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6:03 a.m. - 2004-11-09

SWEET AND SOUR

Saturday morning, with her family gathered around her, my Aunt was taken off life support.

The doctor told the family that there was no brain activity, she had suffered a stroke and she would never emerge from her coma.

The family said their goodbyes and were told that she'd live no longer than 30 more minutes after the life support was shut off.

So they all went home and waited for the call that she had expired.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After about three hours of waiting for the call, they began to second guess taking her off life support.

Apparently, a little arguing ensued, according to my mother.

Five hours passed. Then six. Then seven.

When you're told it'll be 30 minutes and then darkness falls seven hours later, you start hoping for a miracle.

Alas ... ten hours after she was taken off life support ... my Uncle got the call that she finally gave up and was gone.

I'm glad I wasn't there, because that had to be agonizing.

The funeral is today and the entire family told me and my sisters that it's perfectly understandable that we don't attend it, due to a variety of variables.

One of my sisters is pregnant and pregnant women aren't supposed to sit for such a long period of time (a 16 hour drive).

I started my new job yesterday.

My other sister has a fear of both flying and driving long distances (she's the weird sister).

So we're sending flowers and making donations to my Aunt's favorite charities.

My sisters want me to write a page full of memories about her to send to everyone in her family.

While I've come up with a few memories, I've had some writer's block. I just know that overall she was a wonderful lady and she had the ability to make others feel special. It was an all-encompassing love that she had, not just a few instances.

Anyway, I've gotta get that written after this.



So I started my latest job yesterday.

Basically I drive around town to doctor's offices, pick up specimens and stuff and take them back to the laboratory where I work.

It's a job with no real pressure or stress.

And remember how weird I felt having to hand a nurse a little clear container of my own urine?

Well ... now I have to handle other people's urine all day.

Sure it's in containers.

But it's in clear plastic bags.

So I'm all "Here's Misty Unger's pee. It seems pretty yellow to me."

I had to ride around with my boss in the car yesterday. It wasn't so bad ... he's a real nice guy, but awfully quiet.

So spending eight hours with a really quiet guy in the car was a bit unnerving.

He told me that I was "really outgoing".

I guess that means "Cut the nervous chit-chat, Monkey Boy".

Late in the route, when I couldn't think of anything in general to babble about, I thanked him for hiring me, told him that I really thought I'd like this job and that this was exactly the type of job I wanted and had applied for at several different companies but had been turned down because I was so overqualified for the position.

He said that he was just glad that he had someone with an inkling of intelligence in the position who knew how to talk to people.

His wife (the receptionist there) filled me in on the past drivers they've had. Mostly ex-cons and pervs.

So I'm a refreshing drink of water for the company, which is nice.

He asked me if I had any data entry skills and I told him that I typed 66 words per minute and was efficient.

The other courier driver can barely spell his name.

So I get to be Golden Boy and help out on data entry during the slow periods of the day which is 1:00 until 3:00.

Susie says this is good because it'll cause me to get a better raise when raise time comes around.

It's been nine months since I worked a full-time job.

When is raise time?

Friday??



The only part about the job that I may end up having a problem with is that I have to go into a few nursing homes to pick up gallons of piss.

As we all know by now, really old people give me unusually severe cases of the heebie jeebies.

So the first nursing home we go into, there's this really old thing sitting in a wheelchair by the door.

I think it was a lady, but it could have easily been a man with a bad haircut.

Anyway, we brush past the wheelchair and it screams out "PLEASE PULL MY HAIRRRRR!!"

It's my first day on the job and all, so I think it's like protocol. In order to pick up the pee, I've gotta pull the old thing's hair first.

I notice the boss didn't break stride to yank a few locks out of its skull.

So I kept up with him and ignored the wheelchair thing.

We came back that way after picking up LITERALLY gallons o' pee (they're "week-long" specimens I later found out. Pee for a week in a bottle. If you're a golden shower freak, lemme know and I'll see what I can do for you ... for a price) and the wheelchair hermaphrodite is sitting by the door.

"PLEASE PULL MY HAIR!" the thing yells again.

My boss pushed her chair out of the way.

Oh.

She was asking us to push her chair. Not pull her hair.

Apparently, the lady forgot to put her teeth in yesterday morning.

This is going to be one interesting job.

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