My Job, My Hell...

Share a survival experience with us and explain what you learned from it. You might help someone.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Dr Jekell » Tue Nov 15, 2011 12:47 am

Privateer73 wrote: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!
For some reason this part reminded me of this:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Krustofski » Tue Nov 15, 2011 10:07 am

Disclaimer: My job was never really my hell. While I've experienced a lot of crazy for someone who isn't even 30, I never went through hardship like other people report in this thread.
However, I have been exposed to a lot of stupid people and absurd situations, some of it downright funny. I will post as I remember them.



This one is just stupid and facepalmy, not disgusting:

For quite some time I was running a small mail order business with attached ebay store. I sold stuff for hobby chemistry, home experiments, and science teaching material. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive, just a few beakers, basic chemicals (only those that weren't considered haz mat), booklets, usual stuff.
I had a few regular customers and wasn't loosing money, but after three years or so I decided that is just wasn't worth the effort. I informed all my customers, auctioned of all my stock as a package, and closed my business. I kept all my records.
Fast forward to last year. I get a letter from the state's attorney to please hand over all records pertaining to one of my customers. I respecfully decline since I consider this a breach of confidence. A week later the police shows up with a warrant, I hand over the documents, everything is fine. And then I get summoned as a wittness in a case of money laundering and tax evasion.

My best regular customer apparently used a fake business selling equipment for school science classes commit massive tax fraud, and washing money for criminal friends at the same time. Among other things, he booked profits as losses by forging receipts with higher purchase prices, and wrote off expenses he never had.

Now, where does the stupid come in? Nobody ever thought there was anything fishy with him. Really, no suspicion at all. They caught him because of my invoices. How? He tried to write off the VAT / sales tax from goods purchased from me (this is a standard procedure to prevent the same goods being taxed twice). The revenue service wanted some form of receipt from him. So he submitted my invoices.
How did this get him caught? Well... every single one of them read "This sale is tax-exempt under the regulations for small business according to § 19 of the Value Added Tax Act." in bold, size 14 font.

Yeah, people, if you are washing money through your business, pay your fucking taxes, or at least don't send the tax collection office any documents that say "Hi, I'm a crook." in bold face. What a moron. :lol:
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Tue Nov 15, 2011 5:54 pm

Privateer73 wrote: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.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Krustofski » Tue Nov 15, 2011 7:39 pm

Disclaimer: My job was never really my hell. While I've experienced a lot of crazy for someone who isn't even 30, I never went through hardship like other people report in this thread.
However, I have been exposed to a lot of stupid people and absurd situations, some of it downright funny. I will post the stories as I remember them.

The following story is mostly true, I altered a few points to prevent people from finding my former workplace via google.


While I was a student I worked at the outpatient clinic of a major hospital, somewhere in a large city in western Germany. A few words on what this actually is: It serves as the main hub for patients showing up at the hospital front desk, unannounced, without being in dire emergency. Basically, when a guy walks in with a cut on his leg from scratching himself with a pair of scissors (yeah, that happens) and needs some stitches, the front desk nurse estimates his rate of blood loss. If he's bleeding profoundly, he's send to the ER, if he's not going to bleed to death anytime soon, he's turfed to us. At the same time we served as a walk-in clinic for everybody who knew how to find us.
Long story short, our job was to keep as many patients as possible away from the ER so the people there could do their job saving lifes.

The clinic hat a core staff of doctors and nurses, and hired temporary staff for grunt work, consisting of nurses, orderlies, and two paramedics, including me. We would do everything exept cleaning & janitorial services.

So, anyway, that's the setting, story to follow.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by taskforce71 » Tue Nov 15, 2011 10:16 pm

Meat N' Taters wrote:There was the time I worked at Babies R' Us back in college. I never realized people could be such crude, disgusting animals until I worked there. I used to find dirty diapers hidden in the aisles. Thanks, you fucking swine, for being too goddamn lazy to walk the fifty feet to the bathroom to throw away your crotchfruit's soiled shit-napkin. Make the college kid do it for $5.35 an hour. Assholes.
I've been to several stores that were just NASTY. I mean, you probably would get ill shopping there. Guess what? All of the worst were Toys R Us places. And I can't believe health departments haven't shut them down for being so filthy. Guess what's the worst thing in a Toys or Babies R Us? Hint: not the bathroom or anything near it! You touch every time. Yes, the SHOPPING CART. Mothers always change the babies diapers in them! So you have a good chance of getting e-coli. A reporter once ran a story on the filthiest things in a store and the cleanest thing, ironically, is the TOILET seat! The worst is always the shopping cart! And yes, I've seen a few used diapers thrown in the aisles at a few of these stores. Makes the interior of a garbage truck seem clean by comparison.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Krustofski » Wed Nov 16, 2011 5:44 pm

Krustofski wrote:Disclaimer: My job was never really my hell. While I've experienced a lot of crazy for someone who isn't even 30, I never went through hardship like other people report in this thread.
However, I have been exposed to a lot of stupid people and absurd situations, some of it downright funny. I will post stories as I remember them.

The following story is mostly true, I altered a few points to prevent people from finding my former workplace via google.


While I was a student I worked at the outpatient clinic of a major hospital, somewhere in a large city in western Germany. A few words on what this actually is: It serves as the main hub for patients showing up at the hospital front desk, unannounced, without being in dire emergency. Basically, when a guy walks in with a cut on his leg from scratching himself with a pair of scissors (yeah, that happens) and needs some stitches, the front desk nurse estimates his rate of blood loss. If he's bleeding profoundly, he's send to the ER, if he's not going to bleed to death anytime soon, he's turfed to us. At the same time we served as a walk-in clinic for everybody who knew how to find us.
Long story short, our job was to keep as many patients as possible away from the ER so the people there could do their job saving lifes.

