Page 28 of 89

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Thu May 19, 2011 8:18 am
by Meat N' Taters

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Thu May 19, 2011 9:18 am
by Jeriah
ZombieGranny wrote:Jeriah:
2. Just because nobody bothered to teach a girl how to use a hammer, is no excuse to bitch that she gives too many hand jobs....
and by the way, is she giving those to females?
Are the males who hold the hammers the same way also doing it because of the hand jobs they give?
8. The female is responsible for the entire existence of that baby (the one she has no safe place to leave and so brings it to class in number 7)?
My impression is it takes a female AND a male to create one; perhaps you could rant at the males as well.
Or again, it is all the female's fault.

I don't find your list funny at all.
ZombieGranny, thanks for mentioning that. It's sometimes easy for me to write sort of stream-of-consciousness, and in so doing, to inadvertently reinforce gender stereotypes which I've picked up over the years. These are, of course, wrong, and I appreciate your reminding me of this.

You're right, the inability to use the hammer is the fault of the student's parents and high school education. The problem is more common with female students (possibly because they are encouraged to take "home ec" instead of "shop," if those divisions still exist in some high schools), but some male students have it as well.

The students who have brought infant children to my classroom so far have been 1 male, 1 female.

Pregnancy is of course a two-person deal, and both parties can take an active role in preventing one. The female does have a couple of last-resort options (morning after pill, abortion) which are her own choice and not up to the male, but on the other hand, sterilization of males is much easier. That's the route I went with.

I've edited to post to reflect this facts, about which we are in total agreement, but which were, I also agree, not clear from my original post. Thank you for pointing out, in a relatively polite way, that I was coming off as a misogynist jerk. I appreciate the correction.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Thu May 19, 2011 11:50 am
by ZombieGranny
I do hope I was polite, I tried to be (although still perhaps a trifle too emphatic.)
I can get a bit touchy about things like that, and I so want those ladies who read but don't post to come out of the shadows (you know who you are).

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Thu May 19, 2011 11:57 am
by Jeriah
Nah, you're good. You're 100% right, ZombeSquad (well, the forum part) is too male-heavy, and anything we can do to make it a more welcoming place for the other half of the population is all to the good. Thanks again!

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon May 23, 2011 2:18 am
by T-Boon
the only thing that comes to mind with this topic is" onclick=";return false;

Anyway, lets get back on topic.
As a printer, working with inks and all sorts of nasty fluids, to date we have had no majors.
The other day however one of my work mates picked up a bottle of Imaging oil and managed to squirt himself directly in the eye.
And there has been another work mate that managed to coat a supervisors nice white shoes in Magenta ink.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon May 23, 2011 2:28 am
by Fletch
Ya'know the silver coloured markers, with a really metallic kinda ink?

Yeah, as a retarded teen I decided to break an apparently empty one to get at the ball bearing inside, flooding my eyes with silver metallic ink.

Yeah, it looked awesome, in a pre-pitch black/chronicles of riddick kinda way, but it burnt, oh my god did it burn.

OT said hello to a new kindergarten student today, and as he was saying hello he promptly regurgitated what seemed to be a prodigious amount of chocolate milk/biscuits all over his classmate sitting next to him - apparently I'm intimidating to the little ones!

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon May 23, 2011 12:55 pm
by ZombieGranny
Poor kids, mean old Fletch scaring them like that!

Oh BTW, I took that test in your siggy ... I got %80.7339449541284 on the Ultimate Zombie Apocalypse Survival Quiz!
Not too shabby for an old lady.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Wed May 25, 2011 10:25 pm
by Bearcat
ZombieGranny wrote:Poor kids, mean old Fletch scaring them like that!

Oh BTW, I took that test in your siggy ... I got %80.7339449541284 on the Ultimate Zombie Apocalypse Survival Quiz!
Not too shabby for an old lady.
Not at all. I got a 70 :oops:

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2011 9:24 am
by Mr.Pliskin
Bearcat wrote:
ZombieGranny wrote:Poor kids, mean old Fletch scaring them like that!

