Episode 91: Enter The Pit
It's no secret that the last few days have been nearly completely shitty.
We came back from the Immune System tour with our show schedule so badly ripped to shit that I'd given up on the thing. Honestly, how many times in two months do I need to remind someone of the schedule to which we had agreed? After everything, I was so frustrated, I ended up leaving Krush.
Two weeks prior to that, I ended up backing away from the West Memphis Three support group after I found myself having to constantly justify my actions to some halfwitted moron that refused to understand but constatly questioned me or talked down to me like I was their kid. Now this. I'd made up my mind that if every weekend were going to turn out like this, I was just going to not even bother firing up the computer. It was becoming frustrating.
Sunday I'd found myself in a pit. Despite a good workout, despite doing what needed to be done, I just felt like hell, mentally. I was exhausted, drained and just plain ridden hard and put up wet. I didn't feel like talking about any of it, I didn't feel like solving the problem. Hell, I didn't even feel like venturing into the outside world for one day. I just wanted to stretch out on the couch and watch some damn movies and tell the entire outside world to get fucked for one day. I did exactly that. I gave up giving a shit for one full day. This was my day to relax, regroup and recharge. Misty still wanted to talk about it. I ended up just letting her after awhile. It wasn't worth a fight. It wasn't even worth an argument for that matter. I just didn't respond.
Monday didn't seem to be any more promising than Sunday. I woke up after barely any sleep and dragged myself into gear to get to work.
Great... I thought to myself ...From one fucking pit into another.
I've come to accept that I'm going fuck-all nowhere at work. That's why I'm working on getting the hell out of there while the getting is good. Let's face it, word 'round the campfire is that they're looking to do away with the defensive tactics portion of our regular one-day-per-year in-service training. Why? Because they're afraid of lawsuits.
While I've always been critical of the administration's line of logic I have to ask...THE FUCK KIND OF BRAINIAC THOUGHT THIS BULLSHIT UP?! Their first goal was to eliminate smoking on the compound (like that's going to stop me, right?) and now they want to eliminate defensive tactics.
Hmmm...if it looks like a powderkeg, smells like a powderkeg and they're not letting me bring a lighter or a match around it...yep, it's a fucking powderkeg and I'm not sticking around for someone else to light that short fuse. I wonder how many lawsuits they get when someone on either side snaps and a full-on brawl ensues or someone gets killed because an officer didn't know what the hell else to do. Even though the defensive tactics course was cursory at best, it's still better than nothing.
It's a good thing I've got those close quarters combat videos and you best believe when someone gets their head split open, I already have my way out of that bullshit criminal AND civil suit. Now you can see why I'm nowhere near as eager to get into work as I used to be. Back to the original point of this story.
So now I'm dragging my heels to the shower. I feel like I've been eaten by a bear and shit off a cliff onto the jagged rocks below and now I just want to crawl back into bed and sleep the night and the following day away. Can't do it though, got shit to do.
After the shower, it's scrape the fangs, throw the monkeysuit on, throw the lunch together, grab a couple of other items and then off I go. When I get to work, I find that, thankfully, I'm working in the control center. That means no putting up with whining, pissing or moaning from anyone. Being a Monday Night, I'm guaranteed to be left alone. Not much to do on a Monday Night in control except inventory some of the items (restraints, chemicals, tools, etc.) and do the normal paperwork.
It was during the chemical inventory that a series of unfortunate events happened. Nothing that could have lost my job but unfortunate nonetheless. Get ready for a laugh, though. I know you're going to howl at this one.
As I finish restraint inventory, I start checking out the chemicals. Now, if it's one thing even we fear, it's the Fox 5.3. I've already been "qualified" with it and it fucking sucks. That shit burns like hellfire and fury in a fucking can. There's simply no other way of putting it. You don't get used to this shit. There's no way you can. It's not tempered with CS gas to make you think, "Oh this is nothing." Uh uh...this is straight up OC. It's The Flames of The Ninth Circle of Hell marketed well and that's all it is. Once I'm done, I put it all back but there's something in the corner of my eye that's been bugging me.
You see it coming don't you?
Well, not only do I stupidly pick it out of my eye, I also rub my eye...there's a contact in my right eye and now it feels like the rim of my eyelid is on fire. Quickly, I pull the solution and the lens case out of my bag and pluck both contacts from my eyes to wash them both and let them soak. About an hour later, I put the right one back in and there's one of our social workers turning in his personal alarm/panic button. I'm having to do all this with only one eye open and then...Satan came to torment and torture my eye.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he unleashed the Nine Furies of Hell AND every Judgment Day Style Wrath of God into that right eye for good measure. The constant watering of my eye isn't helping...it's only intensifying the entire episode.
