Salmonellosis 1

According to the C.D.C. Salmonella causes one million foodborne illnesses in the United States, with 19,000 hospitalizations and 380 deaths every year. I was part of the one million, but I thought for sure I was a 380. In fact, I did go to the hospital after an eight-day battle with an unknown sickness, but by the time the Doctor called me with a diagnosis a week later, it had run its course.

I had plans to help Sara load hay bales onto a trailer for her horses to eat. I was not allowed to eat the hay, but I did and it didn’t taste very good. That’s not how I contracted the disease. It was far more sinister.

So there was a shit-covered goat, or maybe a lamb, in a pasture. I mean this thing looked like it was dying because it probably was. I thought it looked cute so I decided I should pet it. I like animals, even ones that are covered in feces and some sort of slime. Needless to say, I went about the task without washing my hands, and at some point something entered my mouth, and inevitably my insides. I had no clue what I was in for.

The following morning, I woke up at Sara’s house and I had to run to the toilet. Diarrhea exploded from my backside, and vomit from my front. Either my butt or my mouth was in a trash can or a toilet, I cannot be certain in which order. I would long for the days of diarrhea after that, as I was not able to produce a B.M. for the following ten days.

I was driven home where I had one more day off of work, and I thought I would recover from yet another bout of alcohol poisoning. What I found strange was a pain in my guts that seemed to come and go in waves. Roughly every ten minutes a wave would crash down and I would roll around on the floor in agony. I would then crawl to the bathroom where I would sit on the toilet and produce a teaspoon of transparent gelatinous feces. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, or how long I waited, nothing more would come out. I decided to go on the standard flu diet of ramen and Gatorade. What I didn’t know until recently is that you should try to maintain a normal diet if you have Salmonella because it helps push it through your system. What I was doing was very dangerous, and in the end I lost a lot of weight and became slightly delusional from severe dehydration. This is exactly how people die.

For the first time in my working career, I called into work with the very real excuse of being sick. Day after day I called and gave the same story-- couldn’t walk, I couldn’t poop, and I wanted to die.

There’s another problem I’ve mentioned several hundred times in the course of my writing, I was having some troubles not drinking alcohol. At this stage in my life I relied heavily on beer to get me through my day to day life. My body or maybe my brain noticed the difference immediately and told me I needed to drink soon or I would continue shaking and sweating, I was torn by my need to survive, and my need to sustain. I drank a beer, and it was enough to stop the tremors. 

Somewhere around day three, I informed my friends of my condition and they came over in shifts to help me live. For the most part that just meant sitting and talking to me. Smoking weed helped my appetite but I was still afraid to eat because I was under the impression that I wouldn’t be able to process things and I would have tremendous difficulty passing them. But I still wasn’t willing to go to a Doctor.

This was an important time of year for the friends group of friends. This was hunting season and Thanksgiving, both of which I was sick through. I made an attempt at hunting one morning. The plan was to go to Sara’s family hunting shack to sleep, and get up early to hunt. There was one problem I discovered upon entering that would make things a little difficult for me, there was no toilet…

To be continued.

Fountain

I took this picture just North of the Oronoco exit on Highway 52 yesterday on my way down to my old home in Fountain.

Upon seeing the sign for the city limits of Fountain, my mind filled with mixed emotions, both excitement for seeing friends that I hadn't seen in years, and dread for seeing my old places of employment and driving by my old apartment where I did/sold meth before I went to prison.

The good outweighed the bad and I arrived at Seth's place shortly after 8am. We talked for a while, and within an hour, my cheeks hurt from laughter. We decided to round up the dogs and head out to his family campground where we used to play yard games, and drink excessively. I had purchased a new Wiffle bat for the occasion because I wanted to play my favorite game there, Campground Baseball.

I got a pretty good shot here. The yellow ball appears to be hovering mid-air, but has been released by the pitcher and is on the way to home plate which is the chair. The batter is Seth's brother, and the pitcher is his son. 