Oh BTW, I took that test in your siggy ... I got %80.7339449541284 on the Ultimate Zombie Apocalypse Survival Quiz!
Not too shabby for an old lady.
Not at all. I got a 70 :oops:

On topic, we had a gang banger murder some guy here and on the run from police. Me and a co-worker went to go talk to the family on the far east side of town (see BAD SIDE) and were greeted by the brother of the bad guy, also apparently a gang member telling us in a not so nice way to go away. Well, we needed to talk to someone, so we decided to try to talk to neighbors but were having a hard time deciding which one. They all were run down homes with nice shiny big rimmed cars with allot of traffic.

While deciding what house to try (this was taking a bit of time) a car pulls up across the street and a little behind our vehicle. We noticed the car and people in the back seat. I was thinking "ahh, someone picked up a hooker and decided to just pull over". But when we finally decided to try a neighbor 2 guys in red hoodies got out of the back of the car with their hoodies up, and this was in the middle of summer, overcast but still, and start walking toward us.
Well, red flag warnings went up and I tell the co worker to get in the vehicle, though she didn't need any prodding, and we get the hell out of there.

Needless to say we didn't go back, but another day of fun under my belt.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2011 9:29 am
by Meat N' Taters
I received quite the paper cut today.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2011 10:57 pm
by SeerSavant
Your chances of surviving the Zombie Apocalypse: %90.4128440366973!

Well done! Your chances of surviving a zombie apocalypse are better than average! Don't get too cocky, though. Remember, the undead never sleep...

The test was too short and not involved enough. I think there should be one on the level of the old purity tests that were all over the internet. 150 to 200 questions cross referenced to reduce bullshit answers.

That being said..... 90%....... 8)

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2011 11:12 pm
by squinty

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Fri Jun 03, 2011 2:50 pm
by slannesh
Wow, what a great thread!

Took me a few days to get through it all but I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for sharing their stories.

It's not a great one, but i've got one or two of my own to share.

a few (few?) years ago back at the tender age of 19 I did some work for a sanitation company cleaning up grocery stores after hours. The pay was ok, the work was hard and dirty but I got to hang with one of my buddies from high school and we got into this cleaning-ninja vibe that let us pull off a 4 hour 2 man job in 2 hours, which left us a bunch of time to get paid while playing games and farting around.

Basically we roll into the store, whoever is on overnights in the office doing whatever accounting and stuff it is that they do at midnight lets us in and we do all the usual stuff; sweep, mop and burnish the floors, clean the bathrooms, take out the trash, that sort of thing. Sounds simple but when you think about how many people go through a grocery store in a day and the half assed job of cleaning stuff up that they do during the day sometimes it gets pretty nasty.

The bane of my existence back then was gum. Frigging chewing gum. Some DNA damaged reject would inevitably just drop an old, chewed up, flavor deprived hunk on the floor of every store we ever cleaned at least once a day. That, along with assorted other bits of sticky, dried on, shall we say "stuff" (to this day I really have no idea what most of it was, all I know is that it was highly resistant to sweeping and mopping) we carried these little things we called floor razors, which is exactly what it sounds like, a razor blade on a stick. A handy little tool for scraping off whatever got left on the floor and then ground in all day as a thousand hungry patrons round it into the linoleum.

Now, we needed our floor razors just often enough that we wanted to carry them at all times, so we stuck them in our back pockets and just reached around and grabbed them whenever necessary. (I know some of you are already seeing where this story is going, and yes I was young and dumb, but the best is yet to come) So one day we're at work and i'm a bit behind as there was a lot to scrape off the floor on this particular evening and my buddy was itching to get started burnishing so we could grab a coffee and get down to some gaming. So, of course, being young and lacking the experience of age to know any better i'm merrily rushing along, scraping up crap with my trusty, and rusty, floor razor. Dutifully placing it in my back pocket for the next time I'd need it.

Unfortunately, the last time I'd used it it didn't go into my pocket in the usual manner and shifted over just a bit, so when I went to grab it the next time, ouch. I managed to slice a 2" laceration on the top of my hand, going from the tendon on my thumb to approximately the tendon on my middle finger. On the plus side the deepest part of the cut was right into the meat between my thumb and forefinger and it hadn't actually severed any tendons. Arteries? Not so lucky. I immediately clamped my free hand down over the cut and apply pressure while yelling for my co-worker. He tells me to head upstairs and ask the two ladies working in the store overnight doing the accounting stuff to get a first aid kit.

So upstairs I go, at this point I have no idea how bad the cut is since I've got my injured hand in a Vulcan death grip, and ask the two ladies where the FAK is as I cut my hand pretty badly and need to clean it out.

