Home, Sweet Home

As I continue to convalesce after my knee surgery, I have been pondering the amount of time that I must now spend at home. I don’t get to go out anymore except to doctor’s appointments as I still cannot put any weight on my right leg. Going up and down stairs is a royal pain – I have been reduced to travelling the stairs in my house much the same way Linda Blair did in The Exorcist.

Lucky for me, I truly, truly love my house. Purchased only three years ago I've stated from day one that this was the place I was going to be carried from feet first. I can literally spend every waking moment in my house, so the idea of going stir crazy is not even an issue.

Sadly, there are many people who either don’t like their homes as much, or don’t get to enjoy it the way they would like to. The reasons stem from structural damage to the residence, the neighbours they might have, or even the people they live with. I have several recent stories culled from the radio show to highlight these points.

There is a guy in Baldwin, Pennsylvania who probably enjoys his house. Too bad lightning keeps hitting it. This poor guy was sitting at home reading a book when lightning tore through the chimney. Luckily a neighbour came to the rescue and got him out from the subsequent fire. The house was built by the man’s father. When “conductor boy” was a kid, the house was also struck by lightning. Firefighters arrived and were able to put out the flames, but I’m almost certain if they listened closely to the heavens they might have heard God say, “Damn, missed again!”

Sometimes who you live with can cause some trouble on the home front. On the show we have had our share of stories dealing with people who just can’t seem to let go of the items in their houses. Knick knacks they hold onto too long, stacks of old newspapers, hundreds of cats, tacky mementos, even the occasional dead relative.

In Detroit, police said they believe an elderly woman has been living with the corpse of her dead sister on her kitchen floor – possibly for as long as the last three years. On the radio we have had a plethora of stories with dead relatives in the house. They were usually stashed in their rooms, in the cellar, in a freezer, or under the floor boards, but never, ever just lying around on the kitchen floor for about a thousand days!

Investigators said the corpse was partially mummified and portions of the body appeared to have been eaten by a dog and cat living at the residence. Police made a visit to the woman’s home after a neighbour phoned to say she had not seen the deceased woman for a long time.

Let’s stop here for a moment. It’s sad to admit that in my case I probably couldn’t pick my own neighbours out of a line up. I just don’t know them. But if I were to notice my neighbours, I think I would be more aware of the fact that I hadn’t seen one for three years! At what point over a third of a decade do you decide to act on a hunch that someone might be missing?

I’m also guessing that twisted sister didn’t entertain too much. It’s difficult to have the girls over for a game of canasta at the kitchen table when your heel keeps digging into that funky aromatic foot rest on the floor.

Authorities took the old lady to a crisis centre for treatment and said she appeared to be suffering from mental problems. APPEARED TO BE?!?! That’s like telling Noah to expect a light shower! Needless to say, this woman won’t be enjoying her home anymore, and the real estate agent is going to have a hard time explaining the previous owner.

Our last story deals with a homeowner who probably liked his home too. Unfortunately it’s now missing! Yuri Konstantinov is a 50-year-old Russian from the Astrakhan Region. He returned from holiday to find his entire two-storey house had been stolen by a neighbour. The home had been taken down brick by brick and all the contents sold – even the kitchen sink! Just the foundations were left. It seems kind of pointless to go to the trouble of locking your door, only to find that even your door is gone when you return.

According to authorities, the neighbour decided to take it away piece by piece, dismantling it for construction materials. A police spokesman said, "This is not the first such case we have come across, and in remote areas it is considered normal by some people."

Just what kind of place are you living at if it’s considered normal for an entire house to disappear? What kind of neighbours do these people have? Perhaps when I get better and can leave my house again I should pay a little more attention to my neighbours. Just in case my house disappears, I may indeed have to pick one of them out of a line up.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Can You Always Trust Your Doctor?

As I mentioned in a previous post (Out On A Limb) I was due to have leg surgery to repair some damaged tendons above the right knee. The repair was going to require cadaver tendons which the doctors assured me they were going to find.

