~The World According to Slinky~

Want More Blogs to Read ?

2008-05-06T10:53:00.000-07:00

Check out this post from DeeDee, who compiled all the blogs that people posted to Dad Gone Mad. It's an impressive list, and some awesome material out there. Take a gander if you wish.

A Step Toward Manhood

2008-05-05T12:42:00.000-07:00

At 15, Daniel is your typical teenager, interested in girls, music, video games and kicking it with his "homies". Unlike his dad, he is fair-haired, and lately has developed some light facial stubble. He has asked about shaving in the past, however Danny has always advised him to wait a while. It was so light-colored and fair at the time, that shaving would only make it darker and more difficult to manage.

Today, Daniel's girlfriend told him that she did not like the rough hairs on the side of his face, and that he should shave them. Daniel, one who always wishes to make his girlfriend happy, was hell-bent on complying.

"Dad. I need a razor. I need to shave this stubble off my face right now !"

"I don't have an extra one, and I'm feeling sick. I can go to Target tomorrow for you."

"Can't I just use yours ?"

I jumped in. "Actually, that's not a good idea. Sharing razors is not very hygenic, and I really don't recommend it."

Daniel replied, "What should I do then ? I don't want to wait until tomorrow !"

"Well," I said, "You can use one of mine if you want."

I buy disposable women's razors in ten-packs, and had plenty of unused ones to spare.

They are pink.

With purple handles.

Daniel had a decision to make: Shave for the very first time, with a sexy pink and purple razor made especially for the delicate curves on a woman's leg, or wait until tomorrow when Danny could obtain the men's version for him.

He elected to go with the girly razor.

Daniel proudly shaved, for the very first time, holding the purple handle steadily as he dragged the double-blades encased in pink plastic across his face.

Only a real man could do this, and be proud of it to boot.

After he was finished, he put a batch of cookies into the oven, then proceeded to don my big, bulky blue oven mitts, and do the robot dance around the kitchen.

Heh. I love this kid.

My Poor Baby !

2008-05-01T12:56:00.000-07:00

Ever since I brought her home, I have known that Mocha is an accident waiting to happen.

She is a Bengal, a notoriously energetic, curious and playful breed of awesome-looking cats. Her personality has always been mischevious, and bordering on crazy. Most of the time, her antics are good for a laugh, and sometimes they require the use of a ladder. But last month, she hurt herself, and badly.

She has this terrible habit of running between our legs as we walk, and unfortunately this time, was stepped on. Her diagnosis was a "luxation"; basically, a dislocation of her foot.

The only way to repair this was surgery, which involved taking a bone graft from her hip, and securing a metal plate to keep the foot bones together. Regardless of the cost, I did not hesitate to authorize this. Yes, it broke the bank, as I have to pay taxes this year as well. But it was worth it, for my little Mocha.

She was not too happy about having to wear that head cone, but she was actually quite mobile on that cast. Not even a week after her surgery, and she was walking around the laundry room, playing with toys, and causing trouble as always. She has quite the spirit. Not even this could bring her down.

Of course, she found a way to take her cast off, by sticking her foot under the washing machine, and pulling her leg out from it. She did this twice, which meant I had to drive 20 minutes to the surgery center to have the bandage replaced.

Little brat.

The vet told me I had to restrict her activity, even after the cast was removed for good, just to be sure the bones healed properly. I have been doing this, as best I can.

I had her and Peaches upstairs the other day, as I normally do while getting ready for work. As I turned my back to pour my morning cereal, I heard some commotion behind me. I turned around to catch a glimpse of Mocha, just as she jumped from the floor, to the counter, to the top of the refrigerator.

Yes, this cat, who had just had a cast removed after major surgery, was jumping on top of the refrigerator.

Nothing in this world, not even a traumatic leg injury, could ever keep her down.

That's the spirit of a Bengal.

That's the spirit of my little Mocha.

Take One For The Team

2008-04-10T13:00:00.000-07:00

This is what happens when you have to shuffle your defensive positions around due to player injuries, and end up putting yourself in the outfield for the first time in 15 years.

At least I held the hitter to only a single.

