grrgoyl: (UCB Dance for me boy)
Updatey-datey: Appreciation gift card for kind stranger: Delivered. Finally we can cross him off our Karma to-do list.

Raise: 3/4 of the way there. Let's just say the words "effective 10/15" appeared in a recent email to yours truly. Shannon rocks very hard, and I'll hear nothing to the contrary. (At the risk of raining on my own parade, my rate went from 0.08 cents a line to 0.0823 -- essentially 30 cents an hour. But it's still about the principle.)

~*~

Weekend at the kennels was full of all kinds of excitement, mostly of the human variety; which is precisely what I work third shift to avoid.

Friday night I had to call the police because I suspected the homeless guy was back in the vacant lot behind the exercise yard. Tery spent the whole week trying to get him to move on, partly because the property is owned by the hospital and people sleeping back there doesn't make the best first impression for prospective employees; but mostly because apparently he's fond of getting drunk almost to the point of blacking out, sitting back there and smoking cigarettes with an oil lantern -- absolutely not cool. I'm as sympathetic a liberal as you can imagine, but if sleeping in a field isn't enough of a kick in the ass to get your shit together, then nothing will be.

I tried to find a compassionate term to use to the police. Their word is "transients," a trifle ironic considering he keeps returning. During the week they had forced him to move on. Friday night they called me back to report that he "wasn't doing any harm" so they let him be. Tery was less than pleased to hear about this. She wanted me to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't set fire to the place. I told her I'd love to, but they haven't yet installed a security monitor downstairs despite my daily insistence, and I had too much work to do to sit upstairs all night.

Then last night someone rang the doorbell at 11:00. I thought it might have been the cops following up, so I ran up to open the door, checking the monitor first (I'm no dummy). It was some guy in a navy blue baseball cap, could have been a cop, but I was wary. I yelled at him through the thick door, "What is it, who are you?" Brusque yes, but I find people on my doorstep in the middle of the night unsettling in any circumstance. He waved at me amicably, as if that's all it would take for me to unlock the door. He drawled something at me, but whether it was from his Southern accent or slight inebriation was hard to tell.

"What did you say? We're closed," I yelled at him.

"I know horses," he slurred.

"You know horses?" I was perplexed. It seemed a bit late for job hunting.

"I've got a coupla horses in Commerce City, I need help," he clarified.

Commerce City is probably 30 minutes from our hospital, and there must be two dozen vets between. I didn't see a vehicle in the driveway that might have been his. Putting aside the fact that I'm basically a janitor with a smattering of medical knowledge, did he expect me to go pick up his ailing horses in my Honda Civic?

I indicated the 24-hour emergency number posted right below our office hours that he could call. When it became obvious that I wasn't unlocking the door for him, he flounced off the entryway angrily, not even sparing the emergency number a glance. Even though I saw him board the city bus that came by shortly after, I found it pretty damn hard to relax all night.

I should have felt safer, considering I had this handsome man with me:

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This is Nevarre. The spelling's a bit off, but I suspect the owners are fans of the movie Ladyhawke. However, it rained all night and, despite having the biggest, thickest coat in the house, Nevarre huddled by my leg for protection, actually flinching when I forced him out into the slight drizzle to do his thing. I don't know what good he would be against intruders if he can't deal with a little moisture.

On the way home I was starving, so I stopped at Burger King drive-thru for some breakfast. I ordered my usual milk to drink, and foolishly started driving. It had an impenetrable seal under the cap -- I mean there was no getting into it, certainly not while operating a vehicle. There was a flap on one side, the purpose of which I couldn't discern since it did precious little to help lift the foil. I couldn't even poke my finger through it. I had to pull over to wrestle with it, and then had to stop my engine so I could stab a key through it. Christ in a teacup. How is THIS convenient, "fast" food? And after all that, the portion of liquid inside was barely enough to coat my throat. BK milk: D-.

~*~

Tery's comment on the addition of Nichelle Nichols (Star Trek's Lt. Uhura) to the Heroes cast, which already includes George "Sulu" Takei: Next thing you know Shatner's gonna be on it. Only his hero power will be as a Priceline Negotiator!

