Thunder of Wade

[We were asked to develop a micro-experiment for work on ways to connect better with colleagues or the campus. I wrote this story to stop being so un-nerved by the statue near the engineering college – but it didn’t help.]

It shouldn’t have smelled like anything anymore.

The gangly metal statue had been erected years ago and though it looked rusty, the artist had coated it with a sealant to prevent it from slowly falling apart over the years of harsh weather.

But, up close, there was a smell.  

Like oil and some other chemical.  Harsh and acrid. No reason for that – it was a sculpture and not meant to move. 

Though, it looked like it could have.

Standing over 30 feet tall – but bent over to half that height – the figure approximated a human reaching down to pick up a cube from the ground in front of it.  Where there should have been a head, the figure had a smaller cube with a polished and reflective face. 

Someone looking at the figure would have looked back at themselves and it was…disconcerting.

There were other cubes scattered on the ground and the unnamed figure seemed to be in the midst of arranging them.  It looked uncomfortable with the task, but somehow driven.

And there was that smell.

I stepped further back to get a better view of the figure.  The arms and legs lacked articulation and appendages – suggesting a bludgeon over any kind of graceful movement. The back pointed shapes sticking out – like pyramids on rods – and the limbs had reflective patches.  If it has been a living creature from some unknown genus, the message its body type was sending was “I’m here, but do not touch.”

Though the head was a cube, I realized the objects on the ground were another shape.  Octahedrons, perhaps.  They had cutaways on some of the faces showing gears and other clockwork – suggesting motion there as well.

The tableau felt strangely familiar – like a video game or some half-remembered nightmare.  A hulking figure, intent on a task until interrupted.  And then unleashing some disproportionate retribution. 

A few more steps back, now in the middle of the path that wound past the figure…

(“and out of reach”, a thought drifted through my head)

I pulled my phone from my pocket, intending to capture a few photos for a writing prompt, and took a few steps left and then back to the right to get a good perspective.  And capture the hopefully unintentional menace.  It was erected outside an engineering building on a college campus – it “shouldn’t” be menacing, one would think.

I switched from camera to gallery and reviewed the photos.  Satisfied, I started to walk away when I gave the figure one last glance before turning my back.

There was something…

I got out my phone from where I had reflexively put it back in my pocket and opened the gallery again. 

The figure’s head seemed oddly positioned – pointed towards me still, though I had moved.  I looked back and forth between the figure and the photos, trying to find the angle where I had taken the photo.  

Puzzled, I couldn’t quite line things back up between the position of the figure and my photos, but if there was a difference, it was subtle.  Perhaps a building shadow or a passing cloud making it look…not quite the same.

Nothing else had changed and I didn’t have an explanation.   I chalked it up to my own imagination playing a trick on me and I was on my way. 

It was winter break on campus and while there was no snow yet, the campus was cold and nearly deserted.  As I walked back to my office, I thought that nothing is quite as scary during the day as it is at night and if I wanted to capture the menace of the figure in a photo, I would need to return to campus at night.

I went on about my day, occasionally getting out my phone to look at the pictures again. In the photos, the iron figure was clearing looking forward to the path.  Yet, in my mind’s eye, I saw it looking at me as I stood to the side.  

As much as a faceless figure can be said to look at anything. 

I got home, fixed and ate dinner, then set an alarm for 10 pm and settled in with a book – figuring it would be late enough to be dark and quiet on campus – yet not so late that any patrolling security would be suspicious of my cover story to explain my late night visit.

The book was enjoyable, but dinner had been too heavy and I drifted off. My dreams were noisy and vague, but enough to keep me anchored in sleep despite the efforts of my alarm.

When I finally did wake, it was after midnight and my too quiet alarm was still chiming an inane tune.

I switched it off and considered.

I could take my shower and go to bed – and try again the next night.  Well, that night, I realized – glancing again at the 12:07 AM on my phone.

Or, since I was awake and had already had a nap, I could get this little project done and start to work on that writing project.

I left a light on in the kitchen, perhaps hoping to reassure my future self upon my return, then backed the car out of the drive and headed for the highway.

Though the time was all wrong, the route was deeply ingrained.  I had plenty of mental resources left to plan as I navigated the nearly empty highway roads.

My thought was to park far enough away from my office building and in a line that would take me past the figure.  I could park, make a beeline to the building, snap a quick photo on the way, go all the way to my office and pick up some random and seemingly important paper file, then retrace my steps.  

If campus security was out braving the cold as well, I could say I forgot this important file and needed it before I would be working remotely for the next few days.

It was a more plausible story at 10, but seemed less plausible now well into the next day. I hoped that I’d simply be able to avoid everyone and have the campus to myself.

Parking, at least, was no worry.  During the day and during the school year, the lot I selected would have been packed.  Instead, I had my pick of empty spaces.  In fact, there was only one other car in the entire lot and the stack of tickets under the wiper blades suggested it had been there a while and would soon be towed.