The clinic hat a core staff of doctors and nurses, and hired temporary staff for grunt work, consisting of nurses, orderlies, and two paramedics, including me. We would do everything exept cleaning & janitorial services.

So, anyway, that's the setting, story to follow.
It was a relatively quiet night. Hans had been there again, like every other night, thrown up all over the waiting area floor even though he had been given a bucket, like every other night, vowed never to touch a bottle of booze ever again, like every other night, and had been insulted and belittled by the unlucky cleaning lady who had to mop the puke away, like every other night. One of those nights she might kill him. Like every other night there was a good chance he would stay sober for the next 24 hours, then start drinking and end up else here at the clinic, or next door in the ER. Earlier that night there had been a woman with massive toothache and bleeding gums. I remember her because it was the first (and so far only) time I ever paged a dentist for a consult.
Like I said, quiet night. Even though we were down to one doctor (another one on call), two nurses, and me for night shift, there wasn't much to do. I was so bored, I even assisted the cleaning lady in spraying down the waiting area with disinfectant (of course AFTER she wiped away the puke ).

The ringing phone was a welcome distraction. I let it ring three or four times before I remembered that it was, well, my job to answer it.

"Clinic, Krustofski speaking."
"This is the ER. The police just brought us two people who were in a knife fight. We want to separate them. Do you guys mind if I send a young man with a few cuts over for stitches?"
"Oh... we're kind of busy here ( :lol: ), but I guess we can squeeze him in." :P

So I dragged the doc away from the TV (seriously, hasn't everyone seen Matrix a million times?), we pulled the trauma cart into the treatment room and were ready for the patient. A minute later, our patient is shoved through the door.

The patient was a tall, skinny boy of maybe 17 or 18 years. Dressed like... well... a fashion-conscious teenager with money. Expensive sneakers, € 50 ballcap, and one of those ridiculously thick Helly Hansen jackets that were so en vogue at the time. He had a bandage on his right hand and forearm (which is why he wasn't handcuffed, I guess). The police officer coming after him wasn't exactly very friendly. He was shoving and pushing the teenager around, giving directions by yanking at his shoulders. This was accompanied by loud, aggressive commands mixed with insults. I was instantly pissed. I mean, it's not like he was actually hurting the boy, but this is certainly not an appropriate way to treat a wounded detainee. And abuse of power pisses me off. I decided to shut up for now, but report him if he crosses the line. I'm sure as hell not going to cover up police brutality.

We had the patient sit down and the doc unwraped the bandage to assess the damage. There were two long cuts all the way across the palm, and a minor, superficial cut on the wrist. Yeah, looked like defensive wounds. The bleeding was minimal, all fingers had the full range of motion, full strength, and there seemed to be no nerve damage. So I handed the doc his antiseptic, lidocaine and sewing kit, and he got to work. While he was stiching up the hand, the two got into casual conversation.

doc: "So, somebody tried to stab you?"
patient: "Just some bum with a knife."

Well, a lot of our regulars were homeless, so that got us interested. It may have been someone we knew.

doc: "Ah hobo attacked you?"
patient: "No, we tried to fuck him up. Didn't know he had a knife."
doc: "Fuck him up?"
patient: "We had nothing to do."
doc (in a perfectly neutral, not at all reproachful tone of voice): "You and your friends were bored and decided to get out and beat someone up?"
patient: "Nah, we just wanted to fuck up hobos, man. I didn't see the motherfucker had a knife. What a son of a whore."

At this point the muscles in my face started to twitch. :x

doc (still perfectly neutral): "Oh, I see. You just wanted to fuck up a hobo."
patient: "Yeah..."

He stiched up the hand, replaced the bandage, signed the paperwork and send the patient on his way to get a tetanus shot. He went under constant pushing, shoving and verbal abuse, just like he came in. Strangely, I couldn't find anything wrong with the officer's behaviour this time.

While we were cleaning up our work area, I started to cry a little. From anger, not sadness. I never cried because of something I experienced on the job before or after that. I've never been so angry. Well, never since some punk kid at school thought it was funny to say "Tell your mother not to use so much lip gloss, my dick locks like a rainbow."

doc (looking at me): "You know, we're here to heal people, not to judge them."
me (needlessly snarky and aggressive): "Nice line. You memorized that from some ethics textbook you read at med school?"

The next hour was awkward silence, interupted by an old man who had pulled his Foley catheter (turfed to urology, no idea why he was even send to us in the first place).
Then suddenly loud screaming and bangs made me jump from my chair. I ran to the locker room, where the noise seemed to originate from, the nurses at hot pursuit. There we found our doc, crying, screaming at the top of his lungs, punching his locker.

"AHHHHHHH FUCKING SHIT!!!" *bang* *bang* *bang* "AHHHHHHHHHH SHIT SHIT!" :shock:

He produced a deep dent in the door of his steel (!) locker. Nobody has ever seen this quiet, polite man loosing control in such a way. He took about a minute to calm down.

doc: "Do we have ice packs?"
nurse: "Half a freezer full."
doc: "Please get me one for my hand. What a little worthless piece of shit. No, he wasn't out to beat up human beings. Just wanted to fuck up a hobo." :gonk:
me: "Yeah..."
doc: "Please page Dr. PhysicianOnCall to come over and cover for me. I'll go to the ER for an x-ray. I think I broke my hand."
Nurse: "What are you going to tell the OHS officer about that?"
doc: "The truth, I guess."

His hand wasn't fractured, but severely bruised. He had to take a week off.

