The Bill Mattocks
September 13th, 2003, 02:36 AM
Hello again! This is your intrepid road warrior, the irrepressible,
nonsensical, indefatigable Bill Mattocks here to regale you with yet
another tale of derring do. And everyone who wishes me ill will be
well-rewarded, so if you really, really, dislike me, you'll enjoy this
story.
Our story this time begins in the land of enchantment, New Mexico,
from whence I hail. I had an assignment to travel to Wichita, Kansas,
to teach a class or two on my company's products to our clients there.
I made my plans, and on Wednesday, September 3rd, I sallied forth.
I should pause here on a sidenote and tell you about a small physical
problem of mine, since it figures heavily in the story later on. I
have a skin disease known as Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS), which is a
rather naughty little disease that is not talked about in proper
society, because it is characterized by painful, bleeding or oozing
boils in the nether regions as well as the armpits and sometimes the
back of the neck of sufferers. There is no cure, and nobody knows how
you get it. But it hurts a lot, and ruins a lot of trousers in the
most inconvenient and embarrassing way possible.
On Tuesday, September 2nd, I had noticed that I seemed to be brewing a
big one on my buttocks. Not that this is terribly unusual, but it
boded ill for the upcoming trip. Such problems usually resolve
themselves in a week or so, and although painful and unsightly, they
are not life-threatening or severe enough to seek medical treatment.
Or so I thought.
Because this disease sometimes produces boils in places that give me a
definite list to port or starboard, I sometimes walk with a limp, and
therefore, find a cane to provide suitable assistance. On this trip,
I took my cane as I felt I might end up needing it.
Going through ABQ security, they made me take my belt off. When it
came through the other end, it looked 'funny'. When I tried to put it
on, the metal buckle shattered. Yes, like it was made of powder, it
just fell to pieces in my hand. Of course, there was no store selling
belts on the concourse, either in ABQ or later in PHX. I walked
around all day with a cane in one hand and holding up my pants with
the other.
My first trip was on HP, ABQ-PHX-ICT. No major problems, HP was kind
enough to give me my usual free upgrade to FC on both outbound
segments. The PHX-ICT segment was on an RJ 700, so it had a FC
section, and it was quite nice.
Despite my earlier complaints about not having NeverLost with Hertz at
ICT, I was able to find my way around without too much trouble, as the
local roads were indeed laid out in a grid, although I found myself
out by the old airport, where there is much construction. I was in
some small physical discomfort by then, so I did partake in some
over-the-counter medication and a small bottle of Jack Daniels (for
medicinal purposes only). Plus, I bought a new belt.
I got through the week with no serious problems, although the cane had
definitely been a good idea. By the end of the week, the boil had not
yet come to a conclusion, nor had there been any fireworks of the
pain-relieving sourt, so my poor ass was beginning to hurt rather a
lot. I left ICT on Saturday, September 6, bound for home.
My flight, HP FLT 6152, was rather a nightmare. First of all, it was
a small 50-seater RJ, with no FC section. I found it painful to sit
down, but managed eventually. Then, as the tug that pushes the plane
back from the gate tried to do so, it became 'stuck' to the plane.
Yes, that's right, the damned tug was stuck to the plane. We could
feel it in the plane as it jerked back and forth, trying to dislodge
itself from the RJ. How does one get an airport tug stuck to a plane?
At one point, I was treated to the unnerving sight of seeing a second
tug appear, take a position just under the left wing, take a good run
at the first tug, and apparently crash into it at high speed! The
plane jerked a good couple of feet forward, but we were still hooked
firmly to it.
The maintanence guys finally just showed up with wrenches and removed
the long traingular tongue from the front of the tug, leaving it
intact and sticking onto the plane's landing gear. We then taxiied
back to the jetway and disembarked. They called the 'real mechanics'
who were of course off-duty on weekends.
We left ICT 2.5 hours late. Although I had scheduled a 2 hour layover
in PHX, it was insufficient, and I found myself in PHX for an
additional 4 hours, catching the last flight of the evening home to
ABQ on Saturday night. This left me somewhat...angry.