Not all the street lights were working between the parking lot and my destinations.  I passed from islands of light to pools of darkness, trusting my familiarity with the campus paths and byways to keep me from stumbling. 

I kept my hands in my pockets to keep them warm enough to quickly operate the camera, intending to slow only long enough to get a shot or two and then keep moving to maintain the cover I had constructed in my head.   Though the walk was longer than I would have liked and the cold was seeping in. 

I navigated a set of stairs in the dark and rounded a building, finally reaching my waypoint. 

The iron figure loomed even larger than before, rising from the cold ground and lit by spotlights from below. 

I silently congratulated myself – it was far more menacing in the dark. I took stock for a moment and collected myself.  I was an adult, I was allowed to be here, it was just a sculpture.

And, I reminded myself, I wasn’t afraid of the dark.

I traced a path from side to side as I had done before to find the best angle – noting that the figure’s head was facing straight ahead to the path.  As it should have been and had been all along.

I might have laughed at my previous confusion, but stifled it quickly.   After midnight with a flimsy excuse was bad enough – laughing to myself would have deeply worried any potential colleague.

I found what I hoped was a good angle, pulled the phone from my pocket with cold fingers, and opened the camera app. 

I sighted the figure in the frame and tapped the button to take a quick photo.

In the darkness, the automatic flash went off once to check the light, and then again.

And in that instant, I realized my mistake.

The light from my phone reflected directly from the figure’s blank mirror of a face and its head turned with a shriek of metal grinding against metal. In the same moment, the seemingly solid figure released the octahedron from its blunt appendages and recoiled in surprise and pain from the light.

It twisted away from me as it stood up to its full height, one arm raised to shield its head from the light. 

There was a moment of silence as it stood motionless again – this time in a new and impossible position towering over me.  Even from my remove, I could smell it again.  Oil and that harsh chemical smell, this time also mixed with a sharp tang of ozone. 

With another grinding shriek, it lowered its arm and turned back to face me again.  While the face remained a mirror and I could just make out my own reflection in the light from below, the posture of the figure suggested anger with an obvious target.

I stood motionless for a moment, gathering my thoughts and devising a quick plan.  Some creatures had trouble with motionless prey and while I knew I couldn’t stay motionless forever – I would start to shiver, at least – I might have one or two strides of the figure before it was on me.  

I might, and I hoped, be quicker.

And then, decided, I bolted. 

I had a notion to pick a zigzag route back towards the parking deck and my car.  If the light bothered it, the figure might need it to see and I could use the darkness to confuse and trip it up. 

But while I was quicker, the figure’s strides dwarfed mine and like a fairy-tale giant it was after me.  With now constant and deafening shrieks of metal on metal of hinges that were never intended to move, the figure pounded after me down the walkway.  

The ground shook with each step and I felt a rush of air at my back as it swung a massive metal arm when I let it get too close.

Even as I tried to pick a path with obstacles to slow it down, I began to despair.  The short flight of concrete steps I jumped were a single step to the giant.   The fencing I darted past was ripped asunder with a swing of a metal arm. 

And the pools of occasional darkness were too brief to hinder. 

I had a moment where I gained some distance with some cornering – my smaller size finally an advantage – then lost it again on an open straight away.  I felt another rush of air at my back  – too scared and winded to risk turning to see – then saw my salvation. 

A quirk of architectural planning had placed two academic buildings closer than usual to each other.  There was a well worn path between them – a shortcut from one side of campus to another used by harried students – but it was too narrow for vehicles.

Or, I reasoned, giant statues of iron come to life. 

I made for the safety of the path and felt a blunt metal arm caress the back of my head before I was out of reach.  

The figure slammed into the two buildings on either side, then took a step back and raised both arms to smash into the brick. 

There was a crash and a shower of dust and stone as I turned to watch the attack – safe, I hoped, just out of reach. 

The figure smashed the brick again with more stone and dust – then from out of that cloud the blunt arm reached between the buildings to try and strike me.  I stumbled backwards a few steps and hoped it was enough. 

There was another single shriek of metal, then silence as the figure paused. The dust cleared and I could see it looking at me, backlit by floodlights on the ground. 

It studied me for a moment, then cocked its massive cube of a head to the side.  It looked like a puzzled dog trying to work out how to reach that distant treat. 

Except I was the treat, I supposed.

I was safe for the moment, but when I turned around again to continue my escape I realized my error.  The last time I had taken this path, the way had been clear.  

Now, and only recently now, a tall chain-link fence blocked the far end of the path.  It was climbable, after a fashion, if I could ignore my frozen fingers.  And the razor wire strung across the top of the fence.  

The figure would have made short work of that obstacle if it could have reached it, but for me it was perhaps a literal dead end. 