Well, I was all prepared for the surgery on the scheduled day but it had to be cancelled due to the lack of a cooperative cadaver. I had mentioned to the doctors that I was willing to procure my own cadaver or at the very least give them a list of names but they weren’t going for it.

So while I was waiting I kept hearing story after story of questionable medical practices. Not the kind of information you want to gather just before you go under the knife. Stories, like this one:

Doctors in New Zealand lost a man’s false teeth during his back surgery but found them four days later — stuck in his throat. The 81-year-old entered the hospital and his upper dentures were removed before the operation. But somehow the false teeth got back into the heavily sedated man’s mouth, where they were lodged for four days! Didn’t anybody hear this guy whistle while he breathed?

After the operation, the patient complained of extreme pain, nurses noticed his voice was husky and he couldn’t eat very much. Doctors put a laryngoscope down his throat, found the missing denture plate and removed the teeth. Experts said a cyst in the center of the man’s spinal cord had pushed on his brain stem, damaging the parts responsible for swallowing and the feeling in the back of his mouth. It’s never good when you need a laryngoscope to see someone’s smile.

Then there was the story of the wrong kidney. Doctors at Methodist Hospital in Minnesota were taking out a cancerous kidney from a patient, but they only realised they took out the wrong kidney when a hospital pathologist examined the orphaned organ a day after the patient's surgery, and evidently found no trace of cancer.

Hospital officials would not talk about the next steps for this patient, but there are several options depending where the cancer is located in the remaining kidney. They can either treat the remaining kidney for cancer or wait for a transplant. It’s never good when you go into the hospital with two kidneys and come out with none.

According to Kathleen Harder, a University of Minnesota researcher who studies medical errors, said mistakes of this magnitude are rare but do happen. "They remove the wrong ovary, take off the wrong leg," she said. Many hospitals have stepped up efforts to catch errors in the operating room. But as in this case, she noted, the problem can occur long before the operation begins. "It's wrong in the chart ... and that sets it up for a train wreck."

So you can imagine my trepidation when I got the call and was told that someone else’s body parts were chilling in a vat waiting for me. I immediately thought of all the things that could go wrong. They could operate on the wrong knee (I covered that one by marking the right knee “you are here”); I could have an unforeseen reaction to the anaesthesia and either die or be drooling in a cup for the next 40 years (they don’t even make you count backwards anymore, it’s just plop on the mask and lights out); or everything could go smoothly but my leg would have a mind of its own like Peter Seller’s hand in Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

I also thought of all the things I could do if they lopped off the leg. I could become an iguana smuggler. No, really! Just this past week a jury acquitted a man of smuggling endangered iguanas in his hollowed-out prosthetic leg but convicted him of concealing and possessing the endangered species.

The jury rejected charges that Jereme James stole Fiji Island banded iguanas while visiting the South Pacific in September 2002. The neon-green-striped iguana is an endangered species, prosecutors said.

However, James faces a maximum possible sentence of 20 years in prison when sentenced in July. During an undercover probe, James told investigators he had sold three iguanas for $32,000. Four iguanas were seized when a search warrant was served at his house in April. If you’re going to have a hollow leg, you might as well put it to good use, I say.

Anyway, much to my relief, I woke up from the surgery and felt sufficient pain in my right leg to know that they must have been around the correct general area. There wasn’t much time to concern myself with the pain as hospital stays aren’t what they used to be. They wanted me out of the building. When did we get to a point where your stay for major surgery became shorter than the stay your pants has at the dry cleaners?

They gave me a list of things that I can and cannot do, such as not putting any weight whatsoever on my right leg, yet they don’t supply crutches for you to leave the building. They just wheel you out of the hospital and wave at you like the Clampetts at the end of each episode of The Beverly Hillbillies.

