(How I picture a weekend in Youngstown)
Actually, it was Hubbard, but who ever heard of Hubbard, Ohio, except people from near Hubbard, Ohio.
Anyhow, it didn’t have anything to do with the town, as a long-haul trucker I didn’t get paid if the wheels aren’t turning. Also, there was the newly acquired head wound that I needed to get stitched up, but as any Canadian can tell you, you don’t go to a hospital in the US if you don’t have health insurance.
So my dilemma was that I had to get the load secured and back to Canada, where I wouldn’t have to pay to go to emergency. I figured that St. Catherines would be easier to get to with the truck than Niagara Falls, so this was my plan.
The warehouse guy came out and helped me chain down the rest of the load and I whipped over to the truck stop to weigh my axles.
They were out by a bit.
So I had to go back and get the load shifted ahead. By the time I got back to the truck stop, it was late afternoon and my head was pounding pretty bad. I also had to change my dressing and I was feeling really tired, so I thought I might grab a nap before heading north.
(I thought they just left their dead and wounded.)
I should back up a bit and mention that throughout this time I was in contact with my boss who was urging me to go to the hospital and use his credit card. While I was screwing around he sent another driver that was passing through near me to stop in and see how bad I was.
He showed up in the truck stop washroom while I was trying to change my bandages.
(It wasn’t this bloody, but close)
He said that Rudy was worried about me and asked if I needed help with the dressing. I said that I would really appreciate that as it is hard to work in the mirror.
He said that Rudy thought he could take me to the hospital and that he understood why after seeing my head. I guess the flap had crusted up pretty badly. He had the credit card and had already unhooked his trailer, so off we went to the hospital.
(It wasn’t quite this dramatic.)
When we got there we had to cross a picket line because the hospital was on strike. I wasn’t too worried about it until I saw the sign that said something about scab labor and my wound festering or something like that. Thanks, that’s fucking helpful.
When we got inside there was a lady doing the admitting, a pretty nurse, and a doctor from England. I guess they were the scabs. Oh well, lucky for me they were there.
(I sure do love pixabay.com)
When the doctor saw me, he was a little perturbed that I had waited ten hours to come in. I guess there was a bit of rust or dirt still in there and he had to cut away some of the edges that were no good, but he got it stitched up. While he was stitching me up he asked where I was from.
I told him and he stopped what he was doing and asked me what the hell was with people in Canada. I said I didn’t know what he meant and he explained that since he had been there he had met three Canadians before me. One was the nurse, one was an elderly man that had been in a car accident and broke his leg and just wanted a splint put on it. Then there was a teenaged boy that was in a hockey tournament that had his eye socket fractured in the game that just wanted to get back to the arena for the last game. He said, “What do you guys think, you’re made of steel or something?”
(Come on, these pictures are cute.)
I said, “No, what we’re not made of is money, and if we can make it four more hours we won’t be spending thousands of dollars here.”
He said that he thought I did this at work and when I replied that I had, he told me that it was all covered by worker’s compensation. I asked how much it would have cost and he figured about US$1200. Just to keep this face pretty.
(Like how I used red to give it that real wound look?)
All in all, it was an above average run. Oddly not the worst one I had ever been on, but definitely not the best. The way I look at it is that I saved the company $1200 by getting hurt on the job and I didn’t even get a raise.
P.S. While I was looking around I found this at http://fox8.com/2017/07/29/hubbard-ohio-factory-owner-says-she-has-jobs-but-few-sober-applicants/
If he’s going to MAGA, he should get the fuck to work.
(This was previously posted on Steemit, but I figured I could start posting things from there on here. I own it, right?)
(I don’t know where she plans on injecting that love.)
I had to spend eight hours in a fucking first aid course today. It was torturous. This is the ninth time I’ve taken level one first aid and that makes me sad, but you need to have it if you want to work. As far as first aid courses go, this one wasn’t too bad, and I met a cool, old feller in there and he only lives a few minutes from me, so hopefully I get a chance to hang out with him sometime. He’s over 70 and still working full-time, but thinks he might retire and work closer to home. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s not called retiring when you just switch employers.
While I was on https://pixabay.com/ looking for free first aid photos, I noticed some that seemed oddly out of place or just funny. Like this one and basically the rest of the ones I will post here.
(I wonder if this one shows up under WWE as well.)
Back to the story.
When the instructor told us about how you were supposed to act in a calm, reassuring manner when someone comes to you with a first aid emergency, I was reminded of a story from when I was in/near Youngstown Ohio in the late 90s.
You see, I was a long-haul trucker and was sent to this steel mill to pick up these huge rings that were going to some sort of wood product mill in Quebec to replace some roller type thing. They loaded them on me and I had to chain it down and go to a nearby truck stop to make sure the load was positioned properly, weight-wise.
I had a snipe that was bent a bit and I was having a hard time getting the boomer(bear trap) to snap, so I got the bent snipe out and did something I knew better than to do, but it was Friday and if I didn’t get the load weighed and positioned properly I would be sitting there until Monday.