"I don't see any blood, how bad can it be?" says the first clueless one, "Let me see."

Knowing that it was more than a scratch, I replied, "Oh, it's pretty bad, I've been keeping pressure on it."

At this point she gets up and starts walking across the room toward me again demanding to see it, I shrug and when she's about 5 feet away I take my hand away. Unbeknownst to me at the time i'd hit a small artery which the pressure was keeping under control but as soon as I took my hand away, well, I had a gusher.

The first spray wasn't too bad just a trickle really, that proved to her that I was bleeding so she's still moving forward and leans in to get a better look, just as the artery realizes "Hey, i've got somewhere to send all this pressurized blood now!" and sprays her right in the face from several feet away. I quickly slapped my other hand over the wound and reapplied pressure, but this one wasn't going to stop now that it had started.

The lady makes an "Oh!" noise and to her credit remained calm, she turned to the other lady and tells her to grab the FAK. Now, the other lady hadn't really been paying attention since Lady #1 got up so when she glances up she sees her co-worker with her face covered in blood, me clutching my hand and blood everywhere. I got to watch her expression go from mild annoyance and disinterest at being interrupted to horror and while the color was draining from her face to white, I remember thinking "Oh this isn't going to be good." Just then, she blows chunks all over the table, their work and sprays the rest of the room while running for the door.

Lady #1 looks a bit confused as to whom to help first so I asked her where the FAK was and got my friend to grab stuff for me so I wouldn't bleed all over it while she went off to help Lady #2 who was very loudly tossing her cookies in the bathroom across the hall which I had just cleaned half an hour ago. We got the wound cleaned out and the bleeding under control, thankfully I hadn't hit anything serious besides the small artery. After a quick call to the boss and many apologies to my friend and co-worker for leaving a god-awful combined mess of blood, vomit and papers to clean up, I abandoned ship and headed over to the ER to get stitched up.

I think about that story often, as it's one of the few permanent scars I've got and it's on the back of my left hand so I look at it pretty much daily. Still friends with that guy almost 20 years later.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Fri Jun 03, 2011 3:38 pm
by Wildeman_13
I was talking with friends the other night when I remembered this story.

Way back before I got into IT, I was doing the usual non-educated sweaty jobs that most young people do to get through school. This particular one was working for SouthWest Gas after a buddy got me hooked up with a contact company for them. Normally the job involved driving out to 1 mile square areas and doing cathodic proection checks on the gas line. Which I have tons of stories from as well... but this one took the cake for anoyance level. This job involved going out into the Yuma desert along/near one of the major gas pipelines. They were drilling new Anode Deep Wells for cathodic protection of this particular line. For those who don't know (which is most people), an anode deep well is an ~18" diameter ~500 foot deep shaft drilled straight down into the earth. Into this hole you drop 8' long x 6" diamter magnesium rods with VERY large copper cables attached to them.

For the first part of the job, me and my buddy pretty much stood around watching the drilling crew do their thing. Every so often we would help them carry bags of liner over to the drill as they ran out. It was loud and hot and boring. But the crew was pretty entertaining and we would joke a bit to make the time go by faster. Once the hole was deep enough, we began our part of the job. This involved backing a trailer with several of these really big and heavy anodes on it close to the hole, then lowering them one by one to a specific depth. The process goes like this... Take anode off trailer and untie copper cable. Make sure it is the one with the longest cable as it goes down first. Position the anode over the hole and begin lowering down using nothing but your arms as it runs over a wheel measuring how far down it goes. Once all the way down, you begin shoveling coke dust and laundry detergent down the hole. After the anode reaches its depth, you grab the next longest one and do it all over again. This whole process CANNOT be stopped once started or else you risk getting too much coke dust down there before you get the next anode down. Too little coke dust and the anodes wont "bond/ground" with the earth properly. The laundry detergent helps to lube the whole thing in case you were wondering. After several hours you finally drop the last one down to it's depth and can begin covering with the last of the coke dust. Finally you get to fill in the rest of the hole with 3/4" rock.... about 2 tons worth. By hand, er well, shovel... from a large pile next to that 18" hole. Side note... I strained a muscle in my back and was out of work for about 2 months after this job.