I had a slim hope that it would give up and wander back to its garden – leaving me a chance to escape and a mystery of a damaged building for the facilities team to find in the morning. 

I turned back to the figure, still safely outside of the narrow path, and thought my hopes would find realization as it started to turn. 

Instead of a march back home, the figure began to contort itself in a way no human could have.  Shoulder shifted, a torso flattened, and hips swiveled to take a new stance.  The shrieking of metal continued, now echoing between the buildings enough for me to raise my numb hands to cover my ears, but it seemed somehow less than than when it first began to move.

I realized, sadly, that it had finally loosened up enough to move freely – the oil now serving to lubricate the metal joints. 

With a final squeal, the figure turned a profile to the gap and turned its head to a new version of forward.  

And with small and almost mincing steps, it began a steady march forward towards and then into the gap – now blocking my only exit.

But, maybe not entirely.  The legs had to march right down the center so that the wider torso and shoulders would still fit.  If I waited just long enough and timed it just right, I might be able to slip past it.  

Step by clanging step it advanced on me, its body scraping against the buildings on either side with each movement.  I had to wait until it was far enough in that it would take I could gain the most time as it would then have to mince its way back out after me. 

With the fence at my back, I saw my moment.  Ducking forward, I dove past its legs with freedom in sight.

And forgot about the trailing arm.  The figure couldn’t see me, but swung the metal bludgeon of an arm with terrible accuracy. 

I barely had time to register the impact.

And then sat up with a lurch on my couch, my book falling to the floor. It joined my phone, having fallen then by the vibration of the alarm. 

I sat there a moment to catch my breath and slow my heart, then leaned over and collected my phone  – showing 10:09 PM – and my book from the floor. 

Once settled, I opened my Photos app and deleted the daytime pictures of the sculpture.

Then I went to bed, resolving that I would now be avoiding that part of campus permanently.

Day or night.

Just in case. 

As long as I’ve known Jim, I also knew his cat Max.   Max was a vocal orange cat who wasn’t keen on strangers, but once he warmed up to you he was a literal heat-seeking feline.  With warm laps as the target.

When Jim and I moved in together, my cat Thunder did not get along well with his cats Sophie and Max.  Though, I think it was more of a problem between Thunder and Sophie – Max just really wanted to be friends with anyone.  He had an odd relationship with the dogs – seeking their companionship and warmth, but not really upset when chased off or getting smacked in the face with a tail.  The dogs in turn did some occasional aggressive smelling, but mostly ignored him. 

Despite our best efforts the cats did not ever get along and we lost Thunder not long after.  A couple years later, the grand dame Sophie also said her goodbye and it was just Max.

He was as good of a cat as he could be – factoring in that all cats are kinda jerks most off the time.

We put covers on the nice furniture and when that wasn’t enough, spiky pads to keep him from leaving orange hair everywhere.  And if we forgot, we would find him napping where he wasn’t supposed to be.  

No cat could have enjoyed our living room more, though, with the sunshine filled windows and covered radiators.  For a cat who loved to nap in warm spaces, this was heaven.

He would frequently get in the way on the stairs while we would be carrying a dog up or down.  And expected a treat any time the dogs got attention. 

Otherwise, he was just a cat  – less like a pet and more like a freeloading room-mate.

Though, to be fair, he did kill a couple of mice in the house and left the remains for us to find. I guess that counts as working.

Around this time last year – when we were having trouble with Talbot and his mobility – a door got left open and unattended for just a little too long.  Max slipped out and escaped from the lap (literally) of luxury. 

And he was gone.

As soon as we realized, we searched the yard and the neighborhood.  In any previous escape attempt we would find him nearby.  But not this time. 

We alerted the neighbors and everyone kept watch.  We followed up on any possible sighting and each day I would walk the neighborhood after work  – shaking a treat can and calling his name. 

A full 25 days after he escaped, the next door neighbors had a sighting.  I hurried home from the office and to their yard – can of treats in hand and heart full of hope.

Then, a familiar meow. 

He cautiously crawled out from under the neighbor’s shed and I gently wrapped him a towel and took him home.

Max had lost a lot of weight and we quarantined him in the basement with water, wet food and his litter box – all near the furnace that we soon needed to use. He was warm and safe and home.  

We got him to the vet a few days later, where I introduced him to the staff there as “Maxwell Copenhagen Lake the First, but you can call him Max”

Other than weight loss, he was in surprisingly good shape.  No injuries, no parasites, just hungry.  I bought him a collar and had an engraved nametag made for it.  Since I had brought him home, I felt a new obligation to keep him safe.

I started a routine of wet food to help get his weight up over the dry kibble.  Morning before I went to work, lunch time with the dogs, dinner when I got home, then night time before bed.  He would never eat all of it no matter the size of the portion, but I dutifully kept his dish refreshed to get him back to his regular weight.

