Today started like any other day.
I went to bed around 9:30ish Monday morning. I got up about ten till 4pm, because Angi was sleeping, and although she usually gets me up for work, she was very tired today, so she slept a little longer than usual. (She always takes a nap while the kids take their nap.) So I get up, get going to work running a little behind, but not too bad, not enough to warrant a heart attack or something. I get to work, and get through until about 10:30p.m. Pretty good day so far really. Some minor setbacks, but nothing that is a big deal or anything. So, what happened at around 10:30 you ask? Well, quite frankly, I lost it. Literally. Blew chow, or chunks, spewed THREE times. I puked three times, launched it the first time, the follow-ups were in a trash can. I honked all OVER my job station, and ALSO, lets just say that some lucky people got an extra option on the tires AND rims they will get on their truck. I was lucky to find a giant piece of cardboard to cover the floor, so I didn’t have to stand in it, while I pounded those weights on every 8 seconds. But that was the first time. The second and third time, I ran to the trash can, and filled it nicely. The boss came over, because we was not running parts, because I was blowing chunks in the trash can, and the T.C. (job setter, or Team Coordinator), came over and started dry heaving, and was a millimeter away from honking also, because EVIDENTLY, he has a weak stomach. So, the supervisor hops on my job, and tells me when I return from upchucking my chuck up, to go to the medical department. I go there and blah blah blah, they call the boss back, and blah blah blah, the boss sends me home. I clocked out at 11someething p.m. , which sucks because there is still two or three hours left in the shift that I won’t get paid for. They NEVER send anyone home for any reason hardly, so I guess at least they know I really am sick, and not blowing smoke up their ass for missing last Thursday and Friday. The boss excused those days for me because I brought him a doctor’s note, and proof that I was there, not to mention the presents I left on my job and in the trash can for someone else to clean up. MMMMMMMMM………………….. Barf. Puke. Vomit. Spew. Honk. Toss the cookies. Upchucked the chuckup. Hurl. Pray to the porcelain God. Ralph Buick. I feel pity for the housekeeper (janitor) that has to clean THAT up. Oh, and not to mention the people on down the line that has to put the tires on the truck, the tires that I Ralph Buicked all over. And the guy on first shift who will smell something funny on the rollers, and on the station where the housekeeper did not do a real good job of getting it all. After all, it was volumey, chunky, and in a lot of tiny little spaces that I am sure no one will be touching.