I was especially angry since HP employees in PHX would do nothing
towards getting me home earlier. I asked them to put me on an earlier
Southwest flight, of which there were several. I was told in no
uncertain terms that they 'don't do that'. I limped down to the
Southwest Customer Service Center and was told that yes, HP buys
tickets on Southwest for stranded passengers all the time. So I
limped back to HP Customer Service, told them what I had learned, and
was told again that there was no way they would do anything for me
except put me on the next HP flight home. I cursed rather loudly and
colorfully and flung my HP Platinum card at the Customer Service
drone, informing him that he could put the card wherever he felt it
would do him the most good.
I got in ABQ very late, very angry, and very much late for my
preparations for my next flight - the very next day.
Sunday morning, September 7th found me in a very bad humour. I was
hurting very badly now. In fact, it was so bad that I was doubting
that the problem I was experiencing was really my HS acting up - it
should have ruptured by now, ruining my clothes but giving me physical
relief. Instead, it was larger, more painful, and I had a nice fever
to go along with it. When I tried to put on a pair of jeans to get
ready to leave, the pain was so intense that I crashed to the floor
and writhed around a bit. Very entertaining. My poor wife's eyes
were big as saucers, but she knew better than to try to stop me from
going on my assignment. They will cart my fat dead ass out the door
before I will fail to perform my job.
My wife drove me to the ABQ airport. Unlike my usual attire, this
time I wore no "TSA SUCKS" tee shirts, just a regular pair of chinos
and a dress shirt.
I was in way too much pain to bend over and take my shoes off, so I
went through with them on. I beeped. I was directed to the secondary
screening, where I was subjected to the usual anal probe. But it got
more interesting...
The guy inspecting me was interested in engaging me in twenty
questions. I was sweating bullets by this time, and when they made me
sit on a chair so that I could have my feet wanded, I was in agony. I
bit my lip and answered his questions with single syllables, which
eventually made him ask me if I had a problem.
I said, "Yes, of course I have a problem, I hate this. I just want to
get out of your face as soon as possible, so get on with it."
Oh, wrong answer. He went and got his supervisor immediately. I
heard him tell the supervisor that I had told him to "Get out of my
face," which I had not. But they're all idiots, so I was not
surprised to hear this lie. I stood up when the supervisor arrived
and began questioning me on my 'problem'. He told me to sit down
again. I did, forgetting that I was in a lot of pain, and when my
sore infected ass contacted the chair, I yelled "****!"
Big mistake.
An ABQ cop was on my like white on rice. He demanded my ID, told me I
was under arrest (this is my second time being threatened with arrest
in the ABQ airport, not a great batting average). He told me that
even if he did not arrest me, he was going to bar me from the airport
permanently. He yelled and sprayed spittle in my face, he was so
close to me. Like Marine Boot Camp, it was. I just said "Yes, sir"
and "No, sir" and did my best to look insignificant. He ran my ID to
see if I was wanted and after telling me several more times that I was
most definitely under arrest, he gave me back my ID, made me apologize
to the screener and his supervisor for shouting "****!" and told me to
get my **** and get the hell out of his area.
I hobbled over to the desk, got my ****, and got the hell out of the
area. When I stood up, I nearly passed out from the pain, but damned
if I was going to croak in their 'Federal Security Zone'. I'd drag
myself out of the airport and die a free man if that is what it took.
I had another HP flight, FLT 792 from ABQ-PHX-SJC. Short layover, but
I made it, and yes, I did get FC upgrades on both outbound segments.
It helped, but sitting down was now a five minute operation in
sweating and cursing under my breath. It had been a rough day.
I got into SJC, got my rental car, and drove to my hotel. In the
lobby, I found a guy who had no luggage, no ID, no credit cards, but a
five-year-old daughter and a sob story. Seems his wife had kicked him
out of the house with nothing but his daughter, and he needed a place
to stay, and all he had in the world was a crumpled up 'free night's
stay' coupon at the Marriott Courtyard, and the hotel would not take
it, and on and on and on. He was thirty some years old, drunk, and
crying like a baby. I told the hotel to put his room for the night on
my credit card, had them turn off his phone and cable TV, warned him
not to steal anything and to stop blubbering and act like a man,
checked in, and went to bed. He was still blubbering his thanks as I
hobbled away. I felt sorry for his daughter.
