I’m covered in shit. Not in the ‘nice skid mark on your shirt’ kind of way; more like an ‘I walked through a fog of aerosol poop’. Picture that painted lady at the makeup counter, that one who is a cross between The Joker and Newt Gingrich’s wife (she’s terrifying), ready to hose you down with a bottle of really expensive feces eau de toilette. If you were to hit me with a black light, I’d probably light up like a Jackson Pollock painting or one of Dexter’s fun kill rooms.
I work at a colonoscopy clinic and I’m a klutz. One of these factors alone wouldn’t be a big deal but the combination means I’m a disgusting person two days a week (thank you baby gee-zus for the wee little infant that finally gives me the perfect reason to work part-time). I’m not actually complaining…I accepted my fate eight years ago. OK, maybe sometimes I find myself a teensy bit salty when I picture the doctors getting home from a long day, peeling off their crap misted dry clean only attire and escaping to their money room to enjoy a relaxing dip in a waste deep pool of hundos. Folks in my pay grade would consider eating a shit sandwich for a pathetically low amount of cash. (But we’re not bitter. Not at all.)
Let me be clear. Their usually isn’t a whole lot of crap left by the time you’re all saddled up and ready to get your scope on. It just so happens, that if there is shit present, I am lucky enough to find it. Don’t let this make you shy away from a colonoscopy. I’ve had one and many more are in my future. It’s not at the top of my list, but to be honest, I’d rather spend an eternity with a gastroenterologist than 15 minutes with a dentist. Aside from the perks of good drugs, avoiding cancer seems to be a legit benefit? Oh, fancy dentist, you shaved some plaque today? Um, we just kicked ass at the polyp rodeo, how about that?
I’m pretty sure that as I sit here typing one handed, with the wee one asleep on my lap, she just loaded her pants. Either that or she just farted like a trucker. Yep. It’s official, that’s a solid. Sweet Jesus she’s gross. Swell. Well here’s the rub….there is no way I’m waking her up to change her shorts. I’ll just sit here and marinate in her disgusting funk. I like to bring a little of my work home with me. This is my life.
