Why I Got A Shot Today

I'm not squeamish about needles, but I hate actual shots. Especially in my arm. Put a needle in my ass any day of the week, but do not incapacitate my left arm indefinitely. The worst part? I'm left-handed... and I always forget that the reason they give you shots in your left arm is that the majority of people on planet Earth are right-handed, and your arm hurts for days post-shot.

Why, did I get a tetanus shot today, you ask? Who gets a tetanus shot at 24, you wonder? Well, let me enlighten you.

My father is one of those former un-handy handy men. In the 60's, he thought he could rebulid a carburetor. Now the drug-induced haze of handiness has subsided and he tells me to fix my car's heat-sheild myself with duct tape and a wire hanger. He has become your typical suburbian father, who tries once to wallpaper the bathroom, fucks up, and declares that he's hiring people to do everything for him from now on. Well that's great and all, but it leaves a problem. The problem is The Toolbox. Anyone who has grown up in Suburbia with a father like mine knows exactly what I'm talking about... It's probably 50 years old, completely covered in rust, and sits harmlessly in the corner of the garage, waiting patiently to die. Which would probably happen, peacefully and unaided. Unfortunately, along comes the secondary problem - Handyman Revisited.

This weekend, my father's inner Handyman Hippy alter-ego must have decided to visit The Toolbox. I think it happens once every 4 or 5 years. According to his report, he "needed some tools". Keep in mind, nothing was "fixed" this weekend. There were no "repairs" made. No home-improvement shows were watched. If something needed to be "repaired" or "fixed", he would have called someone else to do it anyway. A more accurate description is that he walked over to the Toolbox, moved and opened it, looked inside, then closed it (partially) and walked away. Cut to 3 days later. I'm on my way to work, trying to get in my car door (which is parked in the garage). Mr. Handyman's big Toolbox visitation positioned it perfectly... directly in front of my driver-side door, so that I could rip my foot open on it, rusty hinges and all. Which of course, happened. At 7am in the morning, pre-coffee. Even worse, it scuffed my favorite pair of work shoes!

Naturally, the rusty-hinged Toolbox encounter resulted in a review of my tetanus shot record (which, until today, apparently didn't exist)... which resulted in a painful shot, first thing this morning. Again, pre-coffee**. Suffice it to say that, until May of 2015, at the ripe old age of 34, I can step on as many pieces of rusty metal as my little heart desires.





** why do all of the crappiest things happen before I've had coffee?