We started the anode drop early in the morning and were just shovelling the last of the rock close to dark. We gathered up the 20 or so copper cables and ran them into the metal box that would become the test point/monitor station. We locked the box and went back to the hotel to shower, eat, and finally sleep. The next morning we showed up early to wire up the cables and finish the job and head home to Tucson. Upon arriving, we found the box open and ALL of our cables gone. Well, not gone, CUT OFF AT THE BASE OF THE BOX!!! Some fucker had come by in the middle of the night, cut the lock and made off with close to 50lbs or so of copper wire. The settling that always happens to an anode deep well pulled the rest of the cables underground loseing them forever. My boss flipped out.

There was no way to recover the deep well. We had to call out the drilling crew again, find the alternate drilling location for this site, and begin drilling all over again. We also had to order the anodes again and wait for them to show up. Three days later I was shoveling the last of the rock into the hole and really starting to feel it in my back when we got word that the first anode deep well we had sunk several weeks before got hit by an out of control Semi and it took out the monitor box and cables. Thankfully... or not so much in my case... with my back injury I got to sit that one out.

On the upside for me and history, it was during this time of convalescence that I was able to start looking for entry level IT jobs and got into tech support.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Tue Aug 09, 2011 12:28 pm
by Krustofski

Your paper should be a short introduction to a molecular biological method used in medical diagnostics.

does not mean

Copy & paste the Wikipedia article on in situ hybridization.

And how on earth did you think that I could possibly miss that?
Some of you guys will be physicians in a few years. People will look up to you and go "Doctor, you're my only hope!". Try to take a little responsibility.
You fail. Both at common sense, and this class.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2011 6:13 pm
by Last Knight
Wow... epic thread is epic. :)

Here's my worst day on the job. I'm an AB - Able Bodied Seaman, a civilian mariner, working for the Navy. This was a post for a different forum I wrote, the day of the incident, last spring.

So, we're having a Coast Guard inspection today. This is a routine thing; the vessel is coming out of the shipyard after a pretty long overhaul, there's a lot of new crew aboard, the Coasties wanna know that we're up to par. Fire and boat drill, all hands. I'm on the gangway watch, so this is just a break from my regular workday - I get to mill around smartly instead of standing on the quarterdeck all day. What the hey, they're paying me my daily wage - as opposed to the poor schmucks on the other two watch sections, who get to do their 8 and get up on their off-time for this. (One watch section should get OT for it, one might not. Not my issue.)

Fire drill went smooth, simulated fire in the paint locker. Wasn't even my DC locker involved, so again - mill around smartly. Shot the breeze about e-book readers for a bit. Secure from drill, stand by for abandon ship drill.

Abandon ship drill. I wrap my sweatshirt around my waist to satisfy the long sleeves requirement, don my lifejacket and floppy hat, wait around my rack long enough to make sure they're not going to require us to bring our Gumby (immersion) suits with us, then I haul ass to the bridge to get the emergency radio and SART (search and rescue transponder - JFGI if you're curious) for my lifeboat. The bridge is five decks up from my rack, I'm swaddled up in my emergency gear, and the boat is four decks back down once I've got the electronics. I'm pretty winded when I get there just in time to say "yo" to the roll call.

Now the fun begins.

The boat commander orders the necessary people to man the boat - I hop in for the ride. There's the commander - my watch officer - and two other ABs whose responsibility it is to handle the lines to release us from the ship, and me. We begin to lower the boat - I say "we", I really mean "they", 'cause I'm strapping myself into the prow - the boat swings as it descends, kind of a herky-jerky motion. I'm starting to feel seasick.

Look, you would, too. These things aren't meant for comfort, and in a real abandon ship situation, the first thing we'd do is pop sea-sickness pills. Doesn't matter how old a salt you are, these things roll in any sea, and the ride down sucks.

There's a loud noise - hard to describe, kind of a crunch mixed with a crack - and the ride down sucks worse. The boat is hanging by one gripe, so instead of being parallel to the water, we're perpendicular. And swinging on it. That takes maybe a second.

Then the other line lets go.

We slam into the water. The side hatches are open, water in the boat. The hatch and windows in the rear of the boat give way, water in the boat. I'm hanging upside down - there's water in the boat. Fuckme, I'm drowning. The boat is upside down, resting on its top in the water, water's rushing in, I'm strapped in with my head in the water-

I get loose from my straps and breathe. The other guys are moving around, and after laughing like a loon for a sec, I try to see if people are alright. Water's rushing in through the side hatches, and I watch one of the other ABs launch himself out before the boat sinks. "Good idea! I need to get the hell out of this boat!"

