Karma: A Pain in the Butt

At work, we have what I refer to as a One in a Million Person: we will never, ever in our lives encounter another person such as him. Or, at the very least, we all HOPE we will never encounter another person such as him.

D is a man who has worked at the museum for 17 years. He initially came to us to work off his community service hours for a DUI charge, and he never left. He is rude, pompous and downright offensive. There is not a single person in the entire building who gets along with him, or can genuinely say that they like him. Nevertheless, we have no choice but to keep him around, because he volunteers for the entire winter season--a full seven months--to keep the gift shop open. Though our employees are lucky to be paid minimum wage, if at all, he is a treasure in that he will work for free.

Adding to D's offensiveness is the fact that he has no problem disclosing whatever personal health problems he is experiencing, and at the age of 75, his problems are only increasing. A particularly memorable time in our history was roughly three years ago, when, at the age of 72, he required circumcision. He announced this was due to a "sore that would not heal", and had no qualms about sharing the details of this on a daily basis--for weeks. It grew to the point that there was hardly a person in the building who had not heard of Dave's circumcision, or of his penis. A kind, sweet old woman who works at our visitor's service desk looked at me with anger in her eyes, and announced, "J, if I have to hear D talk about his PENIS one more time, I don't even know what I will do!" Fortunately for D--and the rest of us--he survived his circumcision just fine, and his sore that would not heal did eventually heal. And fortunately for us, he did not provide photos, as he did of his recent colonoscopy.

Lately, his health concerns have been increasing at a rapid pace. After he missed a couple of days at work, I made the mistake of asking him how he was feeling. He responded with, "Well...I feel somewhat better, except I can't get rid of the fatigue in my buttocks." It took virtually every ounce of strength I had to not burst into laughter. First, who uses the word "buttocks"? Second, how does a 75-year-old man get fatigued buttocks, anyway? It led to much thought on my part: what activities would cause this? Riding a mechanical bull? Unlikely. Wild sexual activity? Even less likely. His fatigued buttocks remained a mystery to me.

Not more than two weeks later, a friend announced that he, too, was having buttock pain--but his was only in one cheek. While he claimed it to be unexplained buttock pain, I smiled smugly. The guy also claims to have a sex life equal to that of Ron Jeremy. There was no question in my mind of how he acquired his fatigued buttock.

Needless to say, after a month of wondering the source of fatigued buttocks, I woke up with a fatigued buttock of my own today. It is really quite uncomfortable, considering I have an office job, and I am a slave to that job this week. And it led me to wonder: how did I acquire a fatigued buttock? It surely wasn't from riding a mechanical bull. It definitely is not from sexual activity.

Finally, I came to the conclusion that my fatigued buttock is the result of AC. Since my divorce, she has insisted on sleeping in my bed when she is with me, and I have yet to protest. She looks so dang cute, snoozing in my bed, snuggled between the pillows. Other than the fact that she has to wake me up an average of twice a night because she has fallen out of bed and needs help getting back in, she is a good sleeper. Last night? Not so much. She has a cold, and it has made her a bit of a beast. She refused to let me sleep with a pillow. She shoved me to the edge of the bed. It became clear to me: the fatigued buttock was the result of hanging on to the edge of the bed for dear life to prevent myself from falling out. I feel strongly that if I am going to be hanging on to the edge of the bed to keep from falling out, it better be for more pleasurable bedtime activities than being shoved out of the way by a toddler.

However, I came to this conclusion: lesson learned. After making fun of fatigued buttocks for weeks, the joke was on me. Karma came back to bite me, and it's a pain in the butt.