Karma Part II

2008-04-09T13:37:00.000-07:00

To the loud, obnoxious female San Diego Padres fan sitting behind me at the Giants game last night, this is for you:

I so wanted to whack you in your loud diarrhea mouth with my massive STFU cluebat, but I restrained myself. Luckily, myself and our other section-mates were kind enough to drown out your irritating drivel with our own high-volume support for our local team.

Unfortunately for you, in the most awesome display of karma (which seems to be this week's theme), our Giants won the game in the 11th inning from a walk-off home run by Bengie Molina.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, lady.

This is Me.

2008-04-03T16:45:00.000-07:00

Without a doubt.

Link: [I Can Has Cheezburger ?]

Full Circle

2008-04-01T12:52:00.000-07:00

Karma is a wonderful thing.

What one dishes out, eventually, at some time, will come back to them. One who treats others with contempt, disrespect and abuse will receive much of the same at a future point in time. It may not be soon, however eventually, one's own misdeeds will come back to bite them in the ass.

For the former upper-management member of my previous department who made my life - and the lives of many others - absolute hell, that day was yesterday.

The company's top executives swung the ax and cut development of the product that I had tested for two years. All employees of my former department were either offered jobs in other departments or laid off. The product that many of us had high hopes and dreams for was rendered defunct. And my asshole former upper management member and tormentor, whose sole ambition was to shine in his glory and be promoted to up the ranks, was tucked away into an office that severely limited his interactions with people.

It was a sad day for many, but a triumphant one as well, for those of us who were the unfortunate recipients of this man's verbal abuse and impossible demands for the last 2+ years.

As it turns out, I had escaped that sweatshop environment just in time; the unfortunate news came two months to the day after I started my new job with the IT department. I am so thankful, not only for removing myself from a hostile work environment and saving myself the stress of a reassignment or layoff, but for landing in a place where everyone is respected, acknowledged, and treated well.

This is the way it should be.

I worked in Network Operations for four years before relocating to California. The past seven years with my current company were spent testing software. Now, as of two months ago, I am in Operations again, and back in my element. The learning curve has been steep, but with help along the way, I am quickly growing into my new role. And I love my job again, for the first time in years.

Yes, it gets stressful at times. Sometimes the shit hits the fan and we all have to scramble. Network Operations is all about putting out fires and attempting to keep up with very dynamic environment. Even so, management supports us, appreciates us, respects us, and allows us the freedom to determine our own paths; instead of running our lives with impossible deadlines, unsurmountable pressure, and a complete lack of regard for our families and outside obligations. Our boss here is one of the best I have ever worked for, and everyone on the team is positive, supportive and helpful.

I may not be quite so cheery when I eventually end up on-call and have to wake up in the middle of the night for an outage. But as it stands now, I am happier than I have been in years.

I wish the same for my friends in my old department, who are now finding their paths within their new groups.

I would love to tell my previous upper management member to kiss my ass, but I am restraining myself. He got what was coming to him, in spades, through this wonderful thing called karma.

That satisfaction is all I need.

If You Can't Take the Heat...

2008-03-21T17:38:00.000-07:00

One of the homemade concoctions that Daniel enjoys for breakfast is "hot link and eggs". Basically, we take a hot link sausage, dice it, fry it in a pan, drain off the grease, add eggs, and stir until cooked. It is a perfect breakfast (or dinner) for a finicky 15-year-old that doesn't always like what we make here at home.

Lately, he has expressed an affinity for serrano chiles. These are the small, green peppers you find in the grocery store; smaller than jalapeños, and a hell of a lot spicier. Mixing a diced serrano with an already-spicy hot link is nothing short of a deadly combination. But he likes it.

As I was working from home today, and Daniel was off school, I nicely offered to make him his egg concoction when he lumbered down the stairs after a long night's sleep. Unfortunately, however, I forgot the chile. "No problem," he said, "I can add it after."

Big mistake.

These chiles, as I've already mentioned, are unbelievably spicy. Cooked into food, they add a nice hot flavor throughout the dish. Diced raw, however, they are killer.

Daniel finished his hot link and egg with raw chile concoction in his typical speedy fashion. Shortly afterward, I heard a painful howl emanating from the living room.

"Oh my GOD ! ", he screamed, "My mouth is burning !"

He darted by me and grabbed a Gatorade off the floor. Two seconds later, half the bottle had disappeared into his mouth.

"AHHH ! It's still hurting !"