These lifeboats are self-righting. The boat, upside down... rights itself.

With the three of us inside unsecured.

I see the bench on the other side coming at my noggin as I'm scrambling for something, anything, to hang onto. No dice, I'm hitting it. Best I can do is roll myself in the air - and lemme just point out that I am Large, I Contain Multitudes, so the fact that I pull this off is nothing short of miraculous - and take it on my shoulder. More deltoid, but that's beside the fact 'cause fuckingow I just broke my arm.

Didn't, but that's besides the fact.

Boat's upright and no longer pouring in water. I'm... alive? I'm alive. Buddha on a pogo stick I thought I was a goner. Like, there were three separate occasions in the last twenty seconds, I thought I was dead. Look around - one AB gone out the door, one AB in the hatch swearing and holding his arm (not me), one 3rd officer swearing and holding his face. The mate's bleeding from the head and seems shocky. The other AB's in pain. Me, I'm just swearing. The people on the ship are yelling down at us, and - poking my head out the hatch - the other-other AB, K, is treading water and hollering. Thank God for life jackets.

He doggypaddles back to the boat and I get M - the AB with the wounded wing - to help me pull him aboard. He seems unhurt - got out while the getting was good. My left wing's sore, but I can move it, so no break. The ship throws a couple of lines down and we make the boat fast so that it doesn't drift off down the river - a work boat comes along and picks us up and transports us to the dock. EMS shows up a few minutes later.

Total damage: The third mate fractured his hip, broke several bones in his hand, and needed glass removed from (and stitches in) his face. Paid off in this port (departs the ship and goes home). M has a severely bruised arm and possible whiplash or back injuries, paid off when we reach Virginia again. I had a bruise on my left deltoid that hurt if you poked it. K had no injuries.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2011 6:23 pm
by Lynxian
Did you guys at least get plus points for adding realism to the excersise?

On an additional note: fucking ow!

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2011 7:44 pm
by Last Knight
Lynxian wrote:Did you guys at least get plus points for adding realism to the excersise?

On an additional note: fucking ow!
K and I had a big giggle fit in the ambulance when I looked at him and asked, dead pan, "Do you think we passed the inspection?" :D

That was about all for kudos, other than various people coming up and saying "Hey, good job not dying" for the next week or so.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 4:23 pm
by Ad'lan
So, the past weekend has been Remembrance Sunday, and so far the past weeks, I have been working hard to get my section ready.

I'm a member of the OTC, that's a little like the ROTC in America, we're a TA (Territorial Army) unit specifically for students. Newly amalgamated into the NWOTR. We just train, not deploy, but OTCs represent about 1 in 10 applicants to Sandhurst, and 1 in 3 graduates. I joined in my first year of university, and I'm now a JUO (Junior Under Officer).


Before I get on to griping, there is good news. Due to taking a years leave last year for my industrial placement, I was the only person who'd passed both MOD1 and Mod2 (part of the commissioning course for the Territorial Army) who wasn't a JUO. I had the pay increase (based on passing exams), and I was given a command position (Section Commander), but I wasn't a JUO. I was the only one who wore a 3rd year rank slide. Fun for confusing pretty much everyone, but people being surprised by knowledge, assuming I was a 2nd year or having a 2IC who was a 'higher rank' (we all remain Ocdt's in the unit, the same rank as a student at Sandhurst, JUO and SUO are internal promotions) got very annoying.

So I finally got told to get my correct rank slide on for inspection parade :D


The Austrian Knot, or 'Swirl'.