I checked with the hotel in the morning, he had checked out on
scheduled, didn't wreck the room, my credit was safe. Whatever.
In the morning, I drove to work, wishing I was anywhere else. I
taught class all day, and in the evening, I drove over to the San Jose
Medical Center, where I checked in to the emergency ward.
I reported the problem as a 'boil on my left buttock' and then I
waited. And waited. The San Jose Medical Center reminds me slightly
of a beach. A lot of stuff washes up there. 'Nuff said.
They called me back, had me put on a tiny robe, and ignored me for
another four hours or so. I nearly fell asleep, pain and all.
When I was finally seen, the doctor took one look and pronounced that
I had an 'abscess' that had become infected, and it would have to come
out surgically. She gave me the old KY finger up the bum to make sure
that it was not connected to any vital parts that would have required
me to check in for an extended stay. None. So it was just to be a
cut and drain type operation.
Indeed! They hooked me up to an IV and when they were ready to cut
me, they dropped in some stuff that knocked me out in about one
second. While I was out, they did the cutting and draining, and
packed my ass with a few yards of cotton gauze. I woke up about four
minutes later, babbling. They tell me the stuff they use is like a
truth serum, you tell the most interesting secrets while you are out
cold and you don't remember it. Well, I didn't remember anything, but
they told me that I raved about how good my wife's BBQ cooking is. Oh
yes, and how I thought the design pattern on an orderly's shirt was a
bunch of eyeballs that were coming to get me. Hmmm.
They told me that my injury might have been caused by an ingrown hair
that got infected, or it could be that I have adult-onset type 2
diabetes. I'm supposed to get a physical when I get home and have
that checked. Apparently, abcesses of the butt are fairly common with
diabetes. Dunno, never had THIS problem before, I thought it was just
my HS acting up, except it never erupted on its own.
They finally discharged me after midnight. I got a prescription for
antibiotics (Keflex) and pain killers (Vicadin). They told me to
leave my rental car and take a taxi back to my hotel. I think that
they knew that I was not planning any such thing, because they called
the cab and waited to see me get in it before they let me go. But I
gave the cabbie a twenty, slid out the other side of the cab, and
drove my rental car back to the hotel. No way in hell I was leaving
my rental car with my laptop in the back seat on a side street in THAT
neighborhood overnight. I was born at night, but not last night. I
noticed when I paid the cabbie that someone had been in my wallet, I
was missing about 80 bucks. I didn't care. I just felt SO much
better after they cut on me.
I went to work the next day, taught my class all day, and then on
Wednesday after work, I had to go back to the hospital to get the
gauze taken out of my ass. Like an Indian rope trick, it was. Yards
and yards all coming out of my left butt cheek. I felt like yelling
"Hey, everybody, look, I'm a pinata!"
I managed to talk them into NOT repacking the wound, since I have to
fly home tomorrow (Saturday) and then out to Wilson, North Carolina on
Sunday. No time for visiting doctors and doing more Indian Rope
Tricks with my ass. They agreed, since it appears that I am healing
well and the wound is draining properly (and ruining more pants, of
course).
SO, this has been an interesting couple of trips. It has been costly
(two ER co-pays of $50 each, my end of a 70/30 insurance split after I
pay my annual $300 deductible, having food delivered to my hotel every
night since I felt too sick to go out, and having some money stolen
from me), and it has been extremely painful. Almost worse than the
time I taught a class all week with a broken wisdom tooth and the
nerve exposed, but then again, this might have been worse.
That's the end. Tomorrow, I have an early flight home (HP FLT 202,
SJC-PHX-ABQ), then on Sunday it's HP FLT 182 from ABQ-PHX-RDU. I'll
be in Wilson, NC for about three weeks, perhaps coming home on
weekends. The pain is gone, but the drainage remains. I have not
touched the Vicadin.
What a trip! There was pain, doctors, handouts, police activity,
bizarrely-broken planes, angry pax (me), and about twenty yards of
gauze in my ass. What more could a road-warrior ask for?