And then, other than the new food schedule, he was back to his old self.  Even to the point of looking out the door when the dogs were let out – as though he considered going back out into the cold.

Not the brightest of cats, but maybe he nursed a secret wanderlust.

My weekends of sleeping in were now a thing of the past – Max would come into the room and meow when it was time for breakfast.  If I ignored him, he would settle in – blocking the door – and wait for me to get my lazy ass out of bed.

Later, when Talbot got sick, it got harder to fit in all my chores at lunchtime.  The barking dogs and yawling cat made it more stressful.  

And when we lost Talbot, I took on more responsibilities with Max and Chloe while Jim tried to recover. 

As summer ended and fall began, I noticed that Max wasn’t eating as much.  Even when I lowered the portions, he still was leaving most of the food.  He didn’t seem to have a behavior change and didn’t turn down treats, but it was concerning.  He slowly stopped eating and I thought he might be eating the dry food we still had out, but that seemed untouched too.

Then, over a few quick days, he stopped eating and drinking altogether and started hiding in the basement.  For a sociable cat, this was a worrying sign.  

He stayed in the basement all day last Saturday, but we brought him up so one of our friends could stop over and see him.  The two had been close and Max seemed glad to sit on his lap – but the usual tail movement was absent.  When our friend left, we took Max up to the bedroom for the night, but he slipped out in the darkness to go back to the basement. 

Max didn’t leave the basement on Sunday and when we checked on him he wouldn’t move and would just let out a pitiful cry.   He couldn’t get in and out of the litterbox well or use it and his paws were crusted with litter.  

We were losing him and he was suffering.

Sunday night, around 9 pm, we decided it was time to say goodbye.

Jim wrapped him in a towel and we took him to the animal hospital.   Jim was already grieving the cat in his arms and I took over and calmly explained to the receptionist that this was our elderly cat Max and he had suddenly taken a turn for the worse and it was time to say goodbye. I answered all the questions, we paid the fees, and were taken back to a room. 

Jim held Max in his arms and gently petted him.  A tech took Max back for a quick exam and the doctor came in and told us how things would go – and agreed it was time to let him go.  

They brought Max back to us with an IV in his leg and gave us some time to say goodbye.  Then the doctor came back and gave him the injection and he fell asleep and then passed away in Jim’s arms.

We made arrangements to have Max cremated and left the hospital, both feeling hollow. 

It was late when we got home, but we stayed up a while and talked about Max.  Over the next few days I realized I was missing the annoyances.    No more tripping over him on the stairs, no more before-the-alarm wake-up calls, and no more random yawls that scared the dogs and me.

There was a quiet absence.

I took an evening in the middle of the week to clean up the basement and spare Jim from having to do it.  I washed out the food and water dishes, dumped the litter box, and swept things up.  I cleaned his collar and put away his toys.

And then we waited for him to come home.

The cremation service brought us his remains today.  There was a bag with clippings of his fur, a pawprint cast in plaster, pamphlets on grieving a pet loss, and a tiny bag of his remains.

Jim and I sat on the couch and talked about the relics, for lack of a better term, and told each other stories and memories of Max.

We’ve now lost Thunder, Sophie, Talbot and Max.  I don’t know what we should do with these remains in their decorative boxes. 

And we worry about our old girl Chloe and her new little friend Fenwick.  

Grief is familiar in our home as we continue to mourn our lost animal friends. 

But we do our best and keep out hearts open.

Goodbye, Max. You too did did your best and we miss you. 

I got an email at work this week that purported to be an invoice for Adobe Sign.  I’m not someone who is in charge of invoices and I don’t use that software personally.  It had all the hallmarks of some standard issue phishing and I was about to delete it.

But, the more I looked at it, the more “suspiciously suspicious” it became.  The red flags were conspicuously red and it just seemed…obvious.  

It wasn’t just a phishing message, I concluded.  It was a test from our IT department.

I right-clicked on it, chose Report Phishing from the menu, and the message was gone.

A few minutes later, I got another email – thanking me for reporting the phishing test message.  It was from the IT security group and I had passed the test.

Yes.

Nailed it.

I popped open a Teams chat to a colleague in the IT security team.

“Do I get a prize for reporting the phishing test message?” I asked.

A few minutes later he replied with an animated gif of “Good Job!” and a gold star.

I laughed and sent him back an LOL.  Then sent,

“I was hoping for a scratch-and-sniff or a puffy sticker that I could put on my laptop, but I’ll settle for a ‘Good job, Anthony’ email and the animated gif.”

He sent an LOL back and said he’d look into the IT sticker budget.

I was deeply proud of myself about the whole thing – more so when I found most colleagues in my department had deleted it and even more so when I heard a couple colleagues had clicked on the link.

Amateurs. 

When I shared this with a colleague later that day and bemoaned my stickerless reward, she immediately opened up the drawer on her desk and brought out her sticker stash for me to choose one.  I picked the “silly goose” – because I am and because it was wearing an origami hat.

