Lunch breaks should be 45 minutes long. 30 minutes does not feel long enough to enjoy a meal and have a few moments of freedom before diving back into the insanity. 60 minutes is too long. If I have the time to slip my shoes off and take a trip to see Freddy Krueger then all hope of productivity for the rest of the day has vanished. 45 minutes is the sweet spot. Just enough time to feel accomplished yet rested.
I clocked out for lunch that day at O’Reilly Auto Parts at 2:15pm. Another Thursday spent laboring 12 hours. That’s all the month of September had been for me. I left for work after the sun met the sky and the crisp air lingered for awhile longer. I retreated home long after the sun did. It was depressing to watch the entire day of natural light come and go through the same boring pane of glass. I was tired.
What a laugh. Tired was long forgotten like a poor resume. I was exhausted, slowly turning to pumpkin like Cinderella’s carriage. I might’ve well been on AMC because I was a zombie. Waiting, wandering, helpless. I entered the transplant list in the last week of July with belief that I was already on second base. The average wait time for liver transplant patients clotted at 20 days. Just over one pay period before I could expect to hear the phone ring with the news to kickstart my revival.
But the call didn’t come. The runner was stranded on second base. It was a cold feeling, like a seat right under the air conditioning unit while others in the diner enjoy a cozy booth. It was like starting with a lead off double only to watch the pitcher mow down the next two batters. The first drop on the roller coaster was supposed to change my life. Instead, the ride broke down and I was stuck in limbo.
Three weeks came and went. Another. A month and a week passed. Just like that August had passed.
What the fuck is going on? I asked myself every waking second. Anxiety fueled questions paced the hamster wheel in my head.
Fear, doubt, defeat, agony, pain, betrayal all made a claim for the worst emotion I felt.
Six weeks. Seven weeks pass. Football season started. Optimistic projections saw me receiving the call before the Major League Baseball trade deadline. Reality laughed in my face.
Fear, doubt, defeat, agony, pain, and betrayal again wove deeper into my being.
I lost hope. Steve: I am not sure if you have ever lost hope but I think it is the worst feeling, physical pain excluded, I have ever experienced in my life. I was ready for defeat to find me.
So that Thursday, the ninth one I’d seen on this saga, felt like another round of Doctor Strange greeting Dormamu with a plea to bargain.
The hour long routine had been shaped to maximize the amount of time I could be asleep. I needed to disappear from life as much as I did work. I threw a piece of baked chicken into the microwave for 47 seconds, let it rest, then wrapped it in a cool tortilla. If I hit the jackpot that day I had a bag of sour cream and onion chips or maybe Licorice.
I’m sure that sounds horrible. It probably was. I don’t remember. I didn’t care. I couldn’t find reason to anymore. The depression that consumed me every day waiting for the call still sits with me like gas on Koffing.
My meal emptied into my stomach seven minutes into my break.
2:22pm
I leaned the seat in my truck back to begin my standard 50 minute nap. It was the perfect time on an autumn day where the sun is at it’s peak but the brisk air prevails. I cracked the windows and said goodbye to the air conditioning. Nestled into the perfect inclined position, I dialed the music down and retreated into solitude.
…
I was an RA in college. I walk around with a piece of me that is triggered every time a phone’s ring pierces the silence. As soon as the brrrring brrrring sounded my eyes burst opened:
513 area code. This was something legit. NOT the daily spam calls that found my number. Steve: The amount of spam phone calls I received during this waiting process was borderline criminal. Waiting for the one phone call to say yes honed the no knife sharper with every inquiry into my vehicle’s extended warranty.
2:27pm
The details were laid out. Every second mattered now. Every. Single. One. The liver was coming in hot- figuratively. Literally, it was on ice in a lunch cooler. Steve: At least that’s what I tell people.
By law, there were certain details they had to tell me about the organ afoot. By choice, there are optional details I’m not sure I’ll ever care to know. I’d never thought I’d have to haggle life or death details over the phone. There wasn’t a pamphlet to review to help this high stakes drama. In real time I was paralyzed to the moment. I wasn’t ready at all. How could I be?
I kept wondering where my Galadriel was to offer me the light of Earendil I’d need to find my way (2:46):
Ultimately, the liver was healthy and tailored to be a great fit. I accepted! Bullseye. I blacked out afterwards. Phone calls were made. Screams launched into orbit. Joy found me again.
In the heat of all the chaos that afternoon between hanging up the phone and succumbing to the knife I saved this picture. I don’t remember doing so but that’s what makes it so special. This unexpected gift I didn’t know I needed now lives with me forever:
Steve: In place of ‘Editor’s Note’ i will now interject with ‘Steve’. One time after enjoying a gummy we played an interactive party game at a friend’s house and I named my character Steve. I put up Wilt Chamberlain numbers. Now, Steve lives here.
Other Weekly Matt-erings
I made some NFL predictions this past weekend about two team that stink. Let’s see how they play out. Either I’m going to look smart or not. Alas, let’s enjoy it together!
The Tennessee Titans are going to play some of the most unappealing football you will ever see in your life this year yet they’ll never find themselves more than two games out of the division lead because the AFC South is terrible.
Week 4 is the last chance for the Vikings this year. They’re headed to the toilet this year and I fully expect them to tank the season.
The Dolphins murdered the Broncos on Sunday 70-20. The 70 points scored was two away from setting an NFL record. When asked why they didn’t go for the record, Dolphins coach Mike McDaniel said they wanted to keep it classy and respect their opponent. Lame! Even as a Broncos fan I think Miami should’ve beat Denver like they embarrassed them in front of Vanessa.
Homana Homana Homophones won’t stop! 233 sets of homophones submitted. More than $300 raised. This is the last weekend for donations.
Weekly Pet Update featuring Moose
Best one yet
Steeeeeeve