The knife fight appeared as a minor article in local newspapers. I don't know if anyone was put on trial for it.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Resolute » Fri Nov 18, 2011 4:27 pm

:shock:

Damn man, good story. Reminds me of why I don't work ER. I tend to get pissed at people who hurt other people.

Can't wait to hear some more.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by MasterMaker » Sat Nov 19, 2011 11:36 am

wee drop o' bush wrote:I worked for 4 years as a support worker in Supported Accomodation for adults with Psychiatric illnesses who also had mild learning difficulties. I loved it 8) There are too many stories to tell but In one of the appartments lived a guy who I had known since he was released from Psychiatric Hospital into community care. He was a registered sex offender, with a history of threatening to kill people, indecent exposure & public affray etc etc. He had been sectioned & detained in hospital for a few years, had been treated, stabilised & then released under legal guardianship. Despite his history we quickly stopped bothering to wear our panic alarms as he was generally scared to say boo in case he was sectioned again. 4 years down the line he was just another resident & whilst we were careful and stuck to his agreed care plan we didn't feel under threat from him.
Part of my job was to go into each persons flat at night, get them to take their meds & ensure they were in their flat & their door was locked. I had noticed he had been grumpy for a few days but went in to see him as normal. As soon as I walked in he locked the door behind me & stood in front of it & laughed while rubbing his hands together he had never done this before! I thought ''OK, oh shit Louis you're on a mental ledge here'' I knew I had to ignore what he'd done completely and behave as normal. I chatted the usual bullshit with him telling him to take his tablets & get to bed. I then walked straight to the door, turned the key & opened it praying the whole time he didn't reach for my neck I turned round & he was still giggling & rubbing his hands so I looked him in the face & told him to lock the door!
I then walked quickly up to my office, locked the door and sunk onto a chair. I knew his violent history & knew that if I had panicked at all it would have had a very different outcome. I wrote it all down & his medication was altered slightly & our shifts were changed so that we weren't ever in his flat on our own.
I'm only 5'' 0' & he's about 6''3' so |I'm glad I was able to bullshit my way out of it :D
This reminds me of the 6 months I worked at a "work placement" wood shop(helped the old man of the shop build wooden(full size)) boats while waiting to get into school.

There was a tool storage room about the size of a large broom closet and I was asked by one of the guys that "worked" there to come and help him with something, being that I had in the past been able to fix things that generally was thought to be more replaceable than fixable I thought nothing of it.

Upon entering the room I hear the door being closed behind me and when I turn around I find the guy(that I knew to be diagnosed with schizophrenia) holding a large knife(8-10" blade) and asking me if I liked him.

I'm a fairly aggressive and rather misanthropic kind of person(once described by a friend as being all sharp edges and brains) so I told him that I didn't like or dislike him any more than anyone else in the world,

I then proceeded to have a "nice" conversation with him about this while I steeled myself for the eventuality of him coming at me and resolving myself to sacrifice my left hand for the knife blade while using my right to punch him in the throat(all the while talking and inching towards the door..)

Luckily I got out and told the proper people and he was gone within the hour(I was later told by a co worker that he was observed out in public a couple of months later, mogadoned(Nitrazepam) to the eyeballs).

To this day I think that the reason this didn't end badly is because I didn't deviate from being the somewhat abrasive and aggressive(but still amiable and very chatty at times) guy that I am and that I stuck to it in that situation, I dread to think what would have happened if I had cowered, back-pedaled or deviated from whom he perceived me to be(which in retrospect was probably why I was singled out, him perceiving me as an alpha or something).
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My Job, My Hell...

Post by wee drop o' bush » Sat Nov 19, 2011 2:38 pm

^^^you did good!

I was out with my friends today who worked with me then. We were talking about this today as well.

I honestly think he didn't attack me because I completely ignored his intent & stayed in charge. I had worked as his support worker for 4 years at this stage though.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by DarkAxel » Sat Nov 26, 2011 12:06 am

Early this year, my boss and I picked up a client that wanted to remodel a very old home, because they were in a tough spot and needed a little help. My boss decided to buy the materials up-front and bill them later to help them out. Over two months, we did a lot of work on that place. We demoed an old, unsafe concrete flue, a poor attempt by some clueless do-it-yourselfer to put in a modern bathroom, installed new doors and windows, and even knocked out part of an interior wall and build a food-service bar between the living room and kitchen. All told, my boss had almost 3K wrapped up in labor and materials, all up-front and out-of-pocket.

The client made a 1k payment one month, but for some reason believed that 1000 bucks more than covered all of the work we did on the place up to that point. Never mind the fact that the doors and windows alone cost over 1K. In short, they shafted us on most of the bill. Keep in mind that this was in the cold months (Jan and Feb), and no other work was coming in. I needed my pay to make it from week to week (I was recovering from the famine period I described in an earlier post in this thread) to meet my bills, and without the client making her payments, I couldn't meet my obligations (I get paid when the client pays). I was literally two weeks away from an arrest warrant being issued on me for contempt of court (due to a child support agreement), and I had to borrow money to keep the power and heat on. Thanks to my boss, I managed to make it through the roughest parts (he paid my labor out of his pocket).

Fast forward to today. After nearly a year of back-and-forth phone tag, legal wrangling, and threats, my boss and the former client came to a settlement: We'd repo the doors and windows, and the balance on the bill would go away. This afternoon, My boss and I showed up and began removing the doors and windows. the former client came over and began raising pure hell. She called the law on us, brandished a can of pepper-spray, and did everything she could to interfere. The State Police showed up just as we were loading up the windows (which we had removed before the client started her shit). My boss explained the situation, and provided the police officer with the agreement, complete with signatures from both parties, and even had an answering machine recording that the former client had left the day before telling us that it was ok for us to come over and do what we had to do. The Trooper looked at the agreement and listened to the tape, then told the former client that she had agreed to what was happening and signed a legally binding document. What happened next was, well...

