Please Don’t Sit On The Body Bags

NOTE: until my brain decides to work on all cylinders again, and I get rid of this writer’s block, I’ll be posting select pieces from our old blog. Hope you enjoy them the second time around.

Looking back on it, I’ve had an interesting job history. Ad agencies, clothing manufacturers, hospital, hair salons, marketing firms…and that’s not counting the jobs when I was in high school and college. Today, I’ll revisit The Hospital. (disclosure: it’s no longer in existence)

The Hospital was an inner-city hospital that after two weeks of working there, I made all those near and dear to me promise not to take me there unless I was already dead. It wasn’t the greatest job, but it was a paycheck. I worked in Corporate Purchasing, which meant I was responsible for procuring everything from radioactive isotopes for the Nuclear Medicine Department to rental cars for executives. Every purchase order had to be signed by the head of the department requesting the purchase, so this entailed a lot of running around. Including the Morgue.
 
Now I’m not a squeamish kind of person (except for eyes, but that’s another story) so I had no problem going to the lower level of the hospital to find Dr. Peterson and have him sign off; and occasionally I had to hunt him down. I mean, the man needed his bone blades, right?
 
One day being in a hurry, I banged on the door where the autopsies took place and upon hearing a bellowed, “Come in!” I went in….to a man on the table, flayed open like a butterflied shrimp. Three medical students were there, and by the looks of things, one was either going to pass out or puke, whichever came first.
Me: “Dr. Peterson, I need you to sign these PO’s if you want your supplies by Monday.”
Him: “Come here. Do you have a pen?”
Now I know this breaks about 87 laws, but it was in the days before HIPA, and I couldn’t see the guy’s face anyway, because his scalp had been cut and pulled down over it. Lucky, right? At this point, one of the medical students starts doing the pass-out weave, and I shoved a chair under his ass so he wouldn’t hit the floor.
 
Bloody gloves were snapped off, papers signed, and I went on my merry way.
The following week the head of HR asked to see me. I didn’t think I was in trouble, but with me, who knows? Turns out that Dr. Peterson was impressed by my lack of squeamishness; to the point that he put in a request to see if I wanted to work in the Morgue.
 
It’s nice to be wanted, but I declined.
Work with those stiffs?
Hell no.

Wuhan Word Salad

 

China. Wuhan. Bat soup. Wet market. People ill. People dying. World concerned. Virus arrives in US. Citizens alarmed. Talking heads peddle fear porn. Wear masks. Don’t wear masks. Wear masks. Use hand sanitizer. Disinfect your groceries, Wear gloves. Don’t wear gloves. Social distance. Save PPE for healthcare workers. The emergence of the Covid Karen. Businesses closed. No visiting the elderly in care homes. Despair rises. No play dates. No adult dates. Work from home. School from home. No holiday dinners. No proms. No graduation ceremonies. Fourth of July cancelled. People pissed. Fauci moves goal posts continuously. No Halloween. Election shit show. Thanksgiving cancelled. Vaccine pushed. Second wave. Mandates back in play. New variant. Non-stop vaccine push. Emergence of Vaccine Karen and Karl. Double mask if not vaxxed. Lose job if not vaxxed. No college if not vaxxed. Delta variant. More easily spread. More deadly. Hospitals overrun. Nurses quitting. Numbers skewed. VAERS reports studied. People furious. No trust in the CDC, the NIH, or Fauci. Parents push back against masks in school. Masks required on planes until 1/18/22. US on the brink of a total collapse.

Are you angry yet? 

Selfie PSA

I get a lot of selfies sent to me, from nieces, my cousins kids, friends kids, and I have one thing to say:

For the love of God, look in the mirror. You look like a trollop who just got back from a three-day bender in Cabo with some players from the Grapefruit League, makeup looking like it was applied with a trowel before you slept, showered, and swam in it.

Wear sunglasses if you must, but wash your damn face.

 

Responding to Covid Stormtroopers

As Sparky already mentioned in a previous post, President Puddin’ Pop is planning on sending teams out to call on those of us who are not yet vaccinated, in a feeble attempt to encourage us to take the shot. Some of you are planning on putting up “No Trespassing” signs, but for those who can’t (if you have an HOA, it won’t fly), here are some suggestions on how to respond if the Vax Police come a-knockin’…

New Jersey: Whaddayu want? Get off my lawn!!

New York: Take your guns, leave the cannoli, and GTFO.

Southern: Bless your heart…have a cookie. Now leave. Have a nice day, y’heah?

Minnesota: Uff da…here, have some lutefisk…did you know you’re trespassing?.

Texas: 1…2…3…

Religious: Come on in, fellas. You want some iced tea? Before you begin, may I have a word with you about your relationship with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?

Arizona: You’re on tribal land. You have no sovereignty here. Please visit our gift shop on your way out.

Bee Keeper: Sure, you can talk to me…out by my hives.

Classic: Fuck off.

You get the drift. Have fun with the Feds!!

Hello, Cowboy…

Jingle jangle…

I heard him before I saw him…jingle jangle, jingle, jingle.
Sitting in the lounge area of the car dealership, I saw the source of the noise out of the corner of my eye.
It was a cowboy, dressed all in black, wearing expensive alligator boots…with spurs. Yes…spurs.

Who wears spurs into a car dealership, especially one in the suburbs? We’re not the horsy set here; the horse people are in the county next door, with their stables and riding schools, not where I was this morning. (We’re the lacrosse people where I live.)

I tried not to stare, but I did take a picture of his feet…and knew I had to call Sparky. This required going outside because I knew I’d start laughing, and I wasn’t wrong.

Conversation: Sparky…I’m at the car dealership. Well good for you, Sissy…having fun? Actually, I am. There’s a cowboy here. And he’s wearing spurs. Oh no he is not! No, he really is…here’s a picture of his feet. 

Two seconds later, peals of laughter so loud you could hear it in the service bay…

Later when I came back in, I took the photo you see here. Maybe he thought it was a Mustang dealership?

(It turns out the Brandywine Horse Show started today, which is less than 1/4 mile from the dealership).