"Try some milk."

"We don't have enough milk !"

"Try some ice cream, then. Dairy is really good for a burning mouth."

As he scooped his ice cream into a bowl, at 11:00 on a Friday morning, he lamented, "The seeds are stuck in my braces !". A few minutes, and one bowl of vanilla with chocolate sauce later, and all was well in the world again.

I looked at him as he was putting his bowl in the sink, and asked,

"After all that, was it worth it ?"

He smiled.

"Hell yeah."

Public Service Announcement

2008-03-20T18:03:00.000-07:00

If you have your work badge attached to one of those cheap badge-holders with the retractable string, it's really not a good idea to see how far and fast you can flick the thing in the air and watch it snap back toward your belt.

Especially when such action results in your badge flying 20 feet in the air and landing on top of the ductwork in a massive, high-ceiling data center.

Good job, coworker Peter ! Hats off to you for breaking the big air record for a work badge attached to a flimsy, breakable string.

He looked so humble, doing the walk of shame through the building and up front to the Security desk, to ask for a tall ladder to retrieve the precious flying badge.

The company doesn't supply free badge holders. We have to pay for them ourselves.

I think this is why.

Love and Zambonis

2008-03-15T16:28:00.000-07:00

Last night was a perfect night to be at the Shark Tank, also known as HP Pavilion, home of our most awesome San Jose Sharks. The air was crisp, the sky was clear, and a sense of excitement and anticipation was abound as thousands of fans filed towards the arena.

This game was the craziest one I have ever had the pleasure and good fortune to witness. Four goals by the Sharks in the first period, one on a rare penalty shot. Thundering hits, fisticuffs and mayhem. A visit to our section by the beloved mascot Sharkie and his assistant (or "his bitch", as Derek so eloquently noted). The fun did not stop with the antics on the ice.

During the second intermission, the newly-renovated, HD-quality video screen flashed a pretty, heart-laden graphic emblazoned with the words "Kiss Cam". It then proceeded to focus on various couples in the audience, who complied by kissing for the whole arena to see.

When the camera landed on one particularly grumpy looking fellow and his female companion, he waved it off, shaking his head and refusing to comply. His female companion sat, looking embarrassed at the boos and jeers from the crowd. The cameraman, frustrated by the grumpy man's refusal, moved to a different man, a smiling, romantic type, who turned his hat backward and happily kissed his significant other. Then, the camera turned back to the grumpy man.

Grumpy Man had been schooled ! Hat Man had shown him how it was done, and now, it was up to him to prove his manhood. The whole stadium was watching. He could have redeemed himself at that moment, his moment in the spotlight -- but instead, chose to wave off the camera once more.

The stadium echoed with boos. Party pooper, he was.

The last camera shot in the set was a man and a woman, who looked incredulously at the crowd when they recognized themselves on the screen. The woman shook her head in disbelief. The crowd started booing again; was this another party pooper ?

Not quite.

The man pointed at his female companion, and distinctly mouthed,

"She's my sister."

Uncontrollable laughter ensued, from all 17,000 fans in attendance. Of all the couples to focus on, the cameraman had found a sibling pair, enjoying the game together on a Friday night.

Fun times, fun times.

Dream Come True

2008-02-16T12:21:00.000-08:00

Our romantic evening, the day after Valentine's Day, was one I will never forget as long as I live.

Sure, the restaurant lost the reservation I had made earlier in the day. However, they seated us immediately, and we were treated to a wonderful, delicious meal with an animated chef performing cool tricks, including a blazing fire from a stack of onions.

It was well worth the frustration of the day before, and undoubtedly a memorable experience. But not as much as afterward, when we arrived at our home.

In the past, I'd never understood why women cried when their suitors asked them for their hand in marriage. I'd see it all the time, on TV, in real-life, and I was simply dumbfounded. Why do they cry ? The concept was foreign to me.

I never understood it, until yesterday, when the tears flowed freely from my eyes; rendered speechless by the wave of emotions that overcome me.

When that special person, with whom you connect on the deepest of levels in all ways possible, asks for your hand in marriage, the tears are a natural, human response to the most emotional moment of your life. The tears are those of joy, from deep within, that can hardly be explained or rationalized, only felt in one's own heart.

I never understood this phenomenon before.