This is from the outfielders viewpoint. Originally, the game was played by only Seth and myself, and the dogs were the outfielders. The game would never have existed without a dog to get every hit/missed ball. Thank you Willie.

This is Audrey, Seth's kid. She's ten years old now, and has been my favorite kid in the world since she was just one. I wrote to her many times while I was away, and she wrote me back. I was so happy to see her smiling face yesterday. Love ya kiddo!

We played baseball, talked, and cooked over a cherry wood fire. Friends came and went, and the time flew by so quickly. I could have used 12 more hours. I decided to share a picture of these mini cheesecakes that Chelsey, Audrey's mother, made in honor of my visit. One was s'mores, and the other Reese's. They were fabulous, and I gained at least one pound yesterday just from them.

This little guy here, that's Dan-O. Dave and Allyssa are two very good friends of mine, and while I was in prison, they made a baby. I'm not sure how, but they said it was really fun. Daniel is one of the happiest kids I've ever seen with a constant mischievous grin on his face. He sat still long enough for this picture, and was moving around for the rest of the day. Go, go, go!

Yes I had a great day. I had no cravings for drugs or alcohol. Driving through Rochester on the way back was tough. I saw so many places I had done bad things. I drove by the junk yard where I woke up going 70mph backwards and somehow didn't injure myself. I could see so many of the hotels I stayed in along the highway where I sold meth and went crazy. Every exit I passed I could recall certain places or situations on or near those roads that made me so grateful that I am not bound by those chains anymore. I don't like Rochester. Rather, Rochester shouldn't like me. I don't think I ever made one rational decision in all of the years that I lived there. I'm glad they made a highway that goes right through it. 

I'm looking forward to going back to Fountain. It still felt like home.

Jobs Part 8

Let's see, where was I? This post will probably be the second to last post on jobs. I'm to the point where my bestie of years, Seth, came to get me to live in Fountain. Jobless. I welcomed any opportunity. Very briefly, I worked three scattered days for a crotchety old farmer on his land. I shoveled fertilizer from a hopper to a truck (I think) which took about four hours of nonstop work. And on two separate occasions I mowed his huge lawn. He didn't think I mowed close enough to his trees, he paid me with out of town checks, and he had no sense of humor. I'm glad I found work as a server at Los Gables, a little Mexican joint right on Highway 52.

The owner is a sweet widow who gave me an opportunity that I was very grateful for. At no point did I take advantage of her or her business, and I was very proud of that. It didn't last long though because I was much more comfortable behind the scenes in a kitchen, so when I was hired on at The Bent Wrench, I soon parted ways and ended my short career as a server. I wrote about the Wrench in a previous post which I highlighted above.

So, that brings me to another chance to cook in the Tourist town of Lanesboro. Again, if you've never been there, please go, you won't regret spending a weekend there.

I had been out of work for a month or so when my mom and a friend came down for a visit. This is after being let go from the Bent Wrench for reasons unknown, but this time I was eligible for unemployment because they determined I was fired for no reason. I have my doubts about that determination, but I was happy to be receiving some money.

Anyhow, my mom and I decided to go on a tandem bike ride down to the quarry in Lanesboro to look for agates. After that we went for an early dinner at The Riverside on the Root, a place I'd had in mind as somewhere I'd like to work.

Before we were even seated, the owner came over and struck up a conversation. He mentioned they were struggling to find help, I mentioned I needed work. And boom goes the dynamite. He asked me to come by in a few days to chat with the head chef and the other owner.

Sitting right beside the bike trail, Highway 8, and the Root river, The Riverside was a dual operation. Renting tubes, kayaks, and canoes, while running an adjacent restaurant. All of which took place during only three busy seasons. Yes, a seasonal job!

I nailed the interview. I left out all of the parts that dealt with my heavy addiction to methamphetamine and my all night delivery service so as not to scare them. One of my very best friends in the world Curt had worked there for years, but at that point, I'm not sure if he had caught on to my extracurricular activities.

