As I had hoped, my job has not failed to let me down as a good source of entertainment. At least, it’s entertaining now because I actually made it home from work. That little detail will be important shortly.
Wetting your pants isn’t funny. Unless it’s someone else wetting their pants, in which case it’s hilarious.
For those of you that are new or not paying attention, I work in supply at a hospital. The outpatient clinic to be more specific, so there’s nobody spending the night where I work. A large number of the patients we work with are advanced in age or handicapped or both. A few days ago, a man up in one of the clinics wet himself. Not just a little, but totally soaked himself from the waist down. That is what I understood anyway since I didn’t actually see the man.
Whether he just couldn’t hold it or his catheter came loose or the bag broke or whatever, I don’t know. Whatever the reason was, it’s irrelevant to the story. I’m not here to judge the poor guy.
The reason I know about it is that his nurse came down to supply to see if we had something dry he could wear to get back home. A pair of scrub pants or something of the like to help the guy retain his dignity on the way home. I was in the midst of doing something else, so one of my bosses, Medina (aka: “funky cold”), sprung into action to help the nurse out.
I left the room to take some stuff upstairs. I wasn’t gone very long. Maybe five minutes, and when I returned Funky Cold was handing the nurse a disposable isolation jumpsuit.
The nurse thought it was a great idea. Funky Cold thought it was a great idea.
I started hyperventilating.
For those of you not in the medical field, let me show you what a disposable isolation jumpsuit looks like:
You folks with me on this yet? No? Ok.
Picture yourself in the lobby of the hospital. Just minding your own business, waiting for your Valium prescription to be filled. There’s a TV on the wall with CNN on and every other fucking word is “Ebola” and “President shuts down airport” . . .
. . . and “Ebola”.
. . . and then the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man walks through the lobby.
You have no idea why. You’re just an innocent bystander. You don’t know Stay-Puft just pissed himself. All you see is a guy wearing the same shit the people all over the news are wearing. You think to yourself, “Well fuck me runnin”!
Or you don’t, maybe that’s just me.
Either way, some form of “that can’t be good” will go through your head.
So I stopped Funky Cold and the nurse and calmly explained the implications that could be made by walking this poor slob through the lobby in an isolation jumpsuit.
Ok, so it wasn’t calmly, I totally made that part up.
At first the nurse rejected my theory, stating that it wasn’t a big deal, the man simply needed something dry to wear home. So I continued to protest. I pointed out that I know that, and you know that and Funky Cold even knows that but random people standing in the lobby that have had Ebola shoved in their face for the past month DO NOT know that.
All it would take is one jumpy conspiracy theorist standing in the lobby waiting on his anxiety meds, because he is out of them (very important to note here), to grab his cell phone and make a single panicked phone call.
The CDC would be there to lock us down before the doors could slide shut and we would all be spending the night here. Keeping in mind that this facility is NOT designed for overnight guests and the sleeping arrangements would be awkward at best.
We’d be on CNN by the next commercial break. Tampa would go into a frenzy. The President would lock down Tampa International Airport. There’d be zombies and cannibalism and total anarchy.
. . . because some old dude pissed his pants.
Can you even imagine how that poor old dude would feel? Imagine being the guy that shut down an entire city due to poor bladder control. Embarrassing does not begin to explain it.
Not to be redundant, but this is how going viral goes viral.
Eventually both Funky Cold and the nurse began to see the flaw in their judgement. The nurse finally decided that she would “cut the top half off so it is just the pants”.
I agreed that was a good idea as an old man in white pants in Florida would blend right in. Slip some white patent leather shoes on him and he’d actually vanish.
The crisis averted, we were all able to go home.
Have you ever stopped a tragedy before it happened? Tell me about it.
Facebook post of the day comes from Denise, because we haven’t heard from her in a while and her never ending failures with dresses and pants, or lack thereof, never ceases to amuse me . . .