Also, if you aren't watching the new sitcom Carpoolers yet, start this week. It's funny, bitches. Last week's episode was literally "Oh god! My side!" funny. If it gets canceled, I'm going to be taking names.

Also also, tonight! Tery, me, Ryan and his NEW-TO-TERY BOYFRIEND JOHN are going to see Across the Universe. I hope the rest of the city are at the Rockies game.
grrgoyl: (Default)
The most difficult part for me of being snowed in for almost a week is the frustration created by not being able to get to a grocery store, and knowing that even if I could, the shelves have been stripped bare by transplanted Texans and Californians who mistake Colorado for Alaska and believe every big snowstorm is the beginning of 6 solid months of endless, icy night. The first items to be snapped up in a panic are always milk, bread and eggs. The last two I can take or leave, however, the first is a major staple of my diet.

To say that I love milk would be a laughable understatement. I drink milk the way some people breathe in air. If milk had alcohol content, I'd be Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas. At the end of a long work day, for me a "tall, cold one" is white and frothy and high in vitamin D. Were it legal, yes, I might even consider marrying milk. I've never met a glass, carton or bottle I didn't like.

So when the first flakes of this second storm started to drift downwards, I thought about leaving immediately to buy milk. But Tery was leaving work early and planning to stop on her way home. So it was that I was crestfallen (not yet at devastated) when she came home lactose-less. She'd stopped at three stores, all out. The problem is not only people buying it all, but the inability of trucks to penetrate the frozen perimeter of the city to deliver more.

All night with the prospect of the milk running out, I found I could think of little else. Oh, how I thirsted, and nothing else would do. I even found myself wondering how bad it would be if I started watering it down to make it last longer, a prospect as unimaginable as doing the same to beer, just to keep the liquor analogy going. I sweated it out Thursday night, all day Friday, then Friday night went into the kennels. On the way we stopped at an Albertson's, where we saw dairy case after gleaming dairy case full of milk. I immediately seized three gallons, not letting them out of my sight until we got to the car. It is a testament to how cold it was Fri night that I, who Tery frequently accuses of acting as though "we live on the face of the sun" in my haste to get home from the store, left the gallons in the trunk all night without the slightest twinge. And Saturday morning upon first arriving home, I helped myself to two large, frosty glasses of heaven on the spot.

~*~

The more observant among you will have noticed I said "we" up there. Tery insisted on accompanying me to the hospital Friday night. I tried to dissuade her, fearing she'd put a cramp in my mid-shift napping schedule, but she said she didn't care if I slept. I thought she was coming to catch up on work missed after one and a half snow days, but no sooner did I get my coat off than she was off to the karaoke bar up the street on foot. It turns out her true motivation was nothing more than guilt at making me drive across town in inclement weather.

At 2:30 a.m. or so she came stumbling back into the hospital, more than a little drunk. This didn't anger me as it normally would since she wasn't driving. Completely unmindful of my warnings to avoid setting off the dogs, she stomped around and dragged chairs across the floor noisily. When I started the morning feeding and walking routine, she volunteered to help. I tried setting her simple tasks, but she was a walking "buzzed driving is drunk driving" ad. I'd tell her to feed a dog, even fill the bowl myself and put it in her hands, and she'd end up sitting on the floor with the animal, telling him how good he was and how much she loved him. I told her to give one dog his seizure medication. I turned my back for half a second and heard the faint clatter of 50 tiny pills bouncing across the floor. "Well, at least that will keep you busy," I said. It did indeed, and when she'd finally collected them all she contented herself with sitting on the floor and admiring my efficiency and authoritarian way with the dogs.

"You're my best employee," she mooned up at me. "You work so hard and you never call in." The fact was lost on her that it was pretty difficult to call in when the boss was 2 feet away on the couch, so I just rolled with it. At the end of the night she developed hiccups, and looked quite hilarious staggering down the hall crookedly while hiccuping, like Andy Capp. While driving her car into work that night, my moderate speed of 45 on the highway had earned me such comments as, "I don't even go this fast when it's sunny out." On the way home going this same speed (or faster) except with her drunk, I got instead "You're such a good driver." Is it any wonder I prefer milk to beer?

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December 2011

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