I worked outside on two large grills flipping steaks and fish on the weekends. And during the week I was inside sweating and swearing, and barely holding my shit together.

At one point during the season, I lost both of my contact lenses and could no longer see tickets. That was just part of what made me, in hindsight, fairly useless as a line cook in a busy restaurant. I never took a thing from them but I also didn't add much to the fray. I would love the opportunity to work there again as a sober man. I think I would do well.

I only remember one whole day out of the nine months that I didn't have a loaded meth pipe in my pocket. I took frequent bathroom breaks to smoke. It was pretty pathetic.

I was laid off in early October when the tourists packed their spandex and helmets and headed out of town for winter. That's when I went on unemployment and was able to fully devote myself to the job that had been calling to me for years: Drug dealer. Again. And less than three months later I was arrested at the Super 8 Motel in SW Rochester with 52 grams of meth and a plethora of paraphernalia.

I believe you know how the story goes after that. The next post will deal with the three jobs I held during my 15 month stay in prison:
1. Underpants crotch seamster
2. B House Swamper
3. C.D. building cleaner.

Jobs Part 6

For a little while, I had a job that could have been a career. I say that because it’s the only job I’ve ever had that had more than just insurance benefits and vacation. I have written a few times about working at the Kemp's ice cream factory in Rochester, but I will expound here a little more.

I was drug and alcohol free when I started there, so I easily passed the drug test to get hired on. It was that big change in my life, though, that I believe was the catalyst for my relapse shortly thereafter. I was far away from any of the people that cared about me. I didn’t have a support network there, so I made the decision that I could try controlled drinking, I just wasn’t sure when. I waited a while, and during a relationship I started with an amazing woman I thought I loved, I made plans to go on a cruise. I’ve said this all before, so let me skip to the downfall as it relates to work.

I came back from the cruise, broke up (I was dumped) with my girlfriend, and really started hitting the bottle. It didn’t take long for the urge to hit the hard stuff and that’s when I very quickly started using meth. I had tried it before, but I had never been so financially stable that I could afford to use all day, every day. I really took a liking to the stuff, and I really liked the new friends that seemed to like me and my never-ending stash of fun. Very quickly, work became a nuisance. I wanted to get high all day, and it was annoying to have to sneak into the bathroom so often to smoke my bubble. I started using my sick days. Then I used up all of my vacation days. And then I found out that they gave you two days paid for funeral leave and there was no limit to that. So, my family started dying off left and right. First my grandparents, then an uncle. And then they called me out on my lie by asking me to bring proof in an obituary or anything like that. And that’s when I decided I didn’t need their stupid job with benefits, and I could sell meth full time to pay the bills.

Which brings me to my next job: Meth Dealer. It came with no benefits. I did however lose my real friends, contact with my family, weight, respect, self-esteem, all of my worldly possessions, a car, someone else’s car, my apartment, my real job, my status as a college student, oh yeah, and all of my fucking money that I thought would pay the bills, and so much more. Every penny I made went right back into “The Game.” Don’t get me wrong, there were days where I made thousands, but that would just make me want to party harder. I started sleeping in hotels which became very expensive, not just because the room was expensive, but because I would invite people over to get high for free. Well I guess it wasn’t free.  I never really understood how I could afford to spend $100 a night for a room, but not $500 a month for rent. Ugh.

As a drug dealer, I was needed constantly. I drove all day, all night, sometimes for three or four days straight. From city to city, and back. To my dealer’s house, and all over again. It was constant.

Shortly after I had an accident in which I woke up hurtling through the air at 70mph, I was helped into making the decision to quit. A friend of a friend came to get me from Rochester and brought me to a small town about 45 minutes south called Fountain. I didn’t know it at the time, but this is the area I would live in for many years, and I would make some great friends, and make some great stories.