I was quite the clever boy.

We’ve got a routine when I get home from work. 

The dogs greet me at the door, I take them outside to use the bathroom, then it’s back inside for their dinner.  When they are done, Chloe gets a pill in a peanut butter pill pocket as an anti-seizure medicine and Fenwick – so as not to be left out – gets a small crunchy treat. 

I got the pill ready and the treat – one in each hand – then bent over to hand them off to the dogs.  But, I wasn’t paying close enough attention and instead of Chloe, I handed the pill pocket to Fenwick. 

The instant the pill reached his mouth, I realized my mistake.  But, it was peanut butter flavored and he scarfed it up.  

<SHIT> I thought.  <SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT>

I grabbed him to pry his mouth open – hoping that he hadn’t swallowed it for some reason.

But his mouth was empty.

The panic kicked in hard, but it didn’t slow me down.  I scooped him up and took him outside, then got down on the ground with him. I put my index finger in his mouth and back to his throat to try and get him to throw up. 

If he threw up the pill, then the problem was solved.

It didn’t work, though I tried several times.  He tried really hard not to bite me, but ended up doing so anyway.  I didn’t blame him – circumstances were extraordinary. 

Back in the house I set him down and grab my phone and the pill bottle.  A couple of searches later – thank you, fast internet – and I got only a vague answer about the safety of the drug and some dangerous-on-their-own options for making the dog throw up.  It would depend on his weight and the dose – but the notes included a link to a Pet Poison Control. 

I debated a quick moment about taking him to our vet – it was close to 5 pm and they would likely just send me to the emergency room. Going directly to the emergency room wouldn’t guarantee a quick response either and I felt the time pressure mounting.  I decided on poison control as the quickest option – and I could still take him to the ER afterwards if recommended.

Before I called, I scooped him back up and went upstairs to weigh us both on the bathroom scale – then set him down and got my weight. 

We both went back downstairs and I did some math to get his weight.   I scribbled some quick notes, got my wallet out, and called.

7 minutes – at most – had elapsed.

They answered right away and I explained the problem.  For every question, I had an exact answer.  When they asked his weight I gave the exact amount and told them that I had just weighed him.  They were surprised and a little impressed at how prepared I was.  I made a mental note to enjoy that later.

With all my info, they needed to hand me off to the payment system.  I dutifully entered in my info quickly and correctly on the first try, then back over to the human.

They thanked me for the payment and put me on hold while they did the research. 

Even in my panic, I was still level-headed enough to do exactly the right things in the right order. Made me hopeful of how I might handle myself in future emergencies.

At this point, Jim got home.  I gave him the rapid fire summary and began the first in the series of apologies I would offer that night.

He told me that I was doing exactly what he would have done – and had done, if I recalled.

The poison control folks got back to me  – with good news.

The pill is generally safe and at his weight it would take 10 times that dose to put him in danger. 

I opted then to start breathing again.

At most, he might get lethargic within the hour, but it should clear his system in 8 hours. We should monitor him and if he got really lethargic to take to the ER, but that was unlikely and he should be fine.  

As she was about to give me the case number, Jim asked me if we should give him his allergy pill – since Fenwick has had trouble keeping that down and it might make him throw up.

I asked that question and the poison control woman though that was a great idea.  If he kept the pill down, good. If he threw them both up – even better.  We shouldn’t try anything else to make him throw up, but if the other pill did it, that would be good.

I wrote down the case number and ended the call.

I relayed the rest of the info to Jim and apologized again.  I broke down a little with pent up worry and panic and he gave me a hug.  

“It was an accident”, he said, “And Fenwick was going to be okay,”

He said he would keep an eye on Fenwick if I wanted a break and I instead went down to the basement to clean the cat’s litter box as a self imposed penance. 

We took turns keeping an eye on him, especially the first hour, but he took a normal doggie nap and then was fine to run around the house and go for a  W  A  L  K.

He slept normally through the night and was fine the next morning.  Completely un-eventful.

I should mention, I suppose, that I did give Chloe her pill after we got the all-clear from poison control.

And I’ve also changed my habits about the dogs and their medicine/treats.  One at a time – and double-checking before the hand off.

I didn’t sleep well that night, but with a lesson learned and no consequences – other than the fee from poison control – the household is back to normal. 

And Fenwick – our little man – is thankfully right as rain.

It started with a scooter.  

The campus has a service – with Lyft, I think – to provide electric scooters to rent to get around campus. I’ve never used them since I’m rarely in that much of a hurry and I know how to walk.  Always seemed lazy to me.  Even lazier though are the scooter riders who, when confronted with an un-scooterable obstacle, will simply abandon the scooter right where they stop.   Usually blocking stairs.    

There was a scooter across the sidewalk right at the top of the stairs while I was walking from my car to my office.  I walked around it – irritated at whomever had been so lazy and unthinking of other people to just leave it in the way.