Do you guys remember those old Disney cartoons starring Donald Duck? You know, the ones where Donald would get mad. He'd turn red, a line of anger running up his body to his head, and when the line passed Donald's ears, steam would blow out like a train whistle and Donald would go completely bat-fuck insane with rage and start gibbering? Yeah. Our former client went Donald Duck. I could almost see that red line running up her body. I could almost see the steam burst out of her ears. When she opened her mouth, a stream of unintelligible curses spewed forward, and I almost expected her to do a head-stand and begin slamming her head into the ground.

Fortunately for the lady, her husband came over and pulled her away from the situation, and My boss and I got to remove the doors under the watchful eye of one of Kentucky's Finest. Sometimes Hell can be fun.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Krustofski » Mon Dec 19, 2011 9:55 am

wee drop o' bush wrote:...
I have to question the reasoning behind knowingly sending someone physically inferior into the flat of someone with a history of vilolence, alone. No buddy system? If his agressive behaviour had succeeded, it would obviously have sucked beyond belief for you. In addition to that, your superior and/or the person responsible for your work schedule would have been in serious trouble.




Another night at the clinic. I was sitting at the front desk (the outpatient clinic front desk, not the hospital's main entrance front desk), correcting spelling errors in reports & patient files. Suddenly someone started banging on the front door. I wondered wtf that was about, because, you see, that thing is automatic.
In front of the door was a young woman in a manual wheelchair. The door did not open for her, but when I stepped in front of the motion sensor from the inside, it reacted immediately and slid open.

girl: "I'm sorry, I thought you were open."
me: "Oh, we are open, there must be something wrong with the door."

I stepped outside, in front of the outdoors motion sensor, and the door stayed open. I did a sidestep and the door closed, even though she still sat directly in front of it. I steped in front of the door, it opened again. I made a mental note to call the maintenance guys to adjust the angle of the sensor, because if it couldn't detect her, it probably also couldn't find other wheelchair users, or small children.

me: "Seems like the motion detector is not adjusted for someone in a wheelchair. Sorry about that, please come in."
*we go inside*
me: "What can I do for you?"
she: "I have a problem that I wouldn't take to a hospital normally. But my GP's practice is closed."
me: "Yeah, that's usually the case at 23:30." (a few weeks later, with another patient, a snarky remark like this would earn me a reprimand)
she: "I need a sick note for today."
me: "I'll call you a doctor. May I ask what the problem is?"
she: "I'm in a wheelchair."
me: "... I kinda figured."
she: *sigh* "I really rather not tell it twice."

So I got her a doctor and she told her story.

She was a biochemistry student at the nearby university. A few years earlier this uni had a bit of construction work done, made all labs wheelchair-accessible (turned out to be pretty cheap and easy; due to the strict fire safety regulations pertaining to laboratories, doors and hallways have to be pretty wide anyway, all a normal lab needs to accomodate a wheelchair user is some ramps, and maybe lowering tables and work surfaces a few cm). Then the uni advertised itself as perfect for physically handicapped students who want to persue a degree in natural science. So far, so good, hm? They just forgot to adapt study and examination regulations to these students. I'm talking about a major fuckup.
Biochemistry students at this university need to take a Ecology/Biodiversity 101 class that includes field work. Like, excursion into a forrest and meadows, to collect flowers and insects. Offroad activities, definitively. Those field trips were a mandatory part of the curiculum. You can only miss them for for health reasons. You have a medical report signed by your GP, saying that you got severe hayfever – great, you don't have to collect flowers. Sounds reasonable enough, right?
So this girls spoke to her professor, stating that she obviously couln't go on the field trip in her wheelchair. Fine with the prof. She still would get tested on the samples the other students collect, she'd have to learn about them from her books. Seemed fair to her.
Only that the prof. didn't have a say in it. After the field trip, at 20:00, prof called and told her that the examination office demands a medical report signed by a doctor, saying that she was physically unable to attent field trips because she was in a wheelchair. It didn't matter that this was obvious. It didn't matter that nobody told her. Submit a doctor's note dated to the day of the first field trip, or fail the class. He appologized 20 times, knowing how silly that was, but the rules are the rules. Clearly, if people with hayfever have to bring a note from their doctor that they can't get out into the field, then why should the examination office make exceptions for wheelchair users?

She tried to find an open doctor's office, but no dice. So she came to the clinic.

doc: "Ummm... that's... how do you say... really fucking stupid?"
patient: "Yes."
doc: "Mr. Krustofski, would you please fill out a yellow and a pink form for me: Diagnosis: Paraplegia. Note: The patient is in a wheelchair and obviously unable to attend offroad field trips. Make the 'obviously' bold, please."
me: "It's a daisy wheel printer, no bold."
doc: "Upper case?"
me: "I can do that."

She got her sick note. Happy end. What a waste of time and resource. :gonk:

Oh, and it took maintenance 6 months to adjust the fucking door sensor. :roll:


As I am currently employed by a large university, more stories of higher education administrative screwups are soon to follow. In fact, it was shrapnel's highly entertaining rants at the Chat Thread that got me to write it down. :lol:
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My Job, My Hell...

Post by wee drop o' bush » Mon Dec 19, 2011 2:32 pm

Krustofski I wrote up an incident report that night & the procedure was changed from the next day onwards.
All I can say is that by staying calm I averted danger. I bluffed & bullshitted my way out of it!
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Krustofski » Mon Dec 19, 2011 8:32 pm

wee drop o' bush wrote:Krustofski I wrote up an incident report that night & the procedure was changed from the next day onwards.
All I can say is that by staying calm I averted danger. I bluffed & bullshitted my way out of it!
I understood that, it just baffled me that the whole thing didn't work on the buddy system in the first place. :?

