The last few days have been pretty uneventful, nothing that I want to write about, so I was thinking back to when Workaholic and I were dating after college. We both lived at home, about an hour and a half apart. We’d talk every night, and compare days, and inevitably, every time, no matter what happened to me, his day was worse. There was one day though, I was sure that I had topped him.
I worked at a small animal clinic, and an owner had surrendered her pit bull to us, he was very emaciated and dying. We thought she was starving him, we later (too late) found out that he had a pancreatic enzyme deficiency. (Oops…I guess they weren’t terrible owners) Anyway, I came in that morning and he didn’t want to walk, so I carried him outside and set him in the grass. The cool, damp grass. Turns out, he was in shock, either the shut down of his organs from lack of nutrition or the freezing cold ground on his skin and bones put him into shock, and we had to euthanize him in short order. Poor Champ, he tried.
So they rest of my day, I had to go to class, then back to work where I got peed on, pooped on, and vomited on, and I thought for sure that that night I was going to have a worse day that Workaholic. I called him, and the conversation went like this…
“I worked 14 hours today, we had to kill Champ, and I got peed on, pooped on, and vomited on.”
“I worked 16 hours today and dropped 2 bricks on my head and knocked myself out.”
We no longer compare days.