So, I have a section of first years to get up to scratch for parade. None of them were really idiots, and so with a few extra lessons, my own section's only real failing was promptness, something we hate in the unit. But the worst offender was in a different section of my platoon. He came to my attention when I was Acting Platoon Sargent (advantages of having done first year with the SUO and some of the platoon commanders: more work), and he arrived 1 minute before parade, sidled into the front rank, and slouched in nothing resembling 'Stand Easy'. His Beret was unshaped, his uniform unironed (not a crease in it to be seen, just crumples). And his Boots! Unpolished! The trousers tucked into the Tops! He stood there, fidgeting at 'Attention' and I'm bloody glad there wasn't our regular platoon commander to see it, (I remember the dressing downs he could give when he was just a JUO). I kept him behind after the parade, and had some 'private words'. First time I've actually given someone a chewing out. His own section commander was actually shocked I could do so, as I'm usually reguarded as one of the units eccentrics (strange tattoos, odd hobbies, eating wild food in the field and knowing far too much odd knowledge). She did agree it was what he needed. It's been remarked to me from several people that he's been a 'Mong' since the selection weekend. However, I had end my talk with some words of encouragement, and I offered again after the days final parade that I could help him with his uniform. That's when he said:

'Oh, I know how to do it all'

Which really, are the wrong thing to say after his actions. His excuse for ot having done it if he knew how was even worse.

'I've not had time, I'm really busy on my Course'

His Course:

'Economics.... It's reading intensive'

So, I let him go. He can swing on his own gallows.

The Next Week, he was given a dressing down by the Platoon Commander (a Student who has gotten their commission), after having shown up with the most marginal of efforts. Trousers still not bloused, beret still unshaped, boots unpolished, kit, crumpled, but with some marginally visible crease lines No tramlines, so It's a fair bet he only ironed it once.

It took the dressing down from the CSM (a Regular Army, experienced NCO, this is usually a cushy retirement posting) on saturday to convince him to ask for help, and I tried a different tack with him. I tried to convince him that I thought he could be a good Ocdt, told him how much I sucked in first year (Stories like how I ended up cleaning the barracks on me tod, or getting told by the CSM he'd drum me out of the unit.) I demonstrated on one half his kit, and had him copy untill the other half matched. It ended up taking over my dinner break, but there were Canapes and Free Gin and tonic at the compulsory cocktail party that night, so I did alright, getting advice from a visiting Colonel and chatting to my own Companies CO. And 'Mong' Had his kit ready enough to just scrap through inspection, and the promise he'd do more work on it tonight, and come in early in the morning.

So, I was in Barracks an hour before first parade, to assist with his kit. But, instead, he arrived with 15 minutes spare, and was only passable. Being available to teach him hand't worked, shoutings and dressing downs hadn't, and investing him with my trust hadn't. His Drill was appalling, but I stuck him in the centre rank, where he hopefully wouldn't be to obvious. He did fidget during the ceremony, but I was one row back, and could keep him from ruining it. With his general attitude and slackness, I think he's just waiting to get paid at Christmas, and then leave. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. He's not long for this company I hope.

Of course, that wasn't the only fun in the Unit. It's technically possible to get a Commission in one year, if you devote every hour not actually in lectures, and pass every selection first time. One of the young officers did exactly that. Forming up before parade, the Officer Cadet made a wise crack to one of his (banters), and he'd not seen who, after enquiring who it was, he accused me, already knowing I was a bit on the slatendiculer. A good bit of Banter ensued, about The Core Value of Integrity, and Respect for Others. He demand I tell him who it was if not I, and I retort with uncertainty.

'Come on now Boarhunter, Remember your Core Values, Integrity' - Subbie

'In the Name of Integrity you want me to Rat out a Comrade'

This Banter continued, with the concluding line from me.

'Well sir, the thing for me to do with integrity and Respect for others, is to Lie and Say I said it'

'What's that?' - Subbie

'I'm Spartacus, Sir'.


Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 6:19 pm
by Ronin71XS
I see leadership potential in this one :wink:

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 6:55 pm
by anythingshiny
I'll add one of my better stories as an old RN.

I worked at a major regional hospital in a pediatric unit, but we also did surgical recovery of a particular surgeons gastric bypass patients. He was a decent fellow but was a very outgoing, overly social doc who LOVED to quote surgical times to his prospective patients. He was thrilled to be able to say he was down to 19 minutes for a laproscopic bypass procedure. His patients were often last ditch efforts, HUGE folks who had multiple system issues and, to be expected, emotional issues.

So anyway, patient x, a 400-450 pound gal showed up on my shift...I ran through our normal post op routine, a TON of drugs. Pain meds, vitamins, various systemic meds and such...they were a heavy deal for the first few hours. After the patient was up and moving, dressings changed etc and on some basic fluids, I had her family take her for a walk. Gave them the safety speech and sent them on their to other patients and such for me.

