I Can't Feel My Tongue

 

This is a story that just has to be repeated. One of the ladies at work and her mother couldn't figure out right away what had happened when her father came out of the bathroom, gasping and making odd noises. After a short while, they realized he was trying to say something. A while longer, and they figured out he was saying, "I can't feel my tongue." What on earth had the man done to himself?

In the bathroom, they discovered that he had brushed his teeth with A535 instead of toothpaste. I find that hysterically funny for a number of reasons.

First, one summer during my college days, I had a blind roommate who told us that one of the worst things about being blind is that Ben-Gay and toothpaste came in the same kind of tube. He, at least, was more aware of outside stimuli and didn't finish the job.

Secondly, this man is not blind, so he didn't have that excuse, and he did complete his work.

And last, apparently, in his younger days, he looked like Mr. Bean. This should have been in an episode.

I don't know how long it took for his sense of taste to return. Just keep this in mind: Even if A535 were effective in preventing cavities, fighting plaque, and curing gingivitis, it isn't worth it.

Remembering Names

I should have known by the little smirk on my supervisor's face as he walked away that something was up. He just put me in charge of foilers (a type of edging machine). Told me to get all four machines ready, and he would be sending me a full crew of eight men. I hurried to try and get the conveyors loaded so they could get to work as soon as they got to me. 

They arrived as a group. All newbies except for Brent, who was a good worker, and Jerry, who had to be the slowest worker in the building. Had to do a quick orientation for the other six and then paired them up on the machines. Gave Brent someone who looked competent and gave Jerry someone who didn't. The job isn't that complex. One guy puts the work in the machine, the machine does its thing, and then the other guy on the other end of the machine takes it out and stacks it. As long as the first guy puts it in the machine straight and the other guy doesn't bash it on anything on the other end, everything should run well. I get to run back and forth, making sure everything is running properly, bring them palettes of work, and get rid of the ones that are finished.

Since I was going to be telling these guys what to do all shift long, I figured I'd better learn everyone's names. That's when I figured out what the game was. Larry, Terry, Barry, Gary, and a second Jerry. I was holding my breath when I got to the last guy. His name was Brock. I started laughing and told him he was the only new person whose name I was going to remember. I'm sure the supervisor would have made sure they all rhymed if he had the bodies to make that happen.

The shift ended up going well. Just everybody had to get used to being called "hey you!" Brock and I ended up working together for another company a few years later.

 

Tick Tock

 

Ambassador College, the infamous cattle car, one bedroom, sixteen men; I had a top bunk. Colin was in the bottom bunk. We had some pretty strict alarm clock rules. Rule number one was no snooze alarms. Sixteen people? That would have driven us all around the bend. The second rule was that if you had an alarm go off, you had to shut it down within a reasonable amount of time. We had one student who struggled with that. The solution was that his friend would shut off the alarm for him, grab him by the ankles and drag him to the study where he could wake up at his usual pace.

I started off with an old alarm clock I brought from home with me. The off switch was on the back, and all I had to do was park it carefully against the wall. As soon as it went off, I'd be airborne, hit the floor, and push the clock against the wall. Worked great as long as everyone understood to keep the landing pad clear when it sounded. I did land on someone once. Getting slammed early in the morning by a two hundred and ten pound semi-conscious young adult is not a good way to start the day. No problems until my alarm clock went bzzzt and died.

Somebody in the dorm blessed me with a replacement, and I accepted it with some misgivings. It was hard to turn off, and I imagined myself leaping into the void, locating it, and then bashing it repeatedly against things to kill the awful racket it made. I thought I was smart by taking it to bed with me. I figured, if it was lying right next to me, I could drag it under the covers, muffling it while I found the off button. 

Some time in the wee hours of the morning, my mind registered that I'd just bumped it off the edge of the bed. On that side, there was a partition between me and the next bunk, but there was a small gap that went all the way to the floor. That's where I'd pushed it. I knew I had to find this stupid thing because it was set for an early start and no one was going to be happy with me. I crept down to the floor because I figured it went all the way down and wiggled my way between the boxes stored under the beds and started groping around for it. I wasn't having any luck. I stopped and listened. I could hear the guys breathing, my heart pounding, and the ticking of clocks was coming from everywhere. I strained to try to sort through the sound, and I continued to grope around. I was ready to give up and just plan on facing everyone's wrath in the morning. One last thought: maybe it didn't go all the way to the floor. Sure enough, I found it lying on Colin's pillow right next to his head. I am so glad it didn't hit him. I went out after that and got myself a clock a little better suited to my purposes.

It Was a Gusher

Bill, our maintenance man for the shift, squelched his way to the manager's office. He looked like he'd just taken a shower with his uniform on.

    "Krista, there's a pipe leaking in the men's restroom."

I thought the evidence spoke for itself, but Krista had to go with him and see for herself. They came back a few minutes later, and she was now just as soggy as he was. One of the pipes behind the toilet was a little loose, and some customer decided to give it a drop kick. Busted it right off. This wasn't a little trickle. It was leaking like a broken fire hydrant. 

Just find the shut-off valve, clean up, and everything is fine, right? Wrong. The shut-off was in a little maintenance closet that we lost the key to almost a year earlier. It took a while for them to get in there. I'm not even sure how that finally happened. I'd been pulled out of the kitchen and was busy with the snow shovel, trying to send as much water as I could out the side door of the restaurant. Someone built a dam with rags to keep it from invading the kitchen. At its worst, there were places in the lobby where the water was close to four inches deep. We had to shut down until we managed to get on top of things. Someone came in and fixed the pipe. I got to wipe down the walls and ceiling in the restroom and then helped mop up the rest. That was the cleanest the floor got in the entire time I worked there.