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File under Anecdotes, pt 12.
Hello,
I would like to be considered for employment with your organization as a bartender. I have been a software developer for about the past 10 years in both the Bay Area and Seattle. About a month ago, while recovering from a 103 degree fever which I chose to medicate with a combination of Woodford Reserve and some left over Vicodin ... I had a vision. I saw myself walking
through a post apocalyptic wasteland, a "Terminator-Post-Judgement-Day"
nightmare littered with the remnants of smashed computer cases and AOL "free trial" CDs. In the distance I saw a glowing light and floated toward
it. As I approached I saw that it was a bar, an old west saloon. I
floated through the door into the bright lights of the interior. The
place
was empty save a lone sharp featured bartender behind the bar. He
looked over at me and lifted one side of his thin lips into a smile and
said, "Our lives are based on what is reasonable and common sense; Truth is apt to be neither."
Things get a little foggy after that. However, I interpreted this vision to mean that I should abandon software development for a while. I have about 10 months of bar tending experience in a small bar in San Francisco. I enjoyed the experience thoroughly and would like to be employed by
your organization as a bartender. I can forward you my resume upon a response.
Thank you for your time,
Mike
2 comments:
Hm. As a part time bartender and part time tech worker in the Bay Area, I am a bit frightened by this message.
But really, it is always a bad idea to mix alcohol and vicodin (technically acetaminophen is the bad combo with alcohol).
Fucks with your liver, and, apparently, your brain.
File under Anecdotes pt 12.5
When I was about 13 my brother was coming home from his first tour in Kuwait.
Me and the neighbor kids across the street had broken out the glass from my homes front door during an intense game of nerfhoop that left one of the twins with stitches, despite my getting dunked on.
My dad, after a long night of truck driving, knowing his son was coming home from the war, took the door off the hinges and took the temporary piece of foamboard that was in the windowplace out. Shooting and scattering all the sewing needles that were holding the foamboard in its place all over the front room.
I came home from school and stepped on a needle.
My mother was running a sewing business out of the house. Stepping on a needle happened. However this one went into my foot and broke when it hit the bone and stayed lodged in my foot.
I walked on it for the next two days festivities all the while my brother kept telling me not to be such a baby. He had just gotten done with Ranger school and gone to Kuwait.
On day three it looked really bad and my mother finally took me to the hospital after the homecoming party had ended. After X-rays they discovered the broken off piece and rushed me to surgery against my will. I could have kept walking on it and pushed it into an artery.
After waking up and discharging from the hospital and loading my ass into the backseat of a caprice classic station wagon, complete with wood trim, the sedatives and painkillers wore off from the surgery and my mother found the nearest druggist and had the pharmacist call the doctor and got me a painkiller. It was Vicodin.
Took the pill and Mom made me a nice big dinner which I wolfed down after not having eaten in 24 hours. During the night I got VIOLENTLY ill.
I've thrown up from drinking, but this was a whole other level of my body rejecting what was going on.
The next day we got a call from the anesthesiologist to check on me because he had seen that I had to have a painkiller that was prescribed vicodin which has bad occurrences with the anesthesia that he used on me.
I don't know if I was allergic before, but since then I cannot take anything codine based.
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