4:48am November 15, 2014

So most weeks I Skype with Anne on Friday nights. Not lately, too much going on in our lives, but usually.

And there’s this sub floater (person who takes on jobs with random DD clients when our regular staff are out for some reason) named Anthony.

And there’s this Tylenol bottle that’s the bane of our existence around here. Basically the liquid is so thick that when you try to draw it out with the syringe, it actually sucks some of the fluid back into the bottle, even when held upside down, and then the syringe pusher thing goes up with it too. So you can pull it down to ten mL, look away for a minute, and it’s at 5 mL. Which is very frustrating after awhie.

So Anne and I were sitting there chatting. And Anthony was trying and failing to draw 10 CCs of Tylenol. And he started muttering at the bottle, progressing to cussing it out and nearly yelling at it.

At which point Anne said, “You tell that Tylenol, Anthony!”

Which has become a famous story by now among anyone who works here, especially because everyone has cussed out the Tylenol at least once.

Of course what goes around comes around. And one day I was trying to get a syringe of water into the silicone side-port of my j-tube, and it was not wanting to go in. At all. So I started making what everyone around here has learned to call “grumpy stick noises”. Sort of an annoyed mutter-grumble. And the staff person watching me goes, “You tell that water, Mel.”

I laughed so hard I was crying and couldn’t stop laughing for a good five minutes.

Fortunately Anthony has a great sense of humor or he’d never live this down. I honestly think a sense of humor is necessary to work at my apartment, because we do so much gross and disgusting stuff that the only way to deal with it is through really dark humor. (Do not ask me to explain “blood fetuses”. You don’t want to know.)

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