Thank God that my best friend Mario had everything covered. (Okay, there are too many posts lately where I’m praising Mario. Either he’ll soon be depicted in stain glass somewhere or he’ll be running around in a cape and tights!)

Mario got me gently placed into his vehicle, stretched over two rows of seats and cleared it with the City of Montreal to fill all the potholes between the hospital and my house so the ride wouldn’t be too jarring. Isn’t he a saint? He’s also staying with me for several days while his girlfriend is at home trying to figure out how to take out the garbage. I don’t know what I did to deserve this treatment, but when all is said and done, I think I’m going to save my money and buy Mario a small Caribbean island.

So as I sit here in complete and utter pain (no painkillers for me, they are for the weak), I look forward to the day when I can tap dance, run a marathon or compete in Olympic hurdles. I didn’t do any of these things before (okay, maybe a little tap) but who knows whose tendons I have and what they were capable of doing. I’m just looking forward to the day when peeing doesn’t involve a balancing act.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Sniffing out Zero Tolerance

One thing that truly annoys me in a lot of the “Stuph File” stories that I share on the air is the idea of some schools, primarily in the United States, that have a zero tolerance policy so unbending, it stifles the creative juices and growth of the very students it purports to protect.

Stories like the ones dealing with first graders who are expelled because their mothers packed a plastic knife in their lunch so they could butter their bread. In this post 9/11 world I can still cut my miniscule mystery meat on an international flight with plastic utensils, but a six-year-old is about to drive his entire campus into lockdown because Mommy thought he might like to spread his peanut butter with something other than his index finger (actually, other zero tolerance laws that include potential deadly food allergies, probably rates the peanut butter more dangerous than the knife!)

Let’s not forget the little perverts who are out there; overly affectionate seven-year-olds who for life will be deemed as sexual harassers on their official files because they kissed another girl on the cheek. You think I’m making this up? Last year, a boy in North Carolina was separated from his class for a day and kept from an ice cream party as punishment for kissing a classmate (I’m guessing he won’t be dating much in the future – and is destined for extensive therapy). The case drew worldwide attention – and ridicule. So you can’t bring anything to school, you can’t kiss anyone and heaven forbid should you sniff something!

Baby boomers out there who went to school in the 60s and 70s might have fond memories of “test day” in class. This was when the teacher would bring in newly minted sheets of paper, fresh off the Gestetner machine. Oh, the aroma was infectious! You would spend the first few moments sniffing your test before getting down to business and not once did any of the students slip into hallucinogenic trances or off into a coma. If these machines were around today most students and a few teachers would have criminal records.

The zero tolerance crowd must be ecstatic that the Gestetner era has gone the way of bathtub gin and schools are safe once again, now that the aromatic monkey is off the kids’ back. But wait; there is another scourge on the horizon as witnessed in a story this week from Colorado.

A school district there is defending its decision to punish a third grader for sniffing a Sharpie marker. Eight-year-old Eathan Harris was originally suspended from Harris Park Elementary School for three days. Brain-dead principal, Chris Benisch, reduced the suspension to one day after complaints from Harris' parents.

Little Eathan used a black Sharpie marker to colour a small area on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. A teacher sent him to the principal when she noticed him smelling the marker and his clothing. "It smelled good," Harris said. "They told me that's wrong."

Eathan's father, John Harris, says the school overreacted for treating Eathan as if he was huffing, or inhaling, marker fumes. "I think it's outlandish," John Harris said. "It's ridiculous." Eathan shyly shook his head "no" when a reporter asked if he knew about "huffing."

The brain-dead principal stands by his decision to suspend Eathan, saying it sends a clear message about substance abuse. "This is really, really, seriously dangerous," Benisch said. In his letter suspending the child, Benisch wrote that smelling the marker fumes could cause the boy to "become intoxicated."