I hear Sam Kinison in my head screaming, "OH OH OOOOOHHHHHH I'M IN HEEEEELLLLLL! I'M IN HEEEEELLLLLL!!! *RRRROOOOOAAAAARRR!*"
No words were ever spoken so truly. The pain was so intense that my eye, unbeknownst to me, had already started becoming bloodshot PRIOR to the damn pain setting in. I know Carl Cestari's philosophy was to learn how to eat pain but I don't think he ever experienced this type of insidious agony in his life.
So, here I am, operating with one eye that looks as though I've just smoked about this compound's weight in pot WITH THE SUBSTANCE ABUSE COUNSELOR STANDING AT MY FUCKING WINDOW! Oh I'm happy now...I'm wearing a gigantic fucking happy hat...JESUS JUMPED UP CHRIST!
The happy news to this is, Satan did eventually depart and God did apologize for getting the wrong eye. I've hated myself for doing such a foolish thing ever since.
By the time the next shift comes on...the entire compound knows about it and the story has been so blown out of proportion that I'm still getting shit over the damn phone about it when I'm not running into co-workers in the middle of town.
I think the only real relief would have been to just remove the eye completely from my head and try playing "Hot Potato" with it...that would have been a barrel of laughs.
Tuesday came and went so fast, I'm still trying to discern whether or not it actually happened.
Wednesday, I did another foolish thing. My weight has come down so that I can comfortably wear jeans again and still need a belt. Well, when I get home, get dressed and grab all the gear, I've noticed that it's become a bit chilly outside. As I'm going to the cemetary to begin work on my Panopticon Project...don't ask, you'll see it on Google Video...I'm looking for my hoodie. No dice, can't find it. Then, I go looking for my light jacket...nope, can't seem to find it either. Finally, I grab the one thing I haven't worn in ages...my black trenchcoat. For added protection from the awful effects of the sun, I grab my tinted goggles as well. It's going to be breezy out and these contacts will dry and stick to my eyeballs whether I have rewetting drops of not. Having everything I need, off I go. As I'm going through the filming process, I notice something...my shoulders are getting awfully hot.
As I walk home, I notice, gosh, it's awfully warm out here.
When I get home not only do I notice that it's late but the back part of my shirt in the shoulder and all down the center of my back is damp. Apparently, it wasn't going to stay chilly for long and my contacts have done some flipping around because my eyes are all kind of out of focus.
Ok, so while tragedy seems to have taken some nasty ballshots at me, at least they are pretty funny. I'm officially out of my pit now.
I'm ready to take some nasty ballshots at life. Who's with me?
We came back from the Immune System tour with our show schedule so badly ripped to shit that I'd given up on the thing. Honestly, how many times in two months do I need to remind someone of the schedule to which we had agreed? After everything, I was so frustrated, I ended up leaving Krush.
Two weeks prior to that, I ended up backing away from the West Memphis Three support group after I found myself having to constantly justify my actions to some halfwitted moron that refused to understand but constatly questioned me or talked down to me like I was their kid. Now this. I'd made up my mind that if every weekend were going to turn out like this, I was just going to not even bother firing up the computer. It was becoming frustrating.
Sunday I'd found myself in a pit. Despite a good workout, despite doing what needed to be done, I just felt like hell, mentally. I was exhausted, drained and just plain ridden hard and put up wet. I didn't feel like talking about any of it, I didn't feel like solving the problem. Hell, I didn't even feel like venturing into the outside world for one day. I just wanted to stretch out on the couch and watch some damn movies and tell the entire outside world to get fucked for one day. I did exactly that. I gave up giving a shit for one full day. This was my day to relax, regroup and recharge. Misty still wanted to talk about it. I ended up just letting her after awhile. It wasn't worth a fight. It wasn't even worth an argument for that matter. I just didn't respond.
Monday didn't seem to be any more promising than Sunday. I woke up after barely any sleep and dragged myself into gear to get to work.
Great... I thought to myself ...From one fucking pit into another.
I've come to accept that I'm going fuck-all nowhere at work. That's why I'm working on getting the hell out of there while the getting is good. Let's face it, word 'round the campfire is that they're looking to do away with the defensive tactics portion of our regular one-day-per-year in-service training. Why? Because they're afraid of lawsuits.
While I've always been critical of the administration's line of logic I have to ask...THE FUCK KIND OF BRAINIAC THOUGHT THIS BULLSHIT UP?! Their first goal was to eliminate smoking on the compound (like that's going to stop me, right?) and now they want to eliminate defensive tactics.
Hmmm...if it looks like a powderkeg, smells like a powderkeg and they're not letting me bring a lighter or a match around it...yep, it's a fucking powderkeg and I'm not sticking around for someone else to light that short fuse. I wonder how many lawsuits they get when someone on either side snaps and a full-on brawl ensues or someone gets killed because an officer didn't know what the hell else to do. Even though the defensive tactics course was cursory at best, it's still better than nothing.