Best Regards,
Bill Mattocks
nonsensical, indefatigable Bill Mattocks here to regale you with yet
another tale of derring do. And everyone who wishes me ill will be
well-rewarded, so if you really, really, dislike me, you'll enjoy this
story.
Our story this time begins in the land of enchantment, New Mexico,
from whence I hail. I had an assignment to travel to Wichita, Kansas,
to teach a class or two on my company's products to our clients there.
I made my plans, and on Wednesday, September 3rd, I sallied forth.
I should pause here on a sidenote and tell you about a small physical
problem of mine, since it figures heavily in the story later on. I
have a skin disease known as Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS), which is a
rather naughty little disease that is not talked about in proper
society, because it is characterized by painful, bleeding or oozing
boils in the nether regions as well as the armpits and sometimes the
back of the neck of sufferers. There is no cure, and nobody knows how
you get it. But it hurts a lot, and ruins a lot of trousers in the
most inconvenient and embarrassing way possible.
On Tuesday, September 2nd, I had noticed that I seemed to be brewing a
big one on my buttocks. Not that this is terribly unusual, but it
boded ill for the upcoming trip. Such problems usually resolve
themselves in a week or so, and although painful and unsightly, they
are not life-threatening or severe enough to seek medical treatment.
Or so I thought.
Because this disease sometimes produces boils in places that give me a
definite list to port or starboard, I sometimes walk with a limp, and
therefore, find a cane to provide suitable assistance. On this trip,
I took my cane as I felt I might end up needing it.
Going through ABQ security, they made me take my belt off. When it
came through the other end, it looked 'funny'. When I tried to put it
on, the metal buckle shattered. Yes, like it was made of powder, it
just fell to pieces in my hand. Of course, there was no store selling
belts on the concourse, either in ABQ or later in PHX. I walked
around all day with a cane in one hand and holding up my pants with
the other.
My first trip was on HP, ABQ-PHX-ICT. No major problems, HP was kind
enough to give me my usual free upgrade to FC on both outbound
segments. The PHX-ICT segment was on an RJ 700, so it had a FC
section, and it was quite nice.
Despite my earlier complaints about not having NeverLost with Hertz at
ICT, I was able to find my way around without too much trouble, as the
local roads were indeed laid out in a grid, although I found myself
out by the old airport, where there is much construction. I was in
some small physical discomfort by then, so I did partake in some
over-the-counter medication and a small bottle of Jack Daniels (for
medicinal purposes only). Plus, I bought a new belt.
I got through the week with no serious problems, although the cane had
definitely been a good idea. By the end of the week, the boil had not
yet come to a conclusion, nor had there been any fireworks of the
pain-relieving sourt, so my poor ass was beginning to hurt rather a
lot. I left ICT on Saturday, September 6, bound for home.
My flight, HP FLT 6152, was rather a nightmare. First of all, it was
a small 50-seater RJ, with no FC section. I found it painful to sit
down, but managed eventually. Then, as the tug that pushes the plane
back from the gate tried to do so, it became 'stuck' to the plane.
Yes, that's right, the damned tug was stuck to the plane. We could
feel it in the plane as it jerked back and forth, trying to dislodge
itself from the RJ. How does one get an airport tug stuck to a plane?
At one point, I was treated to the unnerving sight of seeing a second
tug appear, take a position just under the left wing, take a good run
at the first tug, and apparently crash into it at high speed! The
plane jerked a good couple of feet forward, but we were still hooked
firmly to it.
The maintanence guys finally just showed up with wrenches and removed
the long traingular tongue from the front of the tug, leaving it
intact and sticking onto the plane's landing gear. We then taxiied
back to the jetway and disembarked. They called the 'real mechanics'
who were of course off-duty on weekends.
We left ICT 2.5 hours late. Although I had scheduled a 2 hour layover
in PHX, it was insufficient, and I found myself in PHX for an
additional 4 hours, catching the last flight of the evening home to
ABQ on Saturday night. This left me somewhat...angry.