For those of you who may be on the fence with this issue, I know what you’re thinking. Perhaps there is something to this and you can get high from a magic marker. Maybe that’s where the word “magic” comes from. Well, a toxicologist with the Rocky Mountain Poison Control Center says that claim is nearly impossible. Dr. Eric Lavonas says non-toxic markers like Sharpies, while pungent smelling, cannot be used to get high. "I don't know whether it would be possible for a real overachiever to figure out a way to get high off them," Lavonas said. "But in regular use, it's just not something that's going to happen. If you went to Costco and bought 50 bags of Sharpies and did something to them, maybe there's a way to get creative and make it happen."

Surely the brain-dead principal would listen to the educated words of a toxicologist, but no, the school district leaders were unfazed by the poison control center's medical opinion. "Principals make hundreds of decisions everyday based on our best judgment. And in that time, smelling that marker, I felt like, 'Wow, that's a very serious marker,'" Benisch said. It makes you wonder what this clown was sniffing!

Instead of common sense prevailing here the brain-dead principal has gone to an even further extreme, promising to draw an even clearer line on markers. He has purged every permanent marker from the building. Now, isn’t that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard? Perhaps Eathan’s parents should sue – in a joint case with the Sharpie company.

Meanwhile, Eathan Harris says he's happy to be back in school after his suspension, but he did confide he worried the school's disciplinary action might hurt his dream of one day becoming a professional football player. Wait Eathan. When you get to that point, you’ll have a whole host of substances that you can deal with. Until then, let’s hope your mother doesn’t use dryer sheets on your clothes, or the teacher might have to put you in the corner naked with nothing to sniff.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Old Soldiers Never Die . . .

There is the saying, “they don’t make them like they used to.” It usually comes up when someone from a previous generation reminisces about the good old days when a loaf of bread was just a nickel.

I never thought that I would be one of the folks to dredge up that old chestnut, but here I am. The irony, however, is I’m not even talking about something from my generation, but rather from the one that preceded me.

For the last couple of weeks my best buddy, Mario, and I have been watching the phenomenal HBO series Band of Brothers. I had seen it before when it originally aired on cable and I’ve always maintained that it is one of the classiest miniseries depicting a great story of true heroism during some of the darkest days of World War II. I had always vowed to get the DVD version and this past Christmas it was my gift to me.

Mario had never seen it but I convinced him, as I try to convince everyone, of the value of watching the full ten hours so over a period of a couple of weekends we made it a male bonding exercise as we watched the ravages of war.

When watching this story unfold, learning about the lives, training and battle scars of the men of “Easy Company,” from the 101^st Airborne, one thing was painfully clear. This was a special breed of men, but not a rare breed for the times. I am reminded of the recent Tom Brokaw book entitled The Greatest Generationwhich chronicles this time period. These were guys who, hardened by the depression, were polished into the tough diamonds in the rough, ready for some of the harshest battle situations modern man had seen.

Throughout the series Mario and I concurred that our generation isn’t quite up to the task that they went through. It was a different era and these men were moulded by their times. Oh sure, we have some strong individuals today, especially in our military, but not to the numbers that once were. Today these men are the exception, not the rule. Collectively our generation is a little soft, even the tough ones like Mario, who is a police officer.

But where are these men today? Even in their old age they are still tough as nails. I am reminded of this because of a couple of stories that appeared in the news within the last month. Both stories deal with veterans – men who are perhaps slowed by age, but who still have the same sense of right and wrong. Men that you really shouldn’t mess with, but for some reason there are dolts from the younger generation who are just too slow to realize this valuable point.

For instance, there is a guy in North Texas named James Pickett. He’s 80-years-old, a World War II veteran, former fighter and a lifelong John Wayne fan. Back in February he was confronted by two armed brothers inside his home on a Saturday night.

Police believe the siblings, joined at the hip by DNA and a few shared brain cells, went to Pickett’s home with the intent to rob him and even possibly kill him, but Pickett was having none of that.

When his doorbell rang and he opened it, the two brothers, Paul and Holden Perry, barged inside. Pickett said, “He just come through that door stabbing and beating.”

