The Proper Tool for the Job..........
Working as an RN, one of the things that you cannot fail to notice is - Some people are capable of passing Humongous Turds. I'm not talking about your basic log here. I mean absolutely huge Turds. Turds so large, that they should probably be given a proper, Christian Name.
Turds so large, that, anatomically speaking, should not be possible. My introduction to the World of Turds began in a different environment though.
Many years ago I took a part time position as a Maintenance Man at a local nursing home to supplement the household income. Pretty basic stuff. Cut grass, general fix-it, mop and wax floors. That kinda thing. The boss, Terry, was a real big dude. Well over six feet and well over 300lbs. He was a pretty good guy to work for and usually started each morning off with a cup of coffee and a reefer out behind the equipment shed. At the time, that was a good thing.
One morning, not long after I started working there, Terry gets a call about a toilet that's stopped up. He makes a note of the location and gives me the wave to follow him.
Instead of going in the direction of the non-functioning toilet, we headed out to the equipment shed. Being the observant guy, I asked him where we're heading and he answers, "You gotta have the proper tools, sometimes". He then walked right through the shed, past all the tools and out the back and immediately fired up a joint.
Not normal behavior. He didn't say much, so I just shut up and got stoned with him and waited to see what was going on.
Finally, he walked back into the shed and went over to the far corner and pointed out a machete hanging on the wall and said, "Grab it and follow me". So, armed with this rusty old machete I followed him back into the main building.
He still hadn't told me where we were going or what the hell I was doing with the machete. But I followed along trying not to scare anyone. He finally stopped outside of the room that had made the complaint of toilet trouble. He turned and looked at me and said "Today you find out if you really want to work here". He then opened the door and went in.
Into the bathroom we went. As luck would have it, the toilet hadn't overflowed all over as I had feared. Terry did not seem surprised by this. Apparently, knowing your shit is what get's you being the boss.
What did surprise me was the unbelievably huge Turd in that stool. This masterpiece must have taken weeks to be created. Two and a half feet long, if it was an inch and as big around as a soup bowl. I was dumbfounded. I just stood there and stared, repeating to myself, "No way. Nobody could do that and live".
Terry, bless 'em, just pointed at the Turd and then to the machete and said "Start cutting, Bubba. Ill flush". So that's what I did. Chop, chop, chop, Flush. Chop, chop, chop, Flush. For what seemed like hours.
It was such a surreal situation, two adult men in a little bitty bathroom, doing battle with a Monster Turd. I started giggling. Then laughing. Terry started laughing. The laughter punctuated by the Tink, Tink, Tink of the machete against the porcelain of the toilet, followed by the flush. Over and over. Tink, Tink, Tink, Whoosh. Tink, Tink, Tink, Whoosh.
We finally chopped that big bastard up and flushed the last of it away. We exited past the little old lady, who looked to be in discomfort and whose eyes were still watering, and heading back out to the shed.
"Hose it off and meet me out back" is all he said. Terry then gave me a dissertation on "Proper Tools for the job" while smoking another joint. I was telling him a machete was not usually considered a plumbing tool, when he held up his hand and stopped me.
He said, "How the hell would you know? You can't even pronounce it right." I asked what the hell he was talking about and he said -
"It's not machete. It's Ma-Shit-tay. Ma-shit-tay, dammit". "You still don't know shit about tools, Bubba".
I learned a lot from Terry.
Working as an RN, one of the things that you cannot fail to notice is - Some people are capable of passing Humongous Turds. I'm not talking about your basic log here. I mean absolutely huge Turds. Turds so large, that they should probably be given a proper, Christian Name.
Turds so large, that, anatomically speaking, should not be possible. My introduction to the World of Turds began in a different environment though.
Many years ago I took a part time position as a Maintenance Man at a local nursing home to supplement the household income. Pretty basic stuff. Cut grass, general fix-it, mop and wax floors. That kinda thing. The boss, Terry, was a real big dude. Well over six feet and well over 300lbs. He was a pretty good guy to work for and usually started each morning off with a cup of coffee and a reefer out behind the equipment shed. At the time, that was a good thing.
One morning, not long after I started working there, Terry gets a call about a toilet that's stopped up. He makes a note of the location and gives me the wave to follow him.
Instead of going in the direction of the non-functioning toilet, we headed out to the equipment shed. Being the observant guy, I asked him where we're heading and he answers, "You gotta have the proper tools, sometimes". He then walked right through the shed, past all the tools and out the back and immediately fired up a joint.
Not normal behavior. He didn't say much, so I just shut up and got stoned with him and waited to see what was going on.
Finally, he walked back into the shed and went over to the far corner and pointed out a machete hanging on the wall and said, "Grab it and follow me". So, armed with this rusty old machete I followed him back into the main building.
He still hadn't told me where we were going or what the hell I was doing with the machete. But I followed along trying not to scare anyone. He finally stopped outside of the room that had made the complaint of toilet trouble. He turned and looked at me and said "Today you find out if you really want to work here". He then opened the door and went in.
Into the bathroom we went. As luck would have it, the toilet hadn't overflowed all over as I had feared. Terry did not seem surprised by this. Apparently, knowing your shit is what get's you being the boss.
What did surprise me was the unbelievably huge Turd in that stool. This masterpiece must have taken weeks to be created. Two and a half feet long, if it was an inch and as big around as a soup bowl. I was dumbfounded. I just stood there and stared, repeating to myself, "No way. Nobody could do that and live".
Terry, bless 'em, just pointed at the Turd and then to the machete and said "Start cutting, Bubba. Ill flush". So that's what I did. Chop, chop, chop, Flush. Chop, chop, chop, Flush. For what seemed like hours.
It was such a surreal situation, two adult men in a little bitty bathroom, doing battle with a Monster Turd. I started giggling. Then laughing. Terry started laughing. The laughter punctuated by the Tink, Tink, Tink of the machete against the porcelain of the toilet, followed by the flush. Over and over. Tink, Tink, Tink, Whoosh. Tink, Tink, Tink, Whoosh.
We finally chopped that big bastard up and flushed the last of it away. We exited past the little old lady, who looked to be in discomfort and whose eyes were still watering, and heading back out to the shed.
"Hose it off and meet me out back" is all he said. Terry then gave me a dissertation on "Proper Tools for the job" while smoking another joint. I was telling him a machete was not usually considered a plumbing tool, when he held up his hand and stopped me.
He said, "How the hell would you know? You can't even pronounce it right." I asked what the hell he was talking about and he said -
"It's not machete. It's Ma-Shit-tay. Ma-shit-tay, dammit". "You still don't know shit about tools, Bubba".
I learned a lot from Terry.
