I Don't Know How You Roll or Jesus

A customer called my office today, the following conversation is nearly verbatim.

Me: Downtown Auto Licensing.

Customer: Yeah, I have a question.

Me: Okie dokie. I may have an answer.

Customer: So, it has to do with changing* your tires.

Me: ...

Customer: You know, like when you have to chain** up when you go over a pass?

Me: Well, this is the department of licensing. I don't think I can help you with that particular problem. But I'm sure there should be a phone number or some information on the website for the Department of Transportation.

Customer: Well, I looked online and that's how I found your phone number.

Me: Maybe Les Schwab?

Customer: You really can't help me?

Me: (severely rolling my eyes) I really can't. I can help you renew your tabs, transfer a title, replace your plates, but I definitely cannot help you with any tire questions. I'm sorry.

Customer: Typical government agency.

Me: We're privately owned and operated. I'm just a cog. I really am sorry. Good luck.

Customer: Fine.

I was honestly speechless. Was I meant to find him a phone number for the DOT? Tell him how to change his tires? Because I can do that, but I don't know if chains are currently required on any of the passes because I live in Spokane, and haven't been over the pass in a very long time.

I said yesterday that I was the President of Pissing People Off Inc., maybe today I became the CEO.

Honestly the strangest question at this job to date. Though, I do have a theory as to why I have been making everyone so angry this week.

So, on Tuesday, I went to the bathroom at work and found a little scripture card sitting on the toilet paper holder. It looked like a business card, and though I wasn't about to touch it because, let's face it, I am totally afraid of stranger poo particles, I did lean in to read it. When I realized what it was, it sent my heathen little mind a whirling.

I was so curious as to whether somebody accidentally left it in the bathroom stall and wondered if they were bummed about no longer having it. Then I thought, what if it was given to somebody and this is what they thought of it. Leaving it in the bathroom because they did not want to take it home. Of course, my brain also wondered if it was left there on purpose by the religious fanatic who is also a genius because everybody has to pee at some point. This is the perfect distribution technique! You have the odds in your favor of reaching the largest number of workers in our building PLUS our customers, AND you don't have to deal with the looks of annoyance from devil worshipers like me***. Brilliant. This may be how I advertise for my chicken sacrifices from now on.

Everyday I went into the same stall to find the card still sitting there. Today, I started cackling in the bathroom (which frightens others FYI) because I really wanted to just throw the card away but I was superstitiously afraid of being smote. I wonder if that's why nobody else had thrown it away either? Who wants to toss out the word of God? Sounds just as stupid as trying to throw away a Ouija Board. That's just asking for unwanted trouble, twelve year old me!

But, after pissing off my millionth customer of the week, I decided that it was due to not picking up the card and putting it in my pocket. Or, better yet, passing it on to others. It was like a potty chain letter. That's just wrong, folks. The bathroom should be a curse-less place.

So, the moral is, just keep your eyes closed in a public bathroom, it's safer for everyone that way.

*He may have said chaining.

**This is about where I wondered if he had previously said chaining.

***I am not actually a devil worshiper. That's just silly. If I was going to worship anything it would be leprechauns, or genies. Something that's going to give me the maximum reward for the smallest price. The devil wants souls, while leprechauns just like to play hide and seek (mostly hide) and genies just need a little touch. I can totally do those things for fame and riches.

Hug those babies, chain those tires (or don't, I don't know), and wash your hands.

Sickness Almost Always Cuts

I have heard on countless occasions that getting sick is simply a case of mind over matter. As someone whose matter is almost always ill this time of year, I thought I'd put that to the test. Guess what, mind-folks???

YOUR THEORY IS STUPID!

Not you, just your theory.

It all started sometime last week. I was working ten hour days, stressed to the nines, eating poorly and getting very little sleep. Also, I switched to a different insulin. I was feeling a little off. My head felt like it had grown twelve sizes and a thick layer of chinchilla fur. My stomach was going back and forth between sharp pains and rolling nausea. My back ached and my eyes felt a little droopy. I think I even said to Jero, "I feel like pooh".

After thirty one odd years, I know my body well enough to realize I was getting sick. Thinking of the repercussions to my paycheck if this thing went full blown, I decided to take a stand. So I concentrated really hard on these words:

I AM NOT GETTING SICK! FUCK SICK! SICK IS FOR WIMPS! I AM NOT A WIMP! I AM AN AMAZON WARRIOR HERE TO FUCK UP YOUR ILLNESS SCHEME WITH THE POWERS OF MY AMERICAN GLADIATOR MIND!

Every night before I fell asleep I would repeat those words. In my head, mind you, so as not to make Jero think I had finally gone batcrap crazy. Every morning I woke up feeling the same or a little worse.

On Wednesday, I woke up feeling like leprechauns had taken turns beating me and pouring whiskey down my throat. I crawled into the shower and waited for my head to clear. It did not. I got ready for work and was drinking my coffee while talking to Jero when the nausea mobile rolled up. I think nausea is in a gang because it felt like it was in one of those jacked up cars with the crazy hydraulics and the bass that turns your insides to jelly. I ran to the bathroom and was thankful I hadn't put anything solid in my stomach yet. Still, I put a smile on my face and went to work.

I was determined so many intelligent people couldn't all be SO DAMN WRONG and continued chanting my mantra day and night.

Today I awoke in a daze. It was like Cheech and Chong were reenacting their favorite days of yore just behind my eyeballs. Even after coffee, a Poptart and being at work for a couple of hours, I found that I was still having to focus really hard just to keep myself together.

Still I chanted, but with a little less enthusiasm.

I am NOT getting sick! I'm an effing Amazon. Sick BAD. Mind good. Something about fucking you up...

I decided I wanted to make my homemade mac and cheese for dinner, I told Jero as much which meant I couldn't really back out even though I didn't really want to go to the grocery store and I really didn't want to spend any more time on my feet than absolutely necessary. But I would be fine, because I wasn't getting sick.

Cooking dinner involved doing the dishes. Now, I made stuffed pork chops for dinner last night. Do you know what stuffing that was previously stuck to a baking pan and has now been soaking in apple scented soap for twelve hours looks like?

DOG POOP!

But not normal dog poop. More like the poop of a dog who has what I have AND Ebola.

I took one look at it and got violently ill.

Somewhere between wishing my bathroom was cleaner and realizing the vomit didn't care there was this little flash. I don't know if you would call it an epiphany, but it was pretty damn close.

ALL THOSE ASSHOLES ARE WRONG!

It doesn't matter what your brain says, illnesses DO exist. They are not the fucking Easter Bunny or Unibeavers. Viruses are real, folks, and every once in a while they will KICK YOUR ASS.

Sure, you can do things like eat healthy, get rest, drink non-Pepsi related products and take your Fred shaped vitamins to boost your immune system. And yes, the power of positive thinking is also real, but it's not a Godlike power. It's not a genie in a bottle or a get out of jail free card. It doesn't work like grade school where you just had to say "no cutsies" and all was resolved. Did you get that, brainiacs?

YOU CAN'T NO CUTSIES ILLNESS!