Well, I guess we would need another title for this thread if bosses and planners always knew what they are doing.
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My Job, My Hell...

Post by wee drop o' bush » Tue Dec 20, 2011 4:39 am

Krustofski wrote:
wee drop o' bush wrote:Krustofski I wrote up an incident report that night & the procedure was changed from the next day onwards.
All I can say is that by staying calm I averted danger. I bluffed & bullshitted my way out of it!
I understood that, it just baffled me that the whole thing didn't work on the buddy system in the first place. :?

Well, I guess we would need another title for this thread if bosses and planners always knew what they are doing.
Yeah there should have been a buddy system. There was initially years before, but he had never shown any aggression.
As a result there was no provision for that in his new accommodation.
The resident did not want to be sectioned & detained again. He was grudgingly compliant with his increased Meds after that.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Wed Dec 21, 2011 6:20 pm

Documentation from a physician in regards to a medical condition can be very difficult to get or even correct in it's content. I can see that young lady's dilemma.

I use to see this a lot at work in regards to getting insurance coverage for repairs on medical equipment.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by A.C.E. » Fri Dec 23, 2011 2:50 am

There is a story currently in the Swedish media about a fellow who just recently, after months of struggle, got his electric wheelchair (probably mostly thanks to the media attention).

NOTE These things are payed for by an agency, not an insurance company.

The agency's reason for not paying before: "Not certain the patients condition is permanent."

The patient's diagnosis: Both legs amputated.

So, yeah... I'll believe that you need a note from the doctor saying that you're in a wheelchair.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Sat Dec 24, 2011 1:47 pm

Nice to see this thread is still going! Also glad to hear that guy got his chair. It's probably a Permobile, since it is made in Sweden.

Actually, I am very happy with the company I work for right now. We are doing well financially, made more money this year then EVER in the 43 years of the company's existence and to top it all off, a nice bonus on our paychecks yesterday! Nice to know when I go back to work week after nest, I will still have a job.

Okay, I have one more short one that took place during my tenure as a repair technician. A happy-holidays-to-you, you stupid sucker tale.

It's late afternoon on Christmas Eve. Yes, I remember it was Christmas eve because after making my calls and getting back to the shop, it was after lunch and I had completely missed out on the pot luck lunch taking place that day. Not a scrap left, not even a stray pecan from the three fruitcakes brought in for desert, not even a three year old candy cane. Everyone had packed up and went home early, except for me and one delivery driver, who had to be on call in case someone needed a tank of oxygen, which got me to thinking that my holiday celebrations were much too sedate. We were both told, two days before hand, that we were "volunteering" to stay until 6 pm, both of us being the only "responsible, non married men available". Okay, kind of a workplace harrasment lawsuit-making statement but hey, my family doesn't get together until 7 or 8 on Christmas eve anyway and did someone mention some overtime pay for our voluntary contribution? If not, someone will most certainly will make this right by us two fellows or we were planning to make some phone calls to local media.

No problem on the missed pot luck though. While we were disappointed (he having to make several runs that day as well before and during the pot luck) and the cell phone being a wonderful thing, I was able to secure a #2 and a #12 combos from the Chinese restaurant down the street (I think the #2 was Hunan beef while a #12 was cashew chicken, but I digress. Stop me from doing this, please!) At least we were able to sit in the main office in order for us to answer any phone calls and catch anyone customers from trying to brake the doors down to get the diabetic socks they ordered three months ago. So there we sat, making sure the doors were locked, enjoying the steaming goodness of pseudo oriental cuisine when the phone rings. Damn, I say, there goes lunch and the punch line to the ribald tale I was verbalizing to my co worker, not to mention the succulent food before me. After all, the place does have great chow.

I recognize the the voice. Just two days prior, I helped my new boss deliver a power wheel chair to this nice, blue haired elderly lady. I had paper work to do so I let him do the talking whilst I returned to the van, ordering parts and putting the finishing touches on my work orders. Before I had completed the first bunch of paperwork, my boss returns and tells my to hurry up, we got two more chairs to deliver! He is in hurray because a) he has to get all these unit's delivered so the paperwork can be sent through before the new year and b) he is going on vacation as soon as we get back to base. I should have seen a problem coming. Would you have? I surely did not see the slap in the face that was coming my way.

Well, it seems this nice lady's chair is dead. Cold, deceased, tot, gone to the great wheel chair creator in the sky. It ain't moving since it stopped in the middle of here living room an hour ago. Could some come out and get it running, please, not an hour ago but RIGHT NOW! She is gotten too weak to move very far in her old manual chair so this really needs to be taken care of. I think for a second, my head swimming with all the possibilities of would could be wrong and running through all the logistics involved in going out and fixing this thing. A glance at the clock shows 1:45. 10 minutes to finish lunch, 25 minutes to her place, give myself and 2 hours tops to fix the chair and I am still back in before we lock the doors and head off to have a nice glass of tawny port wine (at least for me) with home apple wood smoked turkey breast and mashed Yukon gold potatoes infused with sour cream and 3 year old parmasan cheese, with friends and family. I can make this work, I tell my go worker. Here is my cell # if things go really bad here. Okay, he says, stuffing a strip of beef with green pepper down his gullet. I grab my keys and tools and get to it.

