Life With An STD

Yes, I have an STD.

Not in the usual sense of the usage, (Sexually Transmitted Disease)

I have a Stupidity Tolerance Disorder

I’ve been here in Sarasota a little under a month. Today, that disease led me to tell the Operations Manager that as soon as the Plant Manager came back from his trip to Europe on Monday…I’m planning to be out of there.

Hell, I MIGHT even give them a two week notice, provided I last that long. Those that know me, or have worked (or lived) with me know full well of my disorder.

Here’s a laugh. When I took the job, all I was looking for was a quick payday and a bus ticket. Somehow, in that three week period I ended up subbing for the plant manager. Yes, he promised to call and check in every day to answer stupid questions and see how things were going. That was last Thursday, and not a soul has heard from him since. I guess that promise was the equivalent of “just the tip…I swear.”

I should have made something abundantly clear. I did not want the responsibility. I’ve had it before, many times. That leads to stress, heavier drinking (if that’s even possible) and an explosively short temper that will eventually lead me to a lengthy prison term or a bed in a nice white room with one of those funny jackets with the arms that tie in the back.

I ask someone not to do a certain thing, and they do it anyway. Then, I ask again, patiently explaining why. They do it again. Third time being the charm, I try again, s-l-o-w-l-y.

When they do that same thing AGAIN after that…I lose my shit.

By the way, Monday was my birthday. One gift I received was a spider bite, possibly from the dreaded brown recluse spider. My leg swelled up to the size of an extra clenched fist.

Tossing all that on top of the new place I just rented, a room. It’s a charming little room, with a choice of two bathrooms fairly close by. It’s a great place to raise kids…2 or three billion of them, if you’re a cockroach. The place has a checkered history of those circling the drain. They rented me the room of a 350 pound guy that, as near as anyone could figure, never ever bathed. They took fifteen bags of trash out of his 10X9 room BEFORE they bug bombed it. Then, they replaced the rug and the bed.

I was considered lucky to even get in that room. The other choice was the room of a guy who sat on his bed and slit his writs and bled out…then laid there dead in his room for four days before anyone noticed. (Yes, even in Florida heat.)

Or, there was the room of the 30 year old crackhead who died, like Elvis, on the toilet.

Yes, all these things led me to a conclusion, that I should pick up and move on. Actually, I should sprint as far from Sarasota as I can get. I liked it at first, but the vibe is weird here. Who can live in a town where it’s impossible to get a convenience store coffee before 6AM? (they’re all closed…damned inconvenient.)

I know in the vaguely defined search of what I’m looking for, nothing in the above was on that list. I may be stuck here until December 2nd, when a friend is planning to be down this way. Until then, give me clarity…and patience.

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