Now, I do.

A Romantic Evening with Mr. Carl Jr.

2008-02-15T12:38:00.000-08:00

It was all planned out.

I was to leave work on time, having been instructed by Danny NOT to work late as I have been at my new job for the last two weeks. We were to head off to a wonderful Japanese restaurant in the area - one that has the chefs cooking the food in front of you, flipping utensils and putting on a show - for our 7:00 reservations. It was to be an excellent night of good food and a fun show, with the man of my dreams, on Valentine's Day.

It didn't exactly turn out that way.

Upon our arrival at the restaurant - 10 minutes early for the record - we quickly discover that the place is a madhouse, and that there is a huge, unmoving line just to check in at the desk. No problem, we thought, we have reservations. We shouldn't have to wait too long.

Little did we know.

7:05: We are finally checked in. We grab a drink from the bar, sit down, and watch the basketball game. (Aside: What kind of lame-ass restaurant has satellite TV, but does not carry the FOX channel, which is one of the only channels that broadcasts the Sharks games ? Ridiculous. )

7:30: We are getting hungry. Really hungry. We'd both begged off our afternoon snack to be sure we had room for the most excellent food that this place was famous for. Our reservations were for 7, and we are still waiting. Danny goes to check, and the only answer he is given is "I don't know."

7:40: I have a massive headache, and my hands are shaking. I pop an Advil. Danny wants Advil too, but can't take it on an empty stomach. We start to scowl. This is getting annoying.

7:50: We are downright pissed. Danny has to work at 5am, and we still haven't even been seated, let alone been served our food. We try to distract ourselves with basketball. It isn't working.

8:00: We give up and leave.

From the parking lot, I call Daniel.

Me: Hey Daniel. We waited an hour after our reservation and still weren't seated. We're going through the Carls Jr. drive-through across the street from here. Want anything ?

Daniel (laughing hysterically, choking and gasping for air): Sure. A Number 1, large, plain with cheese.

That's right. We went through the Carls Jr. drive-through, and had burgers and fries, at home, for Valentine's Day.

It's the thought that counts, right ?

All we could do was laugh about it and shake our heads. What is most important is the partnership, the relationship, and the emotions behind the gifts, flowers, candy, etc. Where we ate, or what we ate, was trivial.

Valentine's Day dinner, from now on, will be on February 13th or the 15th. We are never setting ourselves up for this disaster, ever again.

We are trying one more time, tonight, to watch the show and eat Japanese food.

This is the one and only chance this restaurant will have to redeem itself. If we have to wait even 20 minutes, we are done with this place for good.

Wish us luck.

No Holds Barred

2008-01-30T08:08:00.000-08:00

I'm in a punchy mood today, so I'm going to say something I wish I could have said last night, but just wasn't raised to be rude enough to do so.

Lady, do you see what this colored, rectangular, plastic thing is ? It's called a CHECK CARD. It replaces those big, preprinted paper things that take you 10 million years to write in painstaking calligraphy while the rest of us are decomposing in line behind you. And guess what ? If someone steals your check card number (which is just as easy as stealing your ratty friggin' checkbook from your massive butt-ugly old lady purse), your bank won't make you pay for the fradulent charges.

Now move your geriatric ass. I got frozen stuff in my cart, and it's melting into a pile of goo while you write the goddamned date. Now hurry the hell up already !

[UPDATE]: Apparently some readers didn't catch the fact that this was completely tongue-in-cheek and not meant to be serious. :/

Shit Magnet.. Even In The Shower

2008-01-20T15:04:00.000-08:00

The unmistakable "bling !" of my iPhone greeted me as I exited the shower. Who the hell is texting me this early, I wondered. I dried myself off and checked the message.

"8:00am: Medical Emergency, building X, 1st floor, cube I5-7."

Crap, I thought to myself. If only I were a perky early-riser, I could have helped out with this one. Oh well, all I can do now is continue with my morning routine.

Then it hit me.

Building X is my building.

Cube I5-7 is my cube.

There was a medical emergency going on in my cube at that very moment, and there I was at home, drying myself off with a towel and brushing my teeth. I heard the whole story from the receptionist when I arrived an hour later.

