Chapter 11: Grazed Anatomy

With the recent heat that's on James Frey for his book "A Million Little Pieces", I decided to take the time to put a disclaimer at the beginning of this chapter. IT'S ALL TRUE! I wish I were making this shit up. When Oprah has me on her show to discuss her latest book club entry, I will be able to confidently say "Yes, I once saw Spam Boy pump his fist so hard during a basketball game that he fell down on the court."

So there, that takes care of that. Now on to business....

Over the course of my interactions with Spam Boy, I've had to consult on a number of medical issues. The experience was kinda like being Spam Boy's own personal WebMD.

"Let's punch up Mr. Wolan on the WebMD report, and... oh my God, is that an injury to his....."

Yep, the wanger.

I don't even remember how this conversation got started, but one time when I had (let's say) blacked out and wandered into SB's cube, I heard the following:

"I was out yesterday because I had to get a pee-pee probe"

I turned around and walked away. Well, not really, but part of me wishes I had.

"Excuse me?", I replied.

"Yeah, I had to get a pee-pee probe.... I was having blood in my urine."

"Sweet Lord!"

"Oh yeah, I've also had anal fissures."

I don't remember anything after that.

In a way, I'm torn. I guess I feel flattered that I'm being opened up to like that. He must have felt comfortable going to me and telling me this. Surely this is a good thing right? But whoo-boy, is that too much information. Out of the blue no less! Somebody has to give me some sort of warning when something like this is coming up.

And so it would happen from time to time that Spam Boy would come to me with a medical issue.

One time, I was rocking out to some music in my cube while staring intently at an Excel spreadsheet. I hear a knocking on the wall behind me. (Side Note: My cubicle location sucks. It always has since I started working here. I have an uncanny knack of being put in high traffic areas where people stream by behind me all day long, whether it's on the end of an aisle or right by a major conference room or hallway. I've moved cubicle locations several times now and every time, it's the same thing, despite my pleas to the contrary. Over the years, it has made me very jumpy when I see somebody walk by in my periphery.) I turn around and when I see SB signalling me, I jump a little bit.

"What's up?", I asked.

"I keep stabbing myself in my hand with my mechanical pencil.... is that bad?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Why do you keep stabbing yourself with your pencil?"

"I don't know. I just keep stabbing myself in this same spot. (showing me the injury)"

"Well maybe you should stop that."

(End scene.)

Wow. Now I'm no doctor, nor do I play one on TV. But I can't imagine it's a good thing to jam yourself in the hand with a lead pencil repeatedly. I didn't even ask what he was doing that caused that scenario to happen repeatedly. Juggling maybe? Tossing it up in the air and trying to catch it? Writing so hard that not only does the tip break, but the remaining portion of the pencil flips around and stabs you in the hand? Having one hand deliberately stabbing the other one, like something out of the movie "Body Parts"? The possibilities are endless.

To prove that I'm not just making this up, I have another scenario for you in which I have a witness who would testify in a court of law that this happened. My friend Todd and I were both looking over some very critical business information (i.e. the results of the company "March Madness" Basketball Draft) when Spam Boy interrupts us and gets my attention.

"What is it, Andy?", I asked.

"Do I look unusually tan to you?"

"Um, no.... why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm on this antibiotic and one of the side effects is a change in skin coloration."

"Nope, you look fine to me."

"Okay, thanks!"

Todd and I look at each other in amazement. Spam Boy was the best at dropping one liners on me. I'm just glad somebody was there to confirm I wasn't crazy when it happened.

Get well soon, Andy!