Alright folks, I still have a couple more posts to do on jobs, but I do have some big news coming up so get ready to be excited for me! Until next time…

Bon Voyage (Fort Meyers Part 6)

Our last few days would prove to be filled with misadventure, drunken laughter, and endless miles of walking with all of our belongings. We were only half way through our vacation when the urge for our favorite pastime became strong. We liked to smoke weed, but we were under the impression at the time that it was a felony to possess any amount in Florida. Now I know we were wrong, as any amount under 20 grams is simply a misdemeanor.

Anyhow, we happened upon a gentleman on our way back from a game that appeared to be exactly a drug dealer. We worked up a small amount of courage to talk to him and he said he could help us out. He walked back to our hotel with us and that’s where things started to get a little fishy. He started using the hard stuff right in front of us. I say hard stuff because I can’t remember what it was, only that it seemed like an odd way to do whatever it was. Something like smoking OxyContin off of tin foil. He began making a series of calls which we would later discover didn’t exist, and he worked out a deal to get us some grass. He left with our money and never returned. Fuck.

Later that night, while we were at the bar, I slipped out and went on a mission to find some. It took me, alone, about fifteen minutes to come back with a $20 bag of what the guy called the “Crippie”, which is supposed to be the best weed in Florida. Well, it was your standard Mexican schwag, but it was good enough for me so I went and informed Seth. We realized that we didn’t have the means to smoke so we had to get creative. I believe the apple came from the free breakfasts we’d been hoarding and we carved a couple ill-placed holes and it worked. We had found our happiness. Every night after smoking, Seth would take a small bite out of the apple to quell his munchies. By the last night, the apple looks as if it suffered from leprosy. End scene.

We waited outside the players exit after game two, hoping to get a ball filled with autographs. We waited, and waited, and we waited. Either the players had slipped out a more discreet exit, or they weren’t coming out. Until, a small man who would become legend to us came shyly out, carrying too much to handle in his hands, and quite happily began signing various wares. Ben Revere was with the Twins for only a short while but he made quite an impression with us with his outfield acrobatics and speed on the base paths. 

 Me holding the ball in anticipation of the only autograph we would get on the trip.

I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but the last few days while at the hotel, we spent a lot of our time with some guys that were staying there from Philly. They weren’t there for baseball, but for construction. They were vile, quick-tempered, dirty, and we loved them right away. It seemed as if every conversation would push them to the periphery of fighting. They loved drinking and getting high as much as we did, and they seemed to like our Minnesota nice, I’m sure a big change from their friends back home. We partied every night. We left our doors open to each other’s, and we wandered back and forth and enjoyed the company. I don’t remember their names, but I will always remember their hospitality. 

If you can't quite see it, the shirt says, "This shirt is only blue when I'm thinking about dwarves."

 

Our last day should have killed us. We packed our belongings and headed out to return our bicycles and walk to the stadium for the last game of our trip. They were playing the Cardinals, our rivals from the ’97 Series. So we began our adventure. We walked, and walked, and we walked some more… in the wrong direction. A small mistake that wouldn’t make us exactly late for the game, but our seats were, to say the least, obstructed. Behind a wall, actually. To be even more specific, it was standing room only, and our view was of a concession stand. We could hear the game. But I was so exhausted from a three hour walk with all of our possessions, that I didn’t care. I found a stool to sit on and I didn’t move for the entirety of the game. We lost and I didn’t care. I wanted to go home.

Our plan, to save some money, was to sleep at the airport like you see in movies, because airports don’t close, right? Well, sort of. We checked in for our flight 13 hours ahead of schedule. We sat at the bar and had a couple drinks, but didn’t buy any duty free liquor to get us through the night because for some reason we thought we might have a good night’s sleep.

Looking back, I can see the blue plastic chairs, something I would get accustomed to later in life. We tried all night to find comfort in different locations and positions, but sleep would not come. We were alone in the airport except for the night cleaning crew, and a lone security officer on a Segway. In principle, that airport didn’t close, but it was a long, lonely night, that I have since put out of my mind because it was a terrible end to an otherwise incredible vacation.