I was especially angry since HP employees in PHX would do nothing
towards getting me home earlier. I asked them to put me on an earlier
Southwest flight, of which there were several. I was told in no
uncertain terms that they 'don't do that'. I limped down to the
Southwest Customer Service Center and was told that yes, HP buys
tickets on Southwest for stranded passengers all the time. So I
limped back to HP Customer Service, told them what I had learned, and
was told again that there was no way they would do anything for me
except put me on the next HP flight home. I cursed rather loudly and
colorfully and flung my HP Platinum card at the Customer Service
drone, informing him that he could put the card wherever he felt it
would do him the most good.
I got in ABQ very late, very angry, and very much late for my
preparations for my next flight - the very next day.
Sunday morning, September 7th found me in a very bad humour. I was
hurting very badly now. In fact, it was so bad that I was doubting
that the problem I was experiencing was really my HS acting up - it
should have ruptured by now, ruining my clothes but giving me physical
relief. Instead, it was larger, more painful, and I had a nice fever
to go along with it. When I tried to put on a pair of jeans to get
ready to leave, the pain was so intense that I crashed to the floor
and writhed around a bit. Very entertaining. My poor wife's eyes
were big as saucers, but she knew better than to try to stop me from
going on my assignment. They will cart my fat dead ass out the door
before I will fail to perform my job.
My wife drove me to the ABQ airport. Unlike my usual attire, this
time I wore no "TSA SUCKS" tee shirts, just a regular pair of chinos
and a dress shirt.
I was in way too much pain to bend over and take my shoes off, so I
went through with them on. I beeped. I was directed to the secondary
screening, where I was subjected to the usual anal probe. But it got
more interesting...
The guy inspecting me was interested in engaging me in twenty
questions. I was sweating bullets by this time, and when they made me
sit on a chair so that I could have my feet wanded, I was in agony. I
bit my lip and answered his questions with single syllables, which
eventually made him ask me if I had a problem.
I said, "Yes, of course I have a problem, I hate this. I just want to
get out of your face as soon as possible, so get on with it."
Oh, wrong answer. He went and got his supervisor immediately. I
heard him tell the supervisor that I had told him to "Get out of my
face," which I had not. But they're all idiots, so I was not
surprised to hear this lie. I stood up when the supervisor arrived
and began questioning me on my 'problem'. He told me to sit down
again. I did, forgetting that I was in a lot of pain, and when my
sore infected ass contacted the chair, I yelled "****!"
Big mistake.
An ABQ cop was on my like white on rice. He demanded my ID, told me I
was under arrest (this is my second time being threatened with arrest
in the ABQ airport, not a great batting average). He told me that
even if he did not arrest me, he was going to bar me from the airport
permanently. He yelled and sprayed spittle in my face, he was so
close to me. Like Marine Boot Camp, it was. I just said "Yes, sir"
and "No, sir" and did my best to look insignificant. He ran my ID to
see if I was wanted and after telling me several more times that I was
most definitely under arrest, he gave me back my ID, made me apologize
to the screener and his supervisor for shouting "****!" and told me to
get my **** and get the hell out of his area.
I hobbled over to the desk, got my ****, and got the hell out of the
area. When I stood up, I nearly passed out from the pain, but damned
if I was going to croak in their 'Federal Security Zone'. I'd drag
myself out of the airport and die a free man if that is what it took.
I had another HP flight, FLT 792 from ABQ-PHX-SJC. Short layover, but
I made it, and yes, I did get FC upgrades on both outbound segments.
It helped, but sitting down was now a five minute operation in
sweating and cursing under my breath. It had been a rough day.
I got into SJC, got my rental car, and drove to my hotel. In the
lobby, I found a guy who had no luggage, no ID, no credit cards, but a
five-year-old daughter and a sob story. Seems his wife had kicked him
out of the house with nothing but his daughter, and he needed a place
to stay, and all he had in the world was a crumpled up 'free night's
stay' coupon at the Marriott Courtyard, and the hotel would not take
it, and on and on and on. He was thirty some years old, drunk, and
crying like a baby. I told the hotel to put his room for the night on
my credit card, had them turn off his phone and cable TV, warned him
not to steal anything and to stop blubbering and act like a man,
checked in, and went to bed. He was still blubbering his thanks as I
hobbled away. I felt sorry for his daughter.