An employee of our building had been feeling sick, and had decided to skip her gym routine and go to work. As she exited her car, she nearly fainted, catching herself on her trunk lid. She then staggered into the building. The receptionist saw her struggling, and guided her through the door and to my cube. I wasn't there of course, so the receptionist sat the patient in my chair, and used my phone to call 911.

Security arrived (no ERT members were at work that early to help), followed closely by the Fire Department and an ambulance. The patient was loaded up and taken to the hospital for evaluation.

All of this, at my cube, on a Friday morning at 8:00.

And I wasn't even there.

Damnit !

All She Needs Now is a Social Security Number

2008-01-17T12:29:00.000-08:00

The pet pharmacy screwed up.

I ordered a refill of Mocha's kitty prozac one week in advance, as instructed by my vet. The week passed by, I was down to my last pill, and still, it had not arrived.

So the vet called in the prescription to my family's pharmacy - Walgreen's.

The human equivalent of Prozac - blue tablets, instead of the brown, meat-flavored variety - was in stock, and filled that same day.

That's right, my cat is not just Mocha, the crazy kitty on Prozac.

She is Mocha MyLastName Cat, of Need Address, CA.

I wonder if she will someday get a jury duty notice.

Just as an aside, the pet pharmacy was charging me $50/month for meat-flavored chewable Prozac. The Walgreen's price ? $15/month.

Sorry, pet pharmacy. I have a mortgage to pay. Walgreen's it is from now on.

Divided Loyalties

2008-01-14T13:03:00.000-08:00

It was a night of divided loyalties.

My local team, the subject of much passion and adoration, was playing the team that I grew up with; loving and supporting for over a decade.

The San Jose Sharks, versus the Toronto Maple Leafs.

There was a lot of royal blue and white in the crowd. Many Canadian ex-patriots call Silicon Valley home now. And a good portion of them never relinquished their love of their former hometown team.

Secretly, I never did either.

I still have my Leafs jersey in the back of my closet. My Sharks jersey is much more in the forefront, but the Leafs one is still there, reminding me of my roots.

I wore the black and teal for this game, and cheered and celebrated with Danny and my friends as our local team skated to a 3-2 victory.

But in the back of my mind, I was cheering as well, when the Leafs scored their goals, and the royal blue and white in the crowd celebrated the event.

I will always have a soft spot for my childhood team.

But now, my passion and support are for my current team.

Here, in Silicon Valley, the place I call home.

Evacuation

2008-01-08T15:35:00.000-08:00

The only thing worse than a false fire alarm, requiring evacuation of the building and response by the Fire Department and Battalion Chief, is one such alarm occurring during a period of moderate rainfall.

Luckily, most of the evacuees were understanding of the situation, and were able to find shelter.

Not so for us responders, who were instructed to direct traffic.

I need a hot cup of coffee now.

California is Under Attack

2008-01-04T13:01:00.000-08:00

... by Mother Nature.

One of the wildest storms in recent memory is pounding across the Bay Area as we speak. Gusting winds around 60mph in the populated areas, and a sheeting, unrelenting rain has been pummeling the area since early this morning.

The roads are absolute carnage. The Richmond-San Rafael bridge was closed earlier because the wind was knocking trucks over on their sides. A downed powerline closed Highway 17, an important freeway link from the South Bay to Santa Cruz. And the commute across the Bay Area was nothing short of chaotic this morning, with accidents and crawling traffic across every major freeway.

I am so fortunate to have the option of working from home today. Not only is it treacherous out there, I really like to keep my car in one piece, not run over by a speeding, Starbucks-drinking, cell-phone chatting SUV driver who doesn't understand the concept of slowing down and paying attention in bad weather.

I am relatively safe in my home, with power and utilities still intact.

Rick and Rakesh, not so much.

They are hunkered down in Tahoe City, near Lake Tahoe, where the forecast calls for up to 10 feet of snow and Category 4 hurricane-strength winds.

Bundle up, boys. It's going to be a rough ride for you these next few days.

[Links: Photos of the damage, Rescues]

YES !

2007-12-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

I got the job. I'll be transferring to my new department at the end of January.

When I first joined my current team, I had high hopes and lofty dreams. The product was one that promised to streamline multi-agency emergency response, solving the consistent problem of communications between various teams with disparate radio equipment. I was beyond stoked at the opportunity to combine my desire to help others and give to the community with my career in technology. At the time, it seemed too good to be true.