Getting there takes longer then I thought. Completely insane last minute shoppers are driving like they are competing for pole position at the 24 hours of LeMans, my employer's location being, unfortunately at this time of year, across the street from one of the biggest shopping malls in the state. 45 minutes to takes me to arrive at our client's abode. She lets me in, using her manual wheel chair and the smell of home made from scratch holiday confections wafting through the house. She offers me a plate of cookies and other decadent delights and before I could say no, I have a dark chocolate dipped peanut butter ball melting happily in my mouth. Who cares about family and wine because the Gods themselves have sent Ambrosia right to this very house! Yes, it is that good.

The chair is where it died, dead in the middle of the quaintly styled and CLEAN living room. Yes, it's dead. Not even a death gasp nor whimper of mercy. I whip out my trusty multimeter and alas, there is no charge in the batteries. It is truly a miracle that the chair got this far. Between both batteries, there is less then 9 volts! These machines are supposed to not function at all when the charger goes below 21 volts! it was then I asked a simple but yet the most crucial question I had asked all week:

When did you charge it last?

She looks at me with those ice melting, cataract infested blue eyes and says in her most inquisitive voice:

"Charge it?"

I bite my tongue till the blood flows. It's all I can do to keep from bursting out with laughter. Not humorous laughter, oh no, but the laughter that only the insane understand and the enlightened envy. My boss, is his haste, has forgotten this dear old woman is not the most technically informed person in the world right now. He had told me earlier she had never learned to drive a car! This wheel chair was the first thing she ever owned that moved under it's own power! he did NOT tell her half of it's operation procedure! I sober myself quickly and explain to her in the most friendly way possible, since I want more of those hand crafted bits of heaven sitting a mere 6 or 7 feet away from me, that she must plug it into the wall outlet over there every night. But alas, she has run the batteries down to the point where the chair's own charger won't bring them up. I have batteries with me and thus, within 45 minutes, she is mobile, informed and happy and I am heading back to base with a paper plate full of holiday goodies the likes of which a fortunate few have ever had the honor and priviledge to sample.

Did I say this was to be short? Oh my...
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by mobilesuithomer » Tue Dec 27, 2011 1:43 am

Back when I worked in a movie theater I had the distinct pleasure of picking up and throwing away a small, empty bottle of whiskey when cleaning up a theater. Oh, and the theater had been showing a kids' movie. (Well, I remember that being the case. Let's assume I'm correct; it's more interesting that way.)

I didn't clean up the whole time I worked there, though. Instead, I got transferred to concession work. I'm sure there are people who can tolerate or even enjoy it, but I'm not one of them. It wasn't the most physically taxing job in the world, but I dreaded going to work, so I asked to go back to cleaning theaters. I even wrote a brief essay explaining why. They didn't care, though, so I kept working concession until I quit without notice, since it was pretty much either that or a nervous breakdown. Not even joking. Apparently I was just that good working concession. (If this last paragraph isn't in the spirit of the thread I'll edit it out.)

After that the only job I've had has been seasonal work for a local fireworks warehouse, which was actually a pretty cool place to work...

...until about a week from the 4th, at which point there was nothing to do but walk around and put stuff back where it goes. The first year I worked there me and a few other people had to empty out a large wooden bin filled with about a bajillion of those spinner things you nail onto a board or a post, black out the old sticker, put a new one on and put them back. I thought it was the worst thing I was going to have to do all summer, but a few days into the boredom phase I was wishing I could go back and do it all over again.

A few other things I remember:

-A guy we called "Big Mike," or just Mike. He was about seven feet tall and weighed about 400 pounds, although I could be wrong about the latter part. He had to bring in his own shirts to be adorned with the official company "flair", which was a logo, some text, and a list of locations on the back. He went through at least two a day because he would soak them with sweat to the point that it started dripping onto the floor. I distinctly remember a time when we had to stack up a display that we normally used a ladder or boom lift for. Big Mike just stood there and put them up. It was kind of surreal.

-A story my cousin (also a seasonal employee) told us about the general manager. See, it's hard to get the GM genuinely angry. You can get him upset and frustrated, but (to his immeasurable credit) he didn't take it out on us, his lowly employees. Pissed off, however, he became genuinely terrifying. Not because he yelled at you or resorted to physical violence; that would almost be preferable. No, what he did was exude his wrath, allowing it to envelope him in an almost visible aura, impervious to almost all known forms of pleading and sympathy.

My cousin got to experience this first hand one year after someone smeared a bathroom stall with his own fecal matter. The GM got all of the employees that were there that day into a little group and explained, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to find out who did it, and the person who did it was very much fired. Now, that in itself wouldn't have been scary, but apparently the GM was furious enough that my cousin--who was lucky enough to be a part of the group being addressed--became convinced that said person would not only be fired but banished, and would be physically carried to the door and forcibly thrown into the parking lot, never to return.

-The time somebody's kid threw a snapping-pop onto the floor, which was exciting.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by allofthemonkeys » Tue Dec 27, 2011 2:34 pm

I work the night shift at a local convenience store. Just started so not many stories, yet. Just wait. The other worker was on break, so a few people were in line, and some ladies brought their drinks to the counter. One is taking a good while to find her money inside her purse, so I get them to stand aside so I can help the other behind them. Lost money lady jokes that she ONLY had one drink. Right. I move the line along, and then ring them up when the money is found. After they get their milkshakes, she asks if I can break a 100$ bill. As it is policy not to have more than 100$ in the till, I tell her that I can't, and this is where she flips, drops a few bombs with some scattered colorful language. "I know you have a 50 in there! What about all those others that just paid with 20's?" After arguing with her long enough to form another line, she storms off. I can't wait to see what will come later.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SeerSavant » Tue Dec 27, 2011 4:59 pm

LastRifleMan, that was a nice story... I half expected some holiday horror story, but it's nice to know that you have "clean" "nice" customers, as opposed to some of your previous stories... Which were not nearly as nice, even if they were funnier... (sorry :mrgreen: )


allofthemonkeys; I remember my time in convenience stores; I got burned out towing, and found a temp job on the graveyard at a local gas station/convenience store. About a year and a half later, I cut back to part time to drive a limo, and make some extra money. Within six months, they asked me to come back full time and replace an assistant manager who had gotten fired for selling booze to an underage kid running a small local sting for the Va ABC. A month later, I was promoted, 2 months after that, I had my own store, and within a year, I was running three. (well, one was a booth, and the other had a dedicated assistant)

Now... I ain't the smartest brick in the egg basket, and I was about as Gung Ho as an (insert appropriate metaphor meaning not at all, as my own involved anarchists and a political rally. Figured self editing was best :oops: ) but apparently I was good at managing...
Despite the fact that I hated it with an all consuming passion.