For those of you that don’t know what I’m talking about with the securement, watch this video for the first couple of minutes. A snipe is a cheater bar and the thing he’s putting it on is a bear trap/boomer/binder.
When I decided to get on top of the snipe and put my entire weight on it, it spun and snapped back into my face.
( I knew Miss Piggy was going snap one day.)
When I woke up, I was laying on the concrete floor of the warehouse beside my glasses and ball cap with the newly dented peak.
I scrambled to get up and when I bent over to pick up my stuff, blood started
drippingpouring out onto the floor. I took notice and, with my body hunched a bit to keep from bleeding on myself, slowly made my way towards the part of the building that people were in.
When I got a bit closer to the main door, an employee saw me and started walking towards me. I asked him where the first aid was and he said he was a first aider and started stepping up his pace. I lifted my head up and when he looked at my head he got this freaked out look on his face and he started to turn away while yelling something like, but not limited to, “Oh my God, holy fuck. Your fucking head, man. Oh shit. Fuck.”
(This must be the Playboy mansion first aid attendant)
And then he was gone
Now I was getting scared. I picked up my pace and started to worry about when my adrenaline ran out and I succumbed to my severe head trauma. Very soon a heavier set man was running toward me and pulling on some rubber gloves. The shithead first aider was in tow with a first aid bag in his hands.
I started screaming as soon as I saw the gloves. It went something like this: “I’M AFRAID TO TOUCH MY HEAD! PLEASE HELP ME. I THINK MY BRAINS ARE COMING OUT OF MY SKULL.”
(Doubles as an ice dance pic as well.)
He was trying to get me into a chair against a wall full of papers tacked to corkboard, but I wanted nothing to do with slowing down. I knew that was when you were fucked. The way buddy screamed and ran away from me told me that I was running on nothing but instinct and luck. If I stopped, I would bleed out and slowly fade away. Or something like that. I was in fucking shock, how do I know what things mean?
He said that he was a first aid attendant and he needed me to calm down, but his tweaker looking sidekick was just staring at me with this horrified look and cringing, so I did what any person would do.
I looked him right in the eye and yelled in my deepest, gravelly baritone voice, “IS MY BRAIN SHOWING?”
(That’s what happens when you flip my Nana the bird.)
He said he couldn’t see it, but he would like to have a better look, so I sat down and he used his flashlight to look around. He said it looked like my skull had a fracture, but there was no brain showing.
While he was explaining things to me, I looked right at the other first aider and started yelling something about him being the worst medical person in the world and saying that if my head wasn’t split open I would beat him until he shit himself. He started to cry and then I stopped to collect myself and apologize, but he took off. Now the real first aid guy was looking at me disapprovingly and I apologized and told him what happened as he walked me to the first aid room to wash my wound out.
(How would this even happen?)
I told him to relay my sorrow to the other guy, but to understand that he is not someone who should be in that role. He agreed and started to call an ambulance, but I stopped him in his tracks. I explained that I needed to get my load secured and weighed before I did anything, so he handed me some waivers to sign, bandaged the flap of skin up off of my right eyebrow, and gave me a bag full of gauze pads and tape.
I was free!
There is a whole nother part of this, but I’m tired. I’ll get it up here soon.
Dean let out a sickening noise as he watched his sister come to a bloody stop on the ground in front of the whizzing thing.
Who am I kidding? I can’t keep this up for much longer. Let’s just pretend that the deer was tapped in the head with the gift of knowledge, so he now knows all of the basic information that an adolescent human would know. It would take several years to explain how a deer learns each new thing, and we don’t have that kind of time.
A woman got out of the driver’s seat of the car and started to cry. She was also hyperventilating.
“Jesus Christ, Sarah. Would you fucking breathe? It’s just a fucking deer.” Came a voice from the car.
“IT’S DEAD! IT’S JUST A BABY AND IT’S FUCKING DEAD!” She screamed into the car.
“Yeah, I know. Calm down and get in the car. There’s nothing you can do about it now. Fuck, listen to that other one wailing. Let’s go, I can’t take much more of that.”
Dean’s mother looked up from her stupor and then put her head back down and closed her eyes. “It figures.” was all she said.
The car drove off with Sarah freaking out about taking a life that never got to be lived, and Dean stopped his screaming. He didn’t fully understand what all of this meant, but he knew that it didn’t feel right. He felt someone move up beside him.
“She’s with the Lord now. He had a special purpose for her innocent, little soul. She’s in a better place.”
Dean looked over and saw this deer that looked a lot like his mother. She had a glassy sort of look to her, but she seemed sort of kind looking, so he asked her why this “Lord” would want a new-born fawn.
“Who knows?” was her reply. “He doesn’t need to tell us why he does things. If he does it, it was the right thing.”
As he stared at her, trying to comprehend what all of that meant, he heard his mother yell “Don’t you fill his head with your ideas. You let him have a mind of his own.”