However, just before he went to answer the door, Pickett had placed a pistol into his pocket. The Perry brothers stabbed and beat – Pickett simply shot. The brothers ran, but didn't get far before calling an ambulance. One of the bullets just missed Paul Perry's spine.

A neighbour of Pickett called him a hero. Pickett’s response was, “Well, I ain't got no business being a hero, by no means.” Pickett might not know a double negative but he certainly knows how to defend himself.

Both brothers face assault, burglary and robbery charges. Deputies assured Pickett they aren't likely to get out of jail anytime soon. However, he didn't seem that worried. “I think I'm a ten times better shot than he is,” he said. “... But, they best not come back.”

Like his hero John Wayne, that’s what you call true grit! Perhaps this is something the younger generation knows nothing about, but it’s a lesson the Perry brothers won’t soon forget.

Another youngster who won’t forget his valuable lesson is a lad in his mid teens in Santa Rosa, California. In late March he thought it might be a good idea to try to rob a former U.S. Army paratrooper . . . yes a former member of the 101^st Airborne.

81-year old Donald Clouston was walking with a grocery bag in each arm and $100 in his pocket when the boy approached him with a large knife. The kid said, “Old man, give me your wallet or I'll cut you.”

In what has to be considered fair warning Donald told the boy he was a former paratrooper who fought in three wars and had been threatened with much bigger knives and bayonets. The former Staff Sergeant then put his bags on the ground and told the boy that if he stepped closer he would be sorry. The boy stepped closer . . . he was sorry.

Donald kicked him in the groin, knocking him to the sidewalk, then while down he also kicked him in the teeth. While the delinquent was doubled over contemplating the hard lesson he just learned Donald calmly picked up his grocery bags and walked home. He reported the attempted robbery to police 45 minutes later.

The cops are still looking for the kid, described only as 15 or 16 years old, and are asking for help from the public. I suggest they look for someone who’s not smiling and has a bag of frozen peas on his crotch.

Perhaps these kids should just stay home and watch the DVD of Band of Brothers. They’ll learn about dedication, camaraderie, battling through hardships, and yes, true grit. And they’ll also learn to respect older men who knew the meaning of freedom and fighting for their rights, who could drop them like a ton of bricks.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Out On A Limb

It seems to be that every decade of my life some sort of surgery is required on a lower limb. In my teen years I needed a couple of left hip surgeries. In my twenties it was a simple arthroscopic left knee procedure due to a racquetball injury. In my thirties it was time to balance out the other side of my body with a torn right Achilles tendon, again due to racquetball. So here I am rounding the clubhouse turn on my half century mark and it is back into surgery again, this time due to shredded ligaments above the right knee.

Now, I’m pretty fortunate that I have quite a high pain threshold. When I tore my Achilles tendon I drove myself to a doctor, got the diagnosis, drove myself home, then to work and finally back home so that I could rest before surgery the next day. Never let a dangling extremity get in the way of work, I say.

This time around, as I stoically writhe in pain awaiting the knife, I am reminded of some of the mishaps in hospitals that have made the news. Who hasn’t heard stories of people who had the wrong limb operated on or worse yet, the wrong type of surgery all together. Recently German authorities said they are investigating an incident of medical malpractice involving an elderly woman in Bavaria, who has mistakenly received a colostomy instead of a leg operation. How bad is your medical training and sense of direction if you can’t determine the difference between a leg and the need for a colostomy bag?

The 78-year-old woman, from the Bavarian town of Münchberg, is just the latest victim of operating table mix-ups. It was in late February that this transgression took place. Members of the medical team involved in the incident have since been suspended from their duties. According to media reports two of these doctors were chief physicians. A hospital official said the facility regrets the mistake, and reacted to the mix-up immediately by notifying the patient (like she wouldn’t have noticed), her relatives, and the appropriate authorities. Well, bully for them! I guess everybody is happy, except maybe the 78-year-old woman who now gets to enjoy her golden years collecting waste material in a pouch. And everyone knows that when you have a colostomy bag you can never find shoes to match.