Unfortunately, it was too good to be true. So now, I am moving on.

The new group is Network Operations, with which I am very familiar, having spent 4 years in a similar environment in Toronto. Although my specific technical knowledge has eroded over the last seven years, I have already begun to ramp up again. The team members that I have met are wonderful, and the boss is someone for whom I have a great amount of respect. I am confident that I have made the right move, not only for my career, but for my life.

Never again will I work for a sweatshop, no matter how lucrative or pride-inducing the work may be. That I have promised myself.

My focus used to be on my career, forsaking all others. Now, it is on my family. Where it should be.

Rhetorical Question

2007-12-17T12:53:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday today. I'm at work, sitting in an all-hands meeting for a team I might be transferring out of soon.

I could have gone for lunch with my friends. But I'm here, listening to droning managers and eating cardboard pizza.

What the hell is wrong with me ?

It's a misplaced sense of duty, that which has kept me working this sweatshop job for far too long, tolerating the insufferable cut-throat business tactics that left us working insane hours to meet an impossible schedule that could never be slipped under any circumstance. I'm not sure why I have such a sense of obligation to a team that has systematically chewed up its software testers and spit them out, but that is my life as it is right now.

I find out within the next few days if I have been granted my internal transfer.

Perhaps, this new group will be deserving of my loyalty and dedication. I sincerely hope so.

Uncanny Resemblance

2007-11-28T12:24:00.000-08:00

My cousin Serena's dog is Dumbo's love child.

I have proof.

Weddings and Fun

2007-11-16T13:09:00.000-08:00

This past weekend was spent in glorious South Lake Tahoe, attending the most awesome wedding of our good friends AJ and Sherry. Their wedding was wonderful, for the simple reason that they did exactly what they wanted to do, and what suited their personalities and preferences. They decided against the pressure and hassle of planning a huge and formal event; choosing instead to have an intimate gathering in a beautiful vacation town 3.5 hours from home.

The invitations stated "Extreme Casual Attire", with which we were more than happy to comply. They said their vows wearing the clothes that they were most comfortable in, surrounded by people they loved, and followed by the most excellent steak dinner and cake.

The best wedding, whether fancy or casual, is the one in which the bride and groom do what makes them happy first and foremost. Making family happy is important, but not overriding.

The remainder of the weekend was filled with fun activities. We populated the Paigow Poker tables Friday night, with Danny and I alone carting off over $200 in winnings, and AJ and Sherry doing similarly well. And the morning of the wedding, Danny and I took a little adventure in the backcountry desert, courtesy of this very cool ATV Buggy.

Although it may look clunky, this machine was anything but. We sped through the straight-aways, fishtailed the corners and handled the bumpy, hilly desert trail ride with ease. The dust was ridiculous, permeating our masks and goggles with fierce conviction, but this inconvenience was well worth the sheer adrenaline rush we experienced on this zippy machine. It is something I highly recommend, and something we definitely will do again in the future.

We were lucky we left ourselves plenty of time to clean up after the ride and before the wedding. Washing the dust off ourselves (and out of my hair) was no easy feat.

We ended up having to buy eye drops to take the remaining dust particles out of Danny's eyes. All discomfort aside, it was the ride of a lifetime.

One Word: Batty

2007-11-14T13:31:00.000-08:00

Those who have volunteered with me for some time are well aware of the tendency for crazy things to happen all around me for no apparent reason. Not much happens actually to me, but around me. I have an uncanny ability to always be in the vicinity of traffic accidents, people falling down, crazy patients and the like. In firefighter terms, I am considered a Black Cloud. And yesterday, that tendency shone through like the sun's rays piercing an overcast sky.

The day began with me reading, and passing onto my fellow ERT members, a very excellent post by Baby Medic, who spoke of the various methods in which EMS providers handle difficult and combative patients. My good friend Rakesh blogged about this, and my views on the issue are identical to his. I am a helper, an advocate and a provider of care. I show compassion and understanding to my patients, regardless of the situation. I have no desire to use my martial arts training on anyone, much less a patient in need of assistance. However yesterday, I almost had to.