I checked with the hotel in the morning, he had checked out on
scheduled, didn't wreck the room, my credit was safe. Whatever.
In the morning, I drove to work, wishing I was anywhere else. I
taught class all day, and in the evening, I drove over to the San Jose
Medical Center, where I checked in to the emergency ward.
I reported the problem as a 'boil on my left buttock' and then I
waited. And waited. The San Jose Medical Center reminds me slightly
of a beach. A lot of stuff washes up there. 'Nuff said.
They called me back, had me put on a tiny robe, and ignored me for
another four hours or so. I nearly fell asleep, pain and all.
When I was finally seen, the doctor took one look and pronounced that
I had an 'abscess' that had become infected, and it would have to come
out surgically. She gave me the old KY finger up the bum to make sure
that it was not connected to any vital parts that would have required
me to check in for an extended stay. None. So it was just to be a
cut and drain type operation.
Indeed! They hooked me up to an IV and when they were ready to cut
me, they dropped in some stuff that knocked me out in about one
second. While I was out, they did the cutting and draining, and
packed my ass with a few yards of cotton gauze. I woke up about four
minutes later, babbling. They tell me the stuff they use is like a
truth serum, you tell the most interesting secrets while you are out
cold and you don't remember it. Well, I didn't remember anything, but
they told me that I raved about how good my wife's BBQ cooking is. Oh
yes, and how I thought the design pattern on an orderly's shirt was a
bunch of eyeballs that were coming to get me. Hmmm.
They told me that my injury might have been caused by an ingrown hair
that got infected, or it could be that I have adult-onset type 2
diabetes. I'm supposed to get a physical when I get home and have
that checked. Apparently, abcesses of the butt are fairly common with
diabetes. Dunno, never had THIS problem before, I thought it was just
my HS acting up, except it never erupted on its own.
They finally discharged me after midnight. I got a prescription for
antibiotics (Keflex) and pain killers (Vicadin). They told me to
leave my rental car and take a taxi back to my hotel. I think that
they knew that I was not planning any such thing, because they called
the cab and waited to see me get in it before they let me go. But I
gave the cabbie a twenty, slid out the other side of the cab, and
drove my rental car back to the hotel. No way in hell I was leaving
my rental car with my laptop in the back seat on a side street in THAT
neighborhood overnight. I was born at night, but not last night. I
noticed when I paid the cabbie that someone had been in my wallet, I
was missing about 80 bucks. I didn't care. I just felt SO much
better after they cut on me.
I went to work the next day, taught my class all day, and then on
Wednesday after work, I had to go back to the hospital to get the
gauze taken out of my ass. Like an Indian rope trick, it was. Yards
and yards all coming out of my left butt cheek. I felt like yelling
"Hey, everybody, look, I'm a pinata!"
I managed to talk them into NOT repacking the wound, since I have to
fly home tomorrow (Saturday) and then out to Wilson, North Carolina on
Sunday. No time for visiting doctors and doing more Indian Rope
Tricks with my ass. They agreed, since it appears that I am healing
well and the wound is draining properly (and ruining more pants, of
course).
SO, this has been an interesting couple of trips. It has been costly
(two ER co-pays of $50 each, my end of a 70/30 insurance split after I
pay my annual $300 deductible, having food delivered to my hotel every
night since I felt too sick to go out, and having some money stolen
from me), and it has been extremely painful. Almost worse than the
time I taught a class all week with a broken wisdom tooth and the
nerve exposed, but then again, this might have been worse.
That's the end. Tomorrow, I have an early flight home (HP FLT 202,
SJC-PHX-ABQ), then on Sunday it's HP FLT 182 from ABQ-PHX-RDU. I'll
be in Wilson, NC for about three weeks, perhaps coming home on
weekends. The pain is gone, but the drainage remains. I have not
touched the Vicadin.
What a trip! There was pain, doctors, handouts, police activity,
bizarrely-broken planes, angry pax (me), and about twenty yards of
gauze in my ass. What more could a road-warrior ask for?
Best Regards,
Bill Mattocks