You ever have a job where you simply didn't care, and they take it as a calm, confident demeanor instead?

Company policy to me, was more along the lines of suggestions... But my point was (and they agreed, or well, they didn't know any better) that as long as there was no problems with the vendors, product was on the shelf, gas was in the tanks, and money made it to the bank, with no shortages... They could leave me to run the stores as a I saw fit.

For example, I had one guy, he was a big fellow, probably 450 pounds plus, and barely capable of getting into the cooler to stock, and spent the majority of the night listening to music and talking on his phone... However, never had a complaint (his shift was after we locked the doors) and his money was always straight.
I got the distinct impression that his "other" businesses, were just sly of shady, but at work, he was solid.
Had a girl who would run second shift, but often lock the doors... When i confronted her about the security and the fact that we had to keep the store open, she agreed.
I began keeping an eye on her, nice girl, always on time, and money always straight, but she was hiding something...

Yep. Turns out instead of slipping out the doors, she would go into the cooler for about 15 20 minutes, once or twice a shift. Now, the office was around the side, and the bathrooms were behind the building. So I called her into the office and asked her point blank, why the hell was she slipping off for extended times, I had gone back and watched her shifts for roughly two weeks, and every shift, as soon as it got slow, she'd disappear, then 20 minutes later, she's doing her job, cleaning, stocking, etc.
Let me point out that her shifts were phenominal, her money was right, the safe counts were never off, the product was fronted, she'd dust... In many ways she was a model employee...
Anyway, watching her on camera, if a customer came up and banged on the door, she'd rush out of the cooler, then take care of the customer, and go right back into the cooler.

Long story short... I asked her, pointedly, mentioned the security cameras, at which point she fessed up.

She was taking the time to "rub one out"... Apparently this was something she did a half dozen times of the day.

:shock:

Yeah, I let her go back to her routine...




Working in a convenience store was a strange contrast to towing, in towing, people are hurt, they are drunk and they are a good bet to be in court over the matter. In a convenience store, they will rant, rave, and scream obscenities because their favorite pack of smokes went up 10 cents...

In a convenience store, you find out that people will spend 10 bucks in gas driving around to save a few pennies a gallon.

At the same time, it was a chain, not a franchise, so when the corporation started to have financial troubles (they got bought out, 's why I no longer work for them... Aside from the iffy pay, the long commute, the idiot customers, and the general retardation of those in charge, that is.) Suddenly, the answer was; like all corporations in trouble, lets spend lotsa money to repaint, resign, refresh, everyone needs a new look.... Um... I don't see the impact.

And I said so at one of our "team building" exercises.

Why is it that corporations always have to gather people for large meetings, to say something that could be read on a memo in under 5 minutes??


We had these regional meetings. Stores sent a manager and a cashier each to a rented room at a hotel, so that we could sit down and brainstorm over how to make the stores more efficient. I had a friend who worked in a hotel, and know that this little shindig cost the company quite a few pennies, along with paying us all travel time, plus our pay (4 hours.....FOUR HOURS OF THIS SHIT!!!) plus food and drink, PLUS the fact that not being at the store, meant your were paying someone else to mind it while you were here, paid mileage and travel time, at a rented convention room, with audio visual gear, and hired "consultants" who make everyone do "team building" exercises, and in the end, announce that there was a contest for our customers to win one of 4 all expense paid vacations to Hawaii...
We had to turn in all those stupid name and company shirts that we didn't wear half the time, and exchange them for these gaudy hawaiian shirts, (which were thrown away after 4 months, and we got all new shirts... With a new look, same uncomfortable polyester...

At the end of each one of those meetings, they had the whole, write down what you think "we" could do to improve the public image and cut costs in the company budget without affecting service...

I wrote my stock answer, which I had done from the first meeting, all the way thru the last meeting (which was to let us know that we were stopping the meetings, as the company was in dire straights...)
"hmmm... How about..... wait for it...... NO MORE STUPID MEETINGS???"

Anyway, the company was bought out, and my pay was cut in half, so out the door I went...

No stories about my current job, which I'll not name, but it might rhyme with Gnome Repo...

Um... That's about it... Sorta a rant, but as true as my memory is reliable...