From there it was a 2 hour long meeting.  And for my small part of the project, it could have been an email with an attached PDF of documentation.   A short email, at that.

But, no, it was a meeting in person.  I did fold a lot of paper, but also took notes so it would look like I was paying attention.

Then it was lunch time and the drive home had really aggressive drivers.  More so than usual or maybe I was just hungry.  I did quite a bit of swearing. 

An amazon delivery driver was blocking part of the street and from the other direction a lawn service truck was blocking the other side.  I managed to get past, but it was close.  Also, as I was leaving, I righted our knocked over trash can.  The garbage truck had knocked it over that morning, but not picked it up.  We’ll have to wait a week and try again. 

I stopped at Burger King to get lunch and it was chaos.  Angry and impatient people, slow service, no ice and then no lids.  The hold up was a door dasher with a huge order who seemingly abandoned the whole order just before they brought over the last bag.  A huge waste.  There was also a traffic jam in the parking lot – another door dasher blocking one lane and a lawn service truck and trailer blocking the other.

I had to loop the parking deck twice to find a space when I got back to campus.

Then back in the office and eating my lunch, trying to type emails to keep up while hurriedly chewing my food.  The nuggets tasted..off.

As the afternoon wore on, a loud voice started to intrude over my headphones and music – and the endless ads, but that’s nothing new.

I went to my window and realized it was a megaphone voice coming from outside.

Since it didn’t seem to be stopping, I got up and went outside to check.  It turned out to be a fraternity doing some kind of fundraiser recruiting thing.  I pointed out where my office was and asked if they would turn it down a bit.   I sounded more polite than I felt.

On my way back to the office I passed a table with Communist USA, a guy with a tally board asking “is god a person?” – who was near the ubiquitous Jehovah’s Witness folks. 

All day long, one irritation after another. I’ve got a problem with grinding my teeth at night and I was starting to do that during that day as well. 

And yet.

I wasn’t in an accident and the parking space I eventually found was convenient.

The meeting was pointless, but I got to talk to a coworker I hadn’t seen in a while.

My lunch order was correct.  And the dogs were happy to see me.  Also, my manually done yard looked nicer than the ones the services did.

The megaphone guys did turn things down and no one from the tables really bothered me. 

And I was somewhat productive in the office, all things considered.

I managed, even with all the irritations, to get through the day.  

I have a good job, people that love me, a safe home, and a full belly.  And soon, I’ll head to a comfortable bed for a solid night’s sleep. 

It wasn’t a perfect day.  Or even really a good one. 

But it wasn’t that bad, either. 

I skipped Akron Pride this year.

I was ready to go, though.  I had picked out a nice outfit, had a plan to check out the booths and then get lunch in front of the mainstage – and likely take a selfie in front of the big flag while avoiding the “god hates fags” crew.

But an hour before I planned to leave, my plan fell apart.  

Jim didn’t want to go so I’d be by myself again.  I’ve lost touch with the people I might know there and I’m not good in social situations.  I’m too frugal (cheap) to get into the merchandise. 

And, well, I’ve been lonely…lately.   So the idea of being lonely in a crowd made me rethink my plan.  I stood there in the hallway, trying to motivate myself to go and I realized I was going because I was feeling obligated.  That just showing up and being counted would be enough.

I changed my clothes and heated up some pasta for lunch, then I went outside to work in the yard.  Lonely, but at least productive. 

Jim needed me to look after the dogs while he ran errands and so I sat with them – but then it started raining  I hurried back out to put my tools away – my backup plan for the day also ruined.

I didn’t do much today.   And I’m getting so tired of trying. 

I skipped Pride today and it’s a symptom of a larger problem.

I had an extended drive planned for early the next morning, so I decided to fill up with gas later at night when it wouldn’t be busy.  I was low on fuel and with the rising costs, I decided to spend my “fuel perks” – earned at the grocery store – to knock the price of fuel down to something less insane than $4.23 a gallon.

I mean, I know there’s a war on, but seriously…

I pulled into the gas station, pulled up my “loyalty card” on my phone, and scanned it. 

And I got a message back:

“Sorry, we’re unable to redeem your perks at this time, but you’ll still earn perks on this fill up for future transactions.”

WTF?

Irritated, I looked at the gas station across the street.  $4.25 a gallon. I considered driving around to find a cheaper price, but that way lies madness. 

So, I proceeded to get some fuel – though I didn’t fill all the way up.

I left, fuming.

When I next needed to fill up, I saw the gas station nearest to my house was at $4.75.  I was resigned to paying both an arm and a leg, but at a different gas station near McDonald’s where I stopped for lunch it was $3.89.  That gas station is a good place to get your credit number skimmed and I’m pretty sure you can get scurvy just by going inside, but I stopped and filled it up.