This is a lot for me to ponder as I wait for body parts myself. My doctor has advised me that due to the tendon tear I am going to require a replacement tendon from a cadaver. I am assured that even though our medical system has had several cutbacks over the years and long waiting periods that I am not required to find and/or supply the cadaver in question. This is a good thing because I had visions of standing in a darkened alley with a club waiting for someone with two good knees to walk by. I have no doubt that the part needed will be available soon. Body parts have a way of showing up. As a matter of fact I have another recent story of just that very thing happening.

Authorities in Slovenia are investigating after a piece of human tongue was served up in a hospital canteen. A doctor at the town hospital in Izola, in southern Slovenia, complained about the strange looking piece of meat in his meal after he ordered a chicken risotto in the hospital eatery. The doctor insisted it was not chicken, and after arguing with staff the piece of meat was sent for tests - which later showed it was part of a human tongue. Health inspectors have closed the restaurant and are reviewing hygiene standards and looking for answers. Well, we know at least one person isn’t talking. Managers said the small piece of tongue could have been accidentally dropped into the food by a doctor who had come into the canteen straight after treating a patient.

Okay, let’s stop right here to evaluate this story. You’ve got a tongue in a meal that everyone except the doctor who ordered it thinks is chicken. First, I’d like to know what kind of chickens they have in Slovenia and how bad this hospital canteen is at preparing them. I know people, when confronted with exotic food, are always compelled to say “taste like chicken” but even this is a stretch. And what part of the chicken, no matter how you cook it, resembles a human tongue?

Second, the lame excuse that a previous doctor may have accidentally dropped the tongue in the food after treating a patient. HELLO!!!! How absent minded would this doctor have to be? His first mistake would be leaving an examination area with a piece of tongue. If I did that I think I would be pretty aware of what I was carrying, but then to go to the canteen and lose it in the buffet line! That’s a doctor I wouldn’t want anywhere near me!

The hospital managers also speculate that the tongue could have been added to the food supplies before they were delivered to the hospital. Gee, if someone were missing a part of their tongue along the food chain don’t you think they would have spoken up, or at least flailed their arms around frantically playing charades?

Still, the line of the year has to have come from the hospital spokesman who told the main Slovenian daily paper Delo, "I can say clearly that we have never used patients' parts in any of our dishes." Wow, that could be their dining room slogan. I’m sure that would fill the seats!

It would appear that I’m finding all kinds of bizarre medical stories as I await my date with destiny. But all I can do to pass the time is practice counting backwards from a hundred – that and use a magic marker on my right knee spelling out “you are here.” I just pray that if and when I wake up, I’m not carrying any extra baggage.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

More Proof Of The Evil Of Felines

Since I have often been prone to discuss the evils of cats on our radio show, exposing their plot to take over mankind, listeners have often sent in further documentation to confirm what so many of us already know.

One such listener is a fellow named Michael who forwarded the Secret Diary of a Cat. You may have seen this online elsewhere, but I thought I would share it with you here because, frankly, we can never have too many warnings!

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Secret Diary of a Cat

DAY 752 - My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from shredding on the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant and cough it up on the carpeting.

DAY 761 - Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favourite chair... must try this on their bed (again).

DAY 762 - Slept all day so that I could annoy my captors with sleep depriving, incessant pleas for food at ungodly hours of the night.

DAY 765 - Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was ...Hmmm. Not working according to plan.

DAY 768 - I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid? My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth and the tiny bit of flesh under my claws.

DAY 771 - There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

DAY 774 - I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant. He has mastered their frightful tongue (something akin to mole speak) and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured.

But I can wait; it is only a matter of time....