It's a good thing I've got those close quarters combat videos and you best believe when someone gets their head split open, I already have my way out of that bullshit criminal AND civil suit. Now you can see why I'm nowhere near as eager to get into work as I used to be. Back to the original point of this story.
So now I'm dragging my heels to the shower. I feel like I've been eaten by a bear and shit off a cliff onto the jagged rocks below and now I just want to crawl back into bed and sleep the night and the following day away. Can't do it though, got shit to do.
After the shower, it's scrape the fangs, throw the monkeysuit on, throw the lunch together, grab a couple of other items and then off I go. When I get to work, I find that, thankfully, I'm working in the control center. That means no putting up with whining, pissing or moaning from anyone. Being a Monday Night, I'm guaranteed to be left alone. Not much to do on a Monday Night in control except inventory some of the items (restraints, chemicals, tools, etc.) and do the normal paperwork.
It was during the chemical inventory that a series of unfortunate events happened. Nothing that could have lost my job but unfortunate nonetheless. Get ready for a laugh, though. I know you're going to howl at this one.
As I finish restraint inventory, I start checking out the chemicals. Now, if it's one thing even we fear, it's the Fox 5.3. I've already been "qualified" with it and it fucking sucks. That shit burns like hellfire and fury in a fucking can. There's simply no other way of putting it. You don't get used to this shit. There's no way you can. It's not tempered with CS gas to make you think, "Oh this is nothing." Uh uh...this is straight up OC. It's The Flames of The Ninth Circle of Hell marketed well and that's all it is. Once I'm done, I put it all back but there's something in the corner of my eye that's been bugging me.
You see it coming don't you?
Well, not only do I stupidly pick it out of my eye, I also rub my eye...there's a contact in my right eye and now it feels like the rim of my eyelid is on fire. Quickly, I pull the solution and the lens case out of my bag and pluck both contacts from my eyes to wash them both and let them soak. About an hour later, I put the right one back in and there's one of our social workers turning in his personal alarm/panic button. I'm having to do all this with only one eye open and then...Satan came to torment and torture my eye.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he unleashed the Nine Furies of Hell AND every Judgment Day Style Wrath of God into that right eye for good measure. The constant watering of my eye isn't helping...it's only intensifying the entire episode.
I hear Sam Kinison in my head screaming, "OH OH OOOOOHHHHHH I'M IN HEEEEELLLLLL! I'M IN HEEEEELLLLLL!!! *RRRROOOOOAAAAARRR!*"
No words were ever spoken so truly. The pain was so intense that my eye, unbeknownst to me, had already started becoming bloodshot PRIOR to the damn pain setting in. I know Carl Cestari's philosophy was to learn how to eat pain but I don't think he ever experienced this type of insidious agony in his life.
So, here I am, operating with one eye that looks as though I've just smoked about this compound's weight in pot WITH THE SUBSTANCE ABUSE COUNSELOR STANDING AT MY FUCKING WINDOW! Oh I'm happy now...I'm wearing a gigantic fucking happy hat...JESUS JUMPED UP CHRIST!
The happy news to this is, Satan did eventually depart and God did apologize for getting the wrong eye. I've hated myself for doing such a foolish thing ever since.
By the time the next shift comes on...the entire compound knows about it and the story has been so blown out of proportion that I'm still getting shit over the damn phone about it when I'm not running into co-workers in the middle of town.
I think the only real relief would have been to just remove the eye completely from my head and try playing "Hot Potato" with it...that would have been a barrel of laughs.
Tuesday came and went so fast, I'm still trying to discern whether or not it actually happened.
Wednesday, I did another foolish thing. My weight has come down so that I can comfortably wear jeans again and still need a belt. Well, when I get home, get dressed and grab all the gear, I've noticed that it's become a bit chilly outside. As I'm going to the cemetary to begin work on my Panopticon Project...don't ask, you'll see it on Google Video...I'm looking for my hoodie. No dice, can't find it. Then, I go looking for my light jacket...nope, can't seem to find it either. Finally, I grab the one thing I haven't worn in ages...my black trenchcoat. For added protection from the awful effects of the sun, I grab my tinted goggles as well. It's going to be breezy out and these contacts will dry and stick to my eyeballs whether I have rewetting drops of not. Having everything I need, off I go. As I'm going through the filming process, I notice something...my shoulders are getting awfully hot.
As I walk home, I notice, gosh, it's awfully warm out here.
When I get home not only do I notice that it's late but the back part of my shirt in the shoulder and all down the center of my back is damp. Apparently, it wasn't going to stay chilly for long and my contacts have done some flipping around because my eyes are all kind of out of focus.
Ok, so while tragedy seems to have taken some nasty ballshots at me, at least they are pretty funny. I'm officially out of my pit now.
I'm ready to take some nasty ballshots at life. Who's with me?
posted by Lord Genocyde at 1:58 AM
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