Which is debatable...
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by TheLastRifleMan » Wed Dec 28, 2011 9:57 am

SeerSavant wrote:LastRifleMan, that was a nice story... I half expected some holiday horror story, but it's nice to know that you have "clean" "nice" customers, as opposed to some of your previous stories... Which were not nearly as nice, even if they were funnier... (sorry :mrgreen: ).
Good one, Seer. And thanks. It was not as funny as some of my other tales, true, but being able to secure a plate of goodies like that on a holdiay was a win win day.
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by MelloJeep » Fri Dec 30, 2011 1:38 am

Ok I was on another thread and told this was the place for these stories, I have done every crap job out there , I towed heavy recovery for about 10 years and that alone lended itself to every awful deal known to man, I once had to bring a mack superliner with a drag winch twinbooms and a zacklift on to the Braga Bridge where a fully loaded oil truck had two flats on the same side dropping it on the rims in the low speed lane just after the lights of the bridge. I get to the shop and my then , now late boss who was drunk informs me while hanging out the top floor window of the shop naked that I need to get two spares for the mack and the putt jack and head up and swap out the tires. It took forever getting mounted rig rim and tires on the back deck of the mack wich was about 5 and a half feet off the ground. Get everything and head over the Oil truck in question is in the middle of the los speed lane with no lights < its dead. The owner informs me that the dog legs were loose and the center of the axle spun in the middle of the split rims shearing off the valve stems, best part was the 5 dog legs he had only 2 now the other 3 were just ....gone. WTF. I park behind him with the roatators going and a flare and then with the putt jack start bending his frame rail because its a fully loaded oil truck.After 2 hours at 1 am i get the rims on and dog legs on best I can and its dead still, I have to now hot start it but cant the hot start is junk, so now I have to pull start a fully loaded oil truck with no lights on it at night ,I get it going finally and he starts driving with me behind him and I watch the rims wobble like the chevy chase waon in vacation . He stops gets out walks over to me and says" I think its good i can do some deliveries and when its empty get new tires". I said " if he didnt take the next exit end go to rolands tire and park it he was on his own I had no other tires and cant tow him from behind off the highway he would need a landoll. He finally saw the light and wobbled to rolands. Then the next day my boss bitched I took too long on it.....WTF I got so many more too its sad really. Like being off duty and the same boss is having a beer with me then has me do a tow on a dui and shows up in his car to "help " me while fall down drunk....the statie asked"is he with you" i said"hes my boss" he said he was sorry :lol:
I have a pretty good limp so don't bother tripping me...they'll catch up.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by dynomike » Sun Jan 08, 2012 10:29 am

Back in 1999-2001, I lived in Vancouver, WA and worked in in Portland, Or. During this time, I worked at a print shop in downtown Portland, specializing in oversized blueprints. I worked in a shady part of town (torn down during the real estate boom for condos) and crackheads and drug fiends and prostitutes were everywhere. I worked the swing shift, so I got to see some characters. The building I worked in was next door to a cheap hotel/flophouse where a lot of the druggies lived.

One night, the garage to the building was open and some of the crew were unloading a palette of paper for the freight elevator. They left for lunch and left the garage door opened. When they came back, there was a crack whore squatting in the garage, pissing. My manager came down and instead of calling the cops, walked next door to the hotel and came back with her pimp. Turns out my manager had made friends with the pimp and they cut a deal: keep the whores off our side of the block and we will look the other way for your nefarious activities. The pimp grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back to the hotel. I saw neither again.

I lived in San Francisco for 7 years. I used to be on opening shift for a coffee shop, so I was on the bus by 3 am. One night the bus stopped to pick up a guy, only to find he had been mugged, stabbed, and was bleeding to death. The bus driver called 911 and we waiting until they arrived. The bus driver's supervisor was also there. One the bus each morning was this impatient guy who would pace and grunt at my bus stop if the bus was late by even 1 minute. Well, that guy was on the bus and he started to do the same thing on the bus and began yelling for the bus to go. After 5 minutes of this, the supervisor got in his face and yelled "STFU you POS! Sit your ass down and be thankful that isn't you. If we ever find your ass stabbed at a stop, we'll leave your sorry ass there to die". The bus got going and Mr. Impatient copped a better attitude since.

Finally, I used to be a City Planner in Idaho. During my tenure, and apparently no other time since, I would receive at least 3 phone calls a week concerning animal husbandry, specifically about chickens. The first time I got this question was from a Russian fellow who stopped by and was asking how many chickens he could have. The secretary called me with this and I started to laugh.

"Is he serious?" I asked.
"Yes, he is", she said.
"Come on. Chickens? This has got to be a joke" I replied.
"No joke. He wants to know how many chickens he can have in his zoning district."
"Tell him he can have all the chickens he wants!"
"Really?! He's serious." she said.
"Yeah, right. I'll come up there and kill this joke. Effing chickens, come on."

So I go up and find this polite Russian man who asks me all sorts of serious questions about chickens, how many he can have, where can he put the coop and if he can have a rooster. I stare in disbelief and start looking for a camera crew behind him. Finally, I collected myself, answered his questions, and bid him good day. For the rest of my time as a planner, I was known as "The Chicken Guy".
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Gyrfalcon » Sun Jan 08, 2012 2:09 pm

dynomike wrote: Finally, I used to be a City Planner in Idaho. During my tenure, and apparently no other time since, I would receive at least 3 phone calls a week concerning animal husbandry, specifically about chickens. The first time I got this question was from a Russian fellow who stopped by and was asking how many chickens he could have. The secretary called me with this and I started to laugh.

"Is he serious?" I asked.
"Yes, he is", she said.
"Come on. Chickens? This has got to be a joke" I replied.
"No joke. He wants to know how many chickens he can have in his zoning district."
"Tell him he can have all the chickens he wants!"
"Really?! He's serious." she said.
"Yeah, right. I'll come up there and kill this joke. Effing chickens, come on."

So I go up and find this polite Russian man who asks me all sorts of serious questions about chickens, how many he can have, where can he put the coop and if he can have a rooster. I stare in disbelief and start looking for a camera crew behind him. Finally, I collected myself, answered his questions, and bid him good day. For the rest of my time as a planner, I was known as "The Chicken Guy".
I guess I'm not seeing anything humorous or outrageous about his questions. Within the city limits of Portland, you can have three hens, ducks, or pygmy goats, but no roosters. What was so funny?

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