These prices make no sense and they aren’t meant to.  Just another squeeze on the consumer.

And the yo-yo-ing of prices makes us happy to have found a “lower” price – even though it’s vastly higher than it should be or was even a few months ago.

LinkedIn was off by a few days and I got some congratulations early, but today marks my 29th year at The University of Akron. 

While I’m not one for nostalgia or sentiment, I did think back on my early days on the Helpdesk, then Client Services, then Computer Labs, and finally several roles with the Webteam.

I’ve learned a lot, taught a lot, and helped a lot.  I’m respected and appreciated by my peers and kind of a leader – which sometimes gives me some imposter syndrome.

One of my co-workers got me a card and some snacks – she was going by the LinkedIn notice and thought she was late.  My boss congratulated me – he saw the official notice in Workday.  And when I met with our VP today she noted that I had been at UA for quite a while.  Glancing at my watch I told her, “Twenty-nine years – as of today”

After we were done with our meeting she posted on the group chat for work – congratulating me on my “Akronversary” and my colleagues jumped in to note the occasion as well.  I thanked them and said we can do a party when I hit 30 years. 

It’s a strange time to work at UA, but I’m doing my best and trying to stay useful.  I don’t see retirement in my near future, but I guess it’s time to start planning for that. 

And when that happens, I don’t just expect a party – I demand a party.  

I think I’ve earned it.

It looked like a giant puffball mushroom at the edge of the driveway. I saw it and managed to drive around it, then Jim and I went to investigate. Instead of a mushroom, it was a bird.  Jim took a picture on his phone and looked it up – it was a quail.  

Which made him worried. It’s not really native to our area and it has been domesticated to be bulkier and not fly as well.

Jim assumed that it was an escaped pet and was determined to catch it and try to find the owner on facebook.

So, while he watched it, I went inside to get a box.  Then back inside to get a bigger box.  We chased it around the next door neighbor’s yard and the neighbor across the street saw us and came over.  We weren’t making much progress except to find that it could fly – not well, but well enough to avoid us.

The across-the-street-neighbor said that the neighbor-on-the-corner raised quail and it must have escaped.  Across-the-street got the attention of On-the-corner – who had just gotten home – and reported what was going on.  On-the-corner came over and said it was really his wife that raised them – and that she may have let this one loose on purpose. It was violent to the other birds – he called her to confirm.

Meanwhile, Jim and I are still trying to trap it and Across-the-street is talking about “circle of life”.

His kids have startled it to the backyard of Next-door – who we haven’t seen in a few days – and On-the-Corner reluctantly follows.  Then he reports that it has vanished into the undergrowth.  

He’s done at that point and Across-the-street and his kids leave as well.  I go into our backyard and Jim goes into the Next-door yard to try and find it – but no luck.   It’s gone and on its own.

My big hearted Jim is now heartbroken.  He so badly wanted to save this bird that likely can’t save itself.  We have lots of wildlife in the neighborhood and some of them are predators.

But, even if we could catch it, we’re not set up to keep a bird – even really in the short term.  And that’s if we can find someone to take in a bird long term that has a violent history.

We haven’t seen the bird since and we’re assuming that it didn’t make it. 

We’re not happy with the On-the-corner neighbor anyway – he yells at his kids constantly – and this seemed heartless from his family. 

Jim’s empathy has been in overdrive since we lost Talbot – he was quietly distraught and went to bed early that night.

It wasn’t really about the quail.  Just the latest in a line of animals and people we can’t save.

I really thought it was the stir-fry. 

Jim had leftovers and I was on my own for a Wednesday dinner.  I went to a bookstore and bought some more reading material, then went to a stir-fry and yogurt place. I ordered my usual with tofu and broccoli – adding in cilantro and pepper flakes for a kick, along with sweet soy sauce. 

It was, as usual, delicious. 

But at around 4 AM, I woke up with an urgent need to use the bathroom.   I grabbed some good bathroom reading and took a seat. 

And it was…explosive.  (sorry) When I was finally done, I flushed, washed my hands thoroughly, took some pepto, and went back to bed.  

Thursday morning I still wasn’t feeling 100%, but I went on into work. I found a disused bathroom to defile later that morning and had another bout late afternoon. 

Jim texted me that the cafeteria where he works was offering “walking tacos” and did I want one?  They say hindsight is 20/20, but I really knew then it was a bad idea. But, he doesn’t often offer to get dinner and I didn’t want to turn him down.  

So, I ate the taco. 

At around 2 AM, I was up again with more diarrhea.  I went downstairs to get some water when I was done and got nauseous.  I made it to the downstairs bathroom and while I was squatting there throwing up my tacos, the pressure made me soil myself.  (sorry, again) Not a lot, but any is too much. 

When I was done throwing up, I went back upstairs and washed out my underwear and then washed myself.  Hoping that was the last of it, I put on clean underwear and went back to bed. 