“We’re all a part of God’s plan. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.” She replied. “You know what Mama always told us.” She looked at Dean. “Honey, you just need to follow the path to the light. God’s love will be waiting there to bathe you. All you have to do is…”
Her eyes bulged out as she lost her wind and crumpled. Dean looked over and saw his mother’s back feet sinking into her side. “Don’t you listen to her. You need to learn things for yourself. Praying to something that probably doesn’t exist isn’t going to help you at all. Now come over here and get some milk. I need to lay down, and you need your strength.”
He latched on to a nipple and went to town. While he was nursing, he saw the other deer limping away. His mom noticed him looking.
“That’s my twin.” She said “I love her, but I can’t handle her shit.”
Dean thought he understood. He loved his sister, but she never even talked to him. It’s not like he was going to miss her. He would just have to try and keep himself alive, and hopefully his mom too.
First off, I understand that I am media. I just don’t really count my thirty eight subscribers as a media audience to be reckoned with. For the record, you could be number thirty nine if you click the subscribe button in the top left sidebar. It’s just a thought. A really good thought.
Don’t get me wrong, you are all awesome, even if some of you have died and others have been incarcerated, but I just don’t think that what I do here counts for much out there in the real world of media.
So now onto the horrible Gene Simmons and the saintly Prince, whom Gene has so wrongfully smote((smitten?)) with his words.
Now I have never been a soldier in the KISS Army, but I have owned several of their [easyazon_link identifier=”B000001EU2″ locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]cassettes[/easyazon_link], [easyazon_link identifier=”B000001EL3″ locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]CDs[/easyazon_link], and their Oscar worthy KISS eXposed.
[easyazon_image align=”none” height=”500″ identifier=”B009QWIRBM” locale=”US” src=”https://changethetopic.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/51qzEsVNE2L.jpg” tag=”granligh-20″ width=”354″]
I always found them entertaining and intelligent, but never really cared too much about what they had to say concerning anything. They are rock stars and smart businessmen. End of story.
Well, until I saw all kinds of headlines about Gene Simmons and his comments about Prince and drugs. Shit like, but not limited to:
GENE SIMMONS: DAVID BOWIE’S DEATH WAS TRAGIC, PRINCE’S WAS PATHETIC
Gene Simmons calls Prince’s death ‘pathetic’
Gene Simmons on Prince: ‘How Pathetic That He Killed Himself’
That’s just three of them, but you get the picture. This all comes from the newsweek.com interview with Gene Simmons where he said things like, but not limited to:
“I think Prince was heads, hands and feet above all the rest of them. I thought he left [Michael] Jackson in the dust. Prince was way beyond that. But how pathetic that he killed himself. Don’t kid yourself, that’s what he did. Slowly, I’ll grant you… but that’s what drugs and alcohol is: a slow death.”
“Bowie was the most tragic of all because it was real sickness,” Simmons tells Newsweek. “All the other ones were a choice.” Even Prince? “His drugs killed him. What do you think, he died from a cold?”
The one question I have is: When we all start out and we have these big dreams and you finally get your wish—you have more money than God and fame—what is that insane gene in us, well, a lot of us, that makes us want to succumb to the cliché of clichés: drugs and alcohol?
You get the picture, right? I want to throw this in for you to ruminate on.
Now, I don’t think that he’s 100% correct in most of this, but come on. It’s Gene Simmons’ fucking opinion. He’s allowed to have one, and so are you, but nobody should give a shit about either of them. Who cares what anybody thinks about Prince’s death? He’s gone, and left a shitload of great music for us to enjoy until we succumb to whatever the fuck kills us too.
[easyazon_image align=”none” height=”491″ identifier=”B000002L68″ locale=”US” src=”https://changethetopic.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/51uyoRxdT8L.jpg” tag=”granligh-20″ width=”500″]
(In my opinion, this is his greatest hits CD)
The thing that bothered me the most about all of this shit was the headlines. They were only made to get a rise out of everyone. Just to get clicks. Plain and simple.
Now, I am not above trying to sneak a link in here and hope someone buys something from Amazon through the site, but I have never been able to skew things to try and get people to click on my posts because I am playing with their emotions. I could have named this post something like “Gene Simmons Is Celebrating. Prince Is Dead”
Probably would have got a lot of folks in here with something like that, but I couldn’t do it with a clear conscience. How can reputable media outlets like Newsweek and Rolling Stone do it? They know the context in which it was said, so why would they try and trap a bunch of idiots with a misleading headline?
I have an idea.
Guess where these came from?
If you guessed Facebook, you are the wiener.
This shit is just perfect for the clicky, emotional hordes on the old FB.
Gene Simmons said what? Fuck him and his stupid pornstar wife. Who made him God? I hope he ODs on valiums. Fucking asshole.((Tidbits of things I saw when I looked at FB))
BTW, nobody made him God. If they did there would be proof that he exists, and we know that ain’t happening yet. 😉
Anyhow, quit clicking on things that make you mad, unless you are going to actually read everything before you share it and comment. You will save yourself a lot of people calling you an idiot under their breath. Unless your friends are just as dumb. If that’s the case, click and share as much as possible. You’ll be the most smartest one on the block, and everyone will follow your lead.