ain't that pretty at all

I was wrapping things up here tonight at the center for the elderly and disabled, All in a Day, as we call it, getting ready to close up shop. Locked up the kitchen and pantry...went around making sure the lights in the bathrooms were off, the music was off, the fish fed ( I just returned after 5 days, which leaves 4 survivors), and that the tables were decent. I'm pretty tired but I have to get this off my chest. We have a housekeeper who comes in at 4AM who is very particular and keeps this place immaculate BUT we don't want to burn her out with these little messes. So...every thing's looking good and I'm headed to my little office to get my stuff. I walk into the examining room to lock up my cabinets and rinse the sink...something crunches under my shoes. I reach over and flip the light switch....

TOENAILS. Everywhere. Thick, gnarly, yellowing, old toenails. ( To borrow from Ang: (Shaking a fist to the sky)...Tutenauer!)

I must have grabbed about 7 people to see that Podiatrist today. That's about 70 sharpies. He clips and shaves and grinds down these toenails and while he's in there, doing it, I need to step out. They become airborne, you see, and I can't risk losing an eye that way. Errant toenails can lodge in places you would never expect to find a toenail. I've seen them on shelves, in the pages of books. And then there's the particle dust. And the smell. Dear God. That man doesn't even wear special goggles and these bits and pieces are flying everywhere. I asked him once if he ever got one in the eye. He said "YES" and one cut his lip too. Yeah, I knew it. After hearing that, I handed him the forms and patient information and make a run for it. Dodge the bullet. At least to adjacent office where I can only hear the shards hitting the walls. I hate to sound insensitive, but it's really gross. I suppose i just wiped it out of my mind because I completely forgot about cleaning up in there after he left.

So...there I am. Standing in the midst of little daggers. OK...get a grip. I can't leave this mess. Debby will have a fit. A fit.She'll feel disrespected and may even complain which will make me feel like some kind of slob. So I run and get the broom and sweep it all into the long handled dustpan. Nail pan. Dead pan. I hear the music of Warren Zevon in my head and I think I've hit the wall.

Then I remember my sister. She called a couple of hours ago. Said that one of her coworkers came into her office quite upset. For some reason she calls my sister by her last name. My sister is a caring and compassionate soul. People come to her because they know she cares and will do whatever she can to help. She tells me that the coworker had been having gastric problems and had to go for an oil retention enema. The woman thought she had expelled the entire volume but I guess there was a certain residual. She was understandably upset having been taken off guard while sitting in her fabric covered office chair. Unbeknownst to the poor woman, she was leaking still. Having experienced full blown ileus, I understand. I guess if that were me, I'd quietly usher the dear girl to the bathroom for a TP-plug and then send her packing home. To make matters worse, L told me that the woman's last name was Oil-something. Of all the indignities. To have your last name associated with some accident you had. How do you go back? I don't know. I do hope the woman is found to be well for all of her embarrassment. L said 'they' had the chairs steam cleaned. you know, sometimes in this industry you just have to shut your mouth, turn your stomach off and do what you have to do, bless God. It aint that pretty at all.