The call came out for a patient who had fallen. Her wrist was bothering her, there was no head trauma, and while she had full range of motion, I was concerned about the swelling. Her face was very pale, her hands were cold, and she was complaining of being dizzy and nauseous. I gave her some oxygen to help with her symptoms.

As the Fire Department was questioning her, they started to notice a pattern of repeated answers. I had noticed this too, and was not certain of the cause. Taking no chances, they did a complete workup on her, including a 12-lead EKG and a conversation with her coworker about her baseline mental status.

The coworker mentioned that she was somewhat flighty, but nothing could have prepared us for her erratic behavior.

She absolutely refused to go to the hospital, going so far as to loudly yell at the paramedic "I NEED MY CAR !!! I won't leave without it !" Finally, they were able to convince her to get on the gurney due to Worker's Compensation rules, but only after she could go to the restroom. I, being the only female responder, followed her.

The restrooms in our buildings are in the middle of the floorplan, and have two doors, one to either side. The patient entered the restroom, asked for help fixing her clothing... then, without warning, bolted out the other door, to the other side of the building.

Perplexed, I followed her, to the cube of a friend of hers. The patient ranted and raved that she absolutely MUST call her 90-year-old mother, and that she was worried about her.

Her mother ? When she was the one that had a possible fractured wrist ? Why would she need to call her mother at this very second, when a gurney was waiting for her ?

When I tried to convince her that she could call her mother on the way to the hospital, she yelled, "I NEED TO CALL MY MOTHER RIGHT NOW !" The look on her face was that of a wild animal, snarling and baring its teeth, ready to attack.

Woah.

Without a word, I retreated out of the cube, and radioed for help.

As a volunteer, it is not my job to restrain a patient or to force them to do anything. Had she physically attacked me, I could have easily defended myself. But that is the absolute last resort, and something I don't ever wish to do. I volunteer because I want to help, not because I want the satisfaction of restraining someone. The prospect of doing that is frightening to me, and something I wish to avoid at all costs. In my 6 years of volunteering (4 as an EMT), this was the first time any patient had ever made me feel afraid for my safety. It was disturbing, to say the least.

Even after the patient was loaded onto the gurney and meticulously belted in, she attempted to jump off to retrieve her laptop and her purse. We had to convince her that her friend would take her purse off the floor and secure her laptop (which she did). All we could do was be patient, and silently shake our heads when she spouted off about one thing or another.

We deal with all types of people in this business. Even in an office environment.

No Sushi For You

2007-11-12T13:59:00.000-08:00

This week's lunch expedition with my friend Jeff took us to a delectable sushi restaurant in the Asian plaza near our place of work. I had been to this establishment a few times before, actually experiencing my first sushi tasting during a business lunch some seven years ago. The quality of the food never disappointed. We were looking forward to the prospect of fresh fish, rice and wasabi on this beautiful California noon hour.

We arrived, and seated ourselves at the sushi boat. Many delicacies floated by on their colorful plates, and we each selected one. As I was enjoying my first unagi nigiri, Jeff suddenly developed a troubled look on his face.

"What's up ?", I asked.

"Well, I don't want to ruin your lunch, but..."

He moved one of the signs on the table, and out scampered a medium-sized cockroach, not two inches from the plate that held my food.

Gross.

My normal reaction would have been a startled scream, but luckily, Jeff had warned me that my lunch was about to be ruined. Gathering every bit of composure I could muster, I quietly declared, "We're done here." With a quick word to the server, we were gone.

It was all I could do to keep the urge to vomit at bay.

It's sad, really. We both enjoyed this restaurant in the past. I was willing to overlook the fact that the unagi seemed rather dry, and not up to the standards we expected. But, I simply cannot overlook a cockroach, the international symbol of Dirty Disgusting Restaurant, casually walking two inches away from the plate where I was eating my food.

Jeff, being a guy, indicated he might have continued eating if I hadn't been present. I, however, would rather starve.

So much for good, inexpensive sushi.

Peace and Comfort

2007-11-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

For the love of God, could someone please tell me, given all the wonderful places in the laundry room for a cat to sleep comfortably, why Mocha would choose the litter box for her daily nap ?

She has a soft house, a cubby in a cat tree, and her spot behind the washer; and yet, she digs herself a hole, flattens it out, curls up and sleeps... in a pile of scented sand and dried-up shit.

I don't get it.