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Thank you very much for the heads up, Michael. We need more soldiers in the fight against the terrorist tabbies.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

(Also see: Cats Are Evil! & Feline Serial Killer)

Waiting For The Cable Guy

A lot of the stories that I share on the air stem from people being angry or upset with others. It seems that as a society we have lost our patience with mankind. But where did this malaise start? I say it started with the cable company.

As I write this, I am awaiting the cable guy. My television is working just fine thank you; it’s my Internet that’s at issue. It’s a nasty little intermittent problem that is requiring a fourth visit from a technician. Like so many people, I tend to believe my time is valuable, so waiting on the phone line for 45 minutes earlier this week to ascertain what my problem might be and then being told that my allotted appointment would require most of a day, you can imagine how frustrating the experience is.

We’ve all been there. You call a service professional and they say they will send someone over. But in order to do that you must be home from 8am to 5pm. If you have other appointments, perhaps you should cancel them. If you want to go to the bathroom, perhaps you should hold it, just in case the doorbell rings because, unlike the postman, cable only rings once.

These companies want us to put our lives on hold because they can’t accurately estimate a service or delivery call into any time frame shorter than nine hours. This is a lack of respect. It’s how we lose patience with companies that we feel we can’t do anything about. It’s how we end up taking things out on others.

Just how do such entities as the cable companies show us a lack of respect? Case in point recently is the story from Wheatland, Wisconsin and poor Ann Beam. Back in January Ann received a $2,000 cable bill from Time Warner Cable. Ann’s house had five cable boxes and five remote controls. The important word here was “had.”

On January 7th Wheatland, Wisconsin was hit by a twister. Ann’s house, and her cable boxes, went the way of Dorothy, and the cable company, acting like Margaret Hamilton having a bad day, wanted their money and perhaps Ann’s little mangy dog too.

When Ann called the cable company, a man who identified himself as a manager said there was nothing the company could do. They told Ann she would have to take the bill and turn it in to her insurance company. But her cable equipment was nine years old, and the insurance company would pay only a depreciated value that wouldn't cover her bill.

Luckily the media got involved so when word got out a spokesperson for Time Warner Cable said Ann's case was simply a misunderstanding. An unspecified number of customers were charged for unreturned equipment, but only because they cancelled or transferred their service without mentioning their requests were tornado-related. Misery loves company, so Ann wasn’t the only one, but I wonder how many others there were and how many of the others just quietly paid their bill, only to take out their wrath on somebody else.

When you keep things inside too long, like a pressure cooker with a bad rubber seal, you never know when they’ll blow. It could be at the worst possible moment, like say, the drive-thru at Taco Bell. Such is the story from Massillon, Ohio.

Georgia Gugliuzza is recovering after being attacked while going through a Taco Bell drive-through in Massillon. Georgia was attacked by Tiffany Brown who used a cue ball as a weapon (I know, who carries a cue ball around with them?!?)

Tiffany has been arrested and charged in connection with the attack. Georgia’s fiancé, Frank Loder, who was with his betrothed at the time, says he’s still in shock about what happened.

According to police, after the women screamed at each other from inside of their cars, Tiffany allegedly got out of her car with a billiard ball inside of a sock and hit Georgia with it four times.

Massillon Police Sgt. Thomas Minarcheck said he is baffled by the case and police are continuing their investigation. "I don't understand how you can become that impatient while you're in line at Taco Bell," he said. Police said it was that lack of patience that sparked the random and brutal attack. They said Tiffany was mad at Georgia for taking too long while she was ordering.

Georgia lost a couple of teeth, had to get three staples in her head and sustained some bad bruises to her face. Police said Brown was drinking the night of the alleged attack. She was charged with driving under the influence and felonious assault.

Impatience is a terrible thing. It makes people’s blood pressure boil when they’re in traffic. It shortens one’s fuse when you’re standing in line at the supermarket behind the old lady who is paying with exact change and must find those coins that are deep in the crevices of her oversized purse. And it makes you want to find a sock that you can put a cue ball in as you continue to wait for the cable guy.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.