I woke up at my regular time on Friday and I was in bad shape.  I didn’t have anything on my calendar and would have worked from home that day anyway – so I set my out-of-office and sent an email to take a rare sick day. 

I then spent all day Friday mostly napping.   Jim got me some gatorade when he got home and I worked my way through that. 

For dinner, I had some crackers and yogurt – under the assumption that my gut biome was trashed and needed rebuilding. 

I was down for the count most of Saturday, but by Sunday I was feeling a little better. Jim thought it might be the stomach parasite that was going around and wanted me to get an appointment with a doctor to get checked. 

On Monday I was back online and working from home – and managed to get an appointment for later that day.  I logged off early and headed across town. 

I did the pre-check-in, paid my co-pay when I arrived, and sat to wait.  They called Anthony right away, but it was a different Anthony and I sat back down.  Then they called Anthony again and this time it was for me.  They took me back to a cubicle to check my temperature, then back out to the waiting room.  Then I got called again and saw a nurse to get my BP and go over my symptoms, then I waited again for the nurse practitioner. 

When he showed up we went over my symptoms and the timeline.  And then the only good part of the whole experience happened. 

I told him I’d been living on crackers, gatorade, and yogurt.  He said that they don’t suggest dairy for stomach issues like diarrhea and nausea.  I counted with, “Well, I was thinking about restoring my gut biome.”

He paused for a moment to take that in, then said,

“That’s not a bad idea.  But, too much of the lactobacteria can be bad too,”

Yeah, whatever.  

He then told me that to be sure of what was going on, they would need to send a sample to a lab to be tested and I could pick up the kit that day and get the results 2-3 days later. 

The visit concluded, I was directed to the checkout where I made arrangements to get the sample kit.  The system took a few awkward minutes to catch up, then she sent me to lab work window. 

They handed me a bag with the kit and explained what I needed to do to collect the sample and return in.

I reluctantly took the kit and headed home. 

Monday night, before I went to bed, I felt like I needed to use the bathroom.  I peed first as instructed, flushed, and washed my hands. 

Then I had to put a disposable plastic bowl on the seat and sit on that.   The plan was to poop in the bowl, then transfer the sample from there.

I got ready to go, but instead of another liquid mess, what came out was mostly solid.  It was difficult to pass and I had to sit at a weird angle to do it.  When I thought I was done I moved the bowl and cleaned myself up. 

Then, the transfer. I had two little vials with liquid that had small spoons in the lids.  I needed to use the spoon to transfer the contents of the bowl to the vial until I filled it to a certain line.  Once the first was done, I did the second the same way.

Then there was another plain plastic cup with a lid.  I had to use a wooden spoon to transfer the rest of the sample to the cup, then seal it up.  

The bowl and the stick went in a trashbag and I washed my hands – a lot – again.  I took the trash outside and took a long shower.  The samples went in a bag and into the fridge. 

I got up early the next morning to drop the samples off before work.  The office opened at 7, but the lab area didn’t open until 7:30. It was a boring wait – aren’t they all? – with my bag of poop vials.

I was mortified to hand them over, but it was just another Tuesday for them. 

By Wednesday I had the results – though the first update from My Chart was negative. It was soon followed by a positive result and then a prescription text message came in.  

I had been planning a trip to Illinois to see family for the weekend and though I wasn’t looking forward to the drive I was looking forward to seeing everyone.  I started to feel worse that evening and decided not to go.  

Thursday, I started feeling much worse while working from home – though I did leave at lunchtime to pick the prescription.  I had to lay down a few times and make a bathroom run.  I also threw up again.  It didn’t help that the air was bad from wildfires up north. 

Friday, I was much much worse and though I wasn’t driving I still took the day off to rest. I needed it too – I was a mess.  The air was a little better on Friday, but I still spent the day indoors to rest.  I did get a call from the health department since the doctor had to report my parasite to the county.  They sent me a survey and by that point signs were pointing to lettuce served at Taco Bell – where I am a frequent diner. 

Saturday I lay around the house again, though I did go outside to get a little sun.  By degrees my poop started to recover and so did my strength.  I was also taking in more solid food – and yogurt – and starting to feel like myself. 

By Sunday I was well enough to mow the yard and Monday back online.

I’m still not quite 100% – but I can fake it well enough.  

I traveled this past weekend to see my niece for her birthday and then had another worrisome bathroom trip – though I think that was the pesto sandwich from Panera.

Through all of this, I had Jim worried.  It’s not like me to get sick – really sick – and I was down for the count more than once.  I also felt like my body was betraying me and my cast -iron stomach was letting me down.  

I guess, though, that my constitution protected me from the worst of it.  I was careful to keep my fluids up and got plenty of rest.  I didn’t end up in the hospital and only got a little dehydrated once.  

So, it could have been much worse.  And I can take or leave lettuce for a while.