Last year at this time I found amusement in the various hospital oddities that I focused on while husband was in the ICU. It’s really weird to think that today, one year ago, I was hanging out in a hospital room with a broken, unconscious spouse and no idea what the hell was going to happen next. But I had some faith that eventually things would work out. And ultimately, they have. And things in our life they are a-changin…hopefully for the better.
So, enough sappy digression. Let’s move along to the dark humor portion of this post, because the worst things are SO DAMN FUNNY (see my previous post). One of the big steps he wanted to accomplish was to become security at the Renaissance Festival again, and he succeeded in that goal last weekend. I worked at the First Aid gate for most of the three days, and OH MY GODS the stupid shit people do at the Ren Fest is…well, it’s just hilarious.
- Drunk college dude’s buddies came to First Aid hoping we had something to “help” their friend, who’d apparently decided sitting in a PRIVY (porta-potty) would be a fabulous place to rest. He’d been in there for over an hour, just hanging out (fully clothed with the seat down…just resting. He was not passed out or horking). That boy has some seriously kind friends, that’s all I can really say. Also, of ALL the places to avoid in any outside faire, the smelly cesspools of poop boxes is NOT where’d I’d personally hang out to feel better. Ugh.
FYI: our advice was to feed the dude water and bring his drunk ass home. Banana bags (aka electrolyte IV bags seen on ER…if you’re old enough to have seen ER) didn’t exist in the Renaissance, people.
- Middle aged man insisted, for five hours of moaning and crying on a cot, that the Festival had made him drunk. He’d apparently never been drunk before (yeah, sure), and repeatedly wailed “WhyEEEEEEE did you DO this to me? OH LORD WHYEEEEEEE?” He likely spent about $100 just for the big dinner ticket and entrance to the festival, only to spend 90% of his day crying and blaming everyone but himself for drinking himself into a vomitous stupor. Sigh.
- It’s utterly astounding how many women “forget” their tampons at home and have to come to First Aid looking for an emergency plug. Really? Are you SO out of touch with your own cycle that you don’t just carry one with you just in case? What the HELL? These are not teenagers: grown women who’ve presumably had the joyous experience of monthly “I wish I was a dude” cramps and mess should know better.
- YET ANOTHER foolish male drunk patron (it’s a theme, people. A recurring theme) decided it’d be a fantastic idea to untie the costume sword at his side and swing it around. He’d had more wine than prudence demands when flailing about with an edged weapon, even when said weapon is duller than a butter knife. He managed to thwack himself upside his head. Did you know head cuts, even the ones that don’t need stitches, bleed A FUCKING LOT? They do. It’s even better when the wife at his side has ALSO had far too little food and water to go with her allotment of wine (do not light a match around that woman. Seriously.) and is busy yelling at him for being upset…because our attempted-self-scalper was more concerned that he’d lost his wallet and belt than he was about the blood all over his head and shirt. His wife, understandably, was significantly more concerned about the blood.
I’m sure there are more shenanigans I could report, but what could possibly follow a self-scalper with an irate drunk wife?
Nothing…and so I’m ending this post in an awkward, inconclusive manner.