40 min or so later, her patient room bell goes off and I toddle in to see what is needed. She is in obvious pain and something is 'wrong'. Don't know what it is but it is a NSR ( Non Standard Response...LOVE that acromyn). I whipped out the cuff grabbed some vital signs and started asking questions....vs are wonky ( technical nursing term) and I am paying attention to what is going on when out of one ear I hear a voice say " you need to tell him martha" ( name changed to protect the stupid).

"Tell me what?!?!?" I demand. Long story short, "Martha" had walked downstairs to the cafeteria and eaten a full meal, bbq sandwhich, green beans and some bread and sweet tea. Never mind the fact that she had been through classes explaining the surgery, attended a help group and somehow passed a psych eval....she ate a full meal and pressed all that food into a 'stomach' that was no bigger than your thumb.

So off to the ED/ICU we went...she had predictably ruptured her new stomach and had spilled all that food into her abdomen. This poor 'run forrest run' lady stayed on our floor for weeks after her release from the ICU.

I spent countless hours doing wound care, remember 400+ pounds, stuffing kerlex wads into a wound that was 10x8x8. You have NO IDEA what gut smells like until you have worked with elbow deep granulating wounds.

Welcome to nursing.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 7:36 pm
by Krustofski
Ad'lan wrote:'Well sir, the thing for me to do with integrity and Respect for others, is to Lie and Say I said it'

'What's that?' - Subbie

'I'm Spartacus, Sir'.

Sick burn. Right there. :lol:
anythingshiny wrote:I'll add one of my better stories as an old RN.
Welcome to nursing.
How... how on earth did she not throw up during the meal? :shock:

But you make me want to tell some of the stories from my time at the outpatient clinic even more. I've been meaning to posts them for a long time, but I need to check certain legal aspects first. I heavily procrastinate on that.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 8:59 pm
by TheLastRifleMan
I had to was my eyes with bleach after reading that, shiny!

Ad'lan, have him drink four canteens of water and send him on a long run.

In full field kit.

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 11:27 pm
by Privateer73
I worked for several years as a equipment operator for the road and bridge department so unusual injuries and really wierd crap was the norm lol. One of the jobs we had that most people dont really think of is Roadkill duty the technical radio callsign was DRT (insert animal decription here). Winter time was ok but summer sucked, things turn sour quick in 100* temps. So its my turn to make the run and I get a double, 2 deer hit at this block yadayadayada we used a little jeep pickup for this becaus it was lower and easier to load the bigger critters in. So I get to the scene and this lady is bawling "Im so sorry they just ran out of no where I couldnt stop in time" I spent a few min calming her down check her car out and send her on her way, the car was banged up but nothing serious. mainly I needed her gone to load up the deer with out causing her more trama at seeing me drag them across the street and into the truck.
After several min of cussing pulling and near hernia lifting I get em loaded and start back to the shop to dispose of em. Now this area is one of the more high faluten areas of north houston we fondly refered to as snob nob. so here I am lowly road worker driving a beatup little jeep along side the mercs and beamers when this older well kept woman passes me blowing the horn WTF lady im doin the speed limit minding my buisness. Pretty soon another car drives by honking I look over to see a young girl and her mom staring at me like Im the friggin grim reaper in a pink tutu. I look to the rearview mirror to see if maybe the damm trucks blowing oil or something and stare into the eyes of a REALLY pissed off deer with blood running out of its mouth and half the hair on its face rubbed off! Trying not to slam on the brakes and throw it through the window into the cab with me but get off the road so I can handle the situation, meanwhile mister bunnyhugging granola has called the cops reporting someone transporting a live deer that looks like its been abused *Ya Think!*
Get off the road jump out grab a tiedown strap from behind the seat tackle the seriously wounded formerly unconcious very active dead deer finally get it hogtied and secured and start laughing uncontrollably at the whole situation. This is all with a audience of cars who have stopped to see what the hell is going on but not to help lol. So I radio back to the shop that I have one for the cooler and one for animal controll office. We donated all of the deer meat when it was a fresh clean kill to the local food bank. A few weeks later I am dropping off a semi flat rabbit to the shelter for a elderly lady who ran over it, and who made me promise not to just put it out of its misery. One of the techs ask me if id like to see my deer lol and that shes doin well and will be released within the week.
Just one of the adventures we ran into doin the things no one really thinks about but must be done.