube down my throat and push gas into my lungs to keep me out. Eventually my surgeons came in and told me they were about ready to go. I noticed for the first time how hot one of them was. She was an absolutely smoking hot Asian babe. I took note that I would have to hit on her after this was all over. The anesthesiologist gave me the shot and they started to wheel me into surgery.
As I lay there, things got fuzzy as the medicine kicked in and I basically could only see this. I soon blacked out, hoping to wake up.
I woke up to the same picture as before, but I was panicking! Something was going wrong. I couldn't move, but I could see and hear. Everyone kept telling me to calm down and breathe deeply. I couldn't, I was helpless and all that I knew was at that very moment, I couldn't stop myself from shitting. I yelled out “OH GOD, I AM SHITTING MY PANTS!” They told me to relax. “BUT I'M SHITTING MY PANTS!” They told me it was normal. It didn't feel normal, I was scared and alone all I could feel were my ass cheeks filling with poo. Everything went black.
I awoke again, completely filled with embarrassment. I didn't care about my eye. Not only had my right eye failed me, but my brown eye had failed me in the most drastic of times. My butthole had committed treason most foul against me. My anus had run in fear in the heat of battle with the enemy. I legally could have had it executed at the time and none of my other sphincters would have held it against me.
The first thing I said when I awoke was “Jesus Christ, I shit my pants.” My mom was sitting across from me. My nurses were there too and said, “Oh you remember that eh?” “Don't worry about it, it happens all the time.” I sat there, filled with shame, completely empty of dignity and poo.
My surgeon, the hot Asian babe, came in and told me that they had found no tumor in my eye. It had merely been some irregular blood vessels that had been bleeding for some time. They thought a pool of blood was a tumor. She told me that no tumor meant no Von Hippel-Lindau syndrome. I was ecstatic. I wanted to propose to her on the spot, but I couldn't. It is a rule written in the MANual. She was still incredibly hot, but I had shit my pants in front of her and therefore couldn't make a play at her; I have never been happier.
Now when I tell this story, some of you may wonder why in the fuck are you telling your friends this story, let alone making it public knowledge and posting it on the internet for God knows who to see. The answer is simple, I am fucking stupid. I have to look at stuff like this and laugh about it, and hopefully you will join me in laughter and limit the mocking that is sure to come. These are the nuances that make us human/flawed. This isn't necessarily something that defines my life, but it is a big fucking deal right today. You might be a star athlete, a talented musician or perhaps really good at naps; I shit my pants in front of an attractive Asian babe, and I couldn't have been happier.
Here we go.
I recently had some blurry vision in one of my eyes, so I went to an optometrist to see what the fuck was going on. He basically freaked out at what he saw, and sent me to a ophthalmologist the next morning. I went to the ophthalmologist the next morning and he too couldn't tell what was going one, but felt it was very serious and sent me to a retina specialist the same day.
The retina specialist gave me some insight, he told me that he believed that I had a Retinal Hemangioblastoma and that it was very serious and I would need to see the head of the retinal oncology department at the closest medical center. He told me that I had a high likelihood of having a very severe genetic disorder known as Von Hippel-Lindau Syndrome. Awesomesauce.
I was to meet with the specialist the next day, so I went home and did some research on the tumor in my eye and on the disorder that I may have. Scary fucking shit. I basically had a 50% chance of having the disorder. The disorder had an average of mortality of 45. So, I was looking at a 50% chance of dying a very miserable death at 45.
The next day, the retinal oncology specialist confirmed what I had been told and scheduled me for surgery in a couple of weeks. In all reality, I didn't take this very seriously at the time. I felt it was out of my hands, and all that I could do was try and live my life like I normally do. I didn't know if I had the disease, as it would take 4-12 weeks to get the results back from genetic testing. I am not a high stress individual, and I kept myself preoccupied with menial tasks.
Fast forward to surgery day.
I arrived at the hospital and checked in for surgery, I sat in the lobby with my mother for about 45 minutes waiting for my name to be called. It was surreal, very ominous when the moment came. Needless to say, I was scared. I had never had major surgery, the only thing missing from my body's original parts were my wisdom teeth. I was fucking terrified, a few weeks of distraction and hiding my fear was being forced to a head and preparing to erupt. I met my nurse, he was a very nice guy. He asked if I had to use the bathroom, and kept me talking about work. He did a fantastic job of distracting me. He told me to strip down to my underwear and put on my gown and lie down on the hospital bed. I did as he asked and was down to my lucky pair of underwear. This was the point of no return for me. I sat there mostly naked, completely exposed. I was as vulnerable as I ever have been.
I put on the gown, and it made me more uneasy. I lay down and waited for his return. He came back with my anesthesiologist. My nurse put a saline IV in, and as he did I noticed that the expiration date was Sept. 11. Fucking Christ, the universe likes to fuck with you. The anesthesiologist told me what was going to happen, he was going to give me some medicine to knock me out, then they would place a tube down my throat and push gas into my lungs to keep me out. Eventually my surgeons came in and told me they were about ready to go. I noticed for the first time how hot one of them was. She was an absolutely smoking hot Asian babe. I took note that I would have to hit on her after this was all over. The anesthesiologist gave me the shot and they started to wheel me into surgery.
As I lay there, things got fuzzy as the medicine kicked in and I basically could only see this. I soon blacked out, hoping to wake up.
I woke up to the same picture as before, but I was panicking! Something was going wrong. I couldn't move, but I could see and hear. Everyone kept telling me to calm down and breathe deeply. I couldn't, I was helpless and all that I knew was at that very moment, I couldn't stop myself from shitting. I yelled out “OH GOD, I AM SHITTING MY PANTS!” They told me to relax. “BUT I'M SHITTING MY PANTS!” They told me it was normal. It didn't feel normal, I was scared and alone all I could feel were my ass cheeks filling with poo. Everything went black.
I awoke again, completely filled with embarrassment. I didn't care about my eye. Not only had my right eye failed me, but my brown eye had failed me in the most drastic of times. My butthole had committed treason most foul against me. My anus had run in fear in the heat of battle with the enemy. I legally could have had it executed at the time and none of my other sphincters would have held it against me.
The first thing I said when I awoke was “Jesus Christ, I shit my pants.” My mom was sitting across from me. My nurses were there too and said, “Oh you remember that eh?” “Don't worry about it, it happens all the time.” I sat there, filled with shame, completely empty of dignity and poo.
My surgeon, the hot Asian babe, came in and told me that they had found no tumor in my eye. It had merely been some irregular blood vessels that had been bleeding for some time. They thought a pool of blood was a tumor. She told me that no tumor meant no Von Hippel-Lindau syndrome. I was ecstatic. I wanted to propose to her on the spot, but I couldn't. It is a rule written in the MANual. She was still incredibly hot, but I had shit my pants in front of her and therefore couldn't make a play at her; I have never been happier.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)