December 22nd, 2010
(written by lawrence krubner, however indented passages are often quotes). You can contact lawrence at: firstname.lastname@example.org
A few years ago I was managing the night shift at a call center when one of the CSR’s came bursting out of the stair well onto the main floor and yelled “They’re searching everyone in the parking lot.” They were the cops, the searchees were our employees leaving work. A few days before someone had allegedly been mugged in that parking lot. The center director called the local sheriff and asked them to keep an eye on the lot at night. The fuzz apparently interpreted that to mean hide in the bushes strapped down in black armor like Dawg the Bounty Hunter and hassle anyone who walked out the door.
A lady, let’s call her grandma, who should have been happily retired, came up to me and asked if I thought she could get in trouble for having her husband’s pill organizer with her. He had Alzheimer’s, she was his caregiver, and that organizer was loaded down with enough painkillers to make a junkie’s day. It was then it hit me: I was holding some ‘stuff’ of my own, very serious stuff, already preloaded into injectable pens. It’s called Humira and it treats a a disease called AS.