Marion Elizabeth Rogers, �The Impossible H.L. Mencken�
The return of work-related haiku! Hooray!
- Shoulder hurts like fuck.
As if it weren�t hard enough
to keep from screaming.
The answers to what happened to my arm keep changing. Today I had a line waiting for purchases, as it took so long to try and open the stupid plastic bags with one hand. This, of course, means the patron has plenty of time to ask what happened to my arm.
�Nothing�s wrong with my arm,� I say, still fiddling with the bag.
�What�s with the sling, then?�
�I broke my collarbone.�
�Why�d you do that?�
�It was getting lippy.�
The next guy approaches the counter. �Broke your collarbone, huh?�
�Yep.�
�How�d you do that?�
�I bought some chili at Wendy�s.�
�Well, I know how bad it is. I broke mine twice.�
Now I�m actually interested in talking about it. Other people, upon hearing about my injury, share their stories but all their versions happened when they were children, and usually just involve fractures. Mine is broken and there are two pieces of bone swimming around my shoulder, constantly clicking and grinding together.
�Hurts like hell, doesn�t it?�
�Well, I would say you have no idea, but I guess you�re an expert on the matter. Why the hell would you let it happen again after the first time?�
�I didn�t mean to, believe me.�
�Oh, I believe you. The worst is how the pain never really subsides, even with the drugs. It just becomes less excruciating. It�s like somebody is digging their fingers � BIG fingers � into my shoulder and refuses to let go.�
�Yeah, that�s the perfect way to describe it. When did it happen?�
�A week ago.�
�Well, you still have a week or two of the most excruciating pain you�ll have in your life. After that, it should go back to normal, and it�ll be like it never happened.�
Holy christ. I have two more weeks of this.
So you�ll excuse me if I stop typing. But in any case, is this book worth keeping? I�d say no, but at nearly 800 pages, I can�t even lift it. For now, it�s staying where it is.
