The Problem of Pain

Spent most of yesterday at the employment center learning all the new tricks for resume writing. Did you know that it is now accepted practice to not list references on a resume? The theory is that if an employer wants them, they'll ask. Who'd a thunk it?

They told us that you basically get twenty to thirty words to grab the attention of an employer and if they aren't blown away...your chances are. I also learned that for the most part the old hard copy, hand-it-to-the-receptionist resume is pretty much dead. They all want electronic resumes they can stuff into a data base from LDSjobs or workforce services or Monster or whoever, and then they pull out likely candidates based on keywords that they are looking for. Words like "Self-motivated", "Team player" and "Detail oriented".

This meant that I had to revise my entire resume and remove all my best keywords like "Fat, lazy, bum" and "wife welfare".

We were also told that for every twenty resumes you submit you'll get maybe one interview, and most people need three interviews before getting hired. Toss in the fact that you are now encouraged to write "job specific" resumes for every company you apply at and that means that I can count on writing an additional hundred resumes before finding a steady job. Seems like you ought to get a six figure salary just to cover the search efforts.

Maybe I should just grab a job at some fast food hole other than the Clown's place. Of course even they now want kindergarten transcripts, blood samples, a credit report and a permission slip from your mother. What a freaking pain!

Speaking of pain, I am surrounded by it. About a month ago, my dad started limping a bit. It got worse and worse until about two weeks ago when he could hardly stand up. Then (and only then) he acquiesced to my mother's demands and went to see a doctor. I got a text from my brother T (who is still living at home) who told me that dad had blown his knee apart and would require surgery.

***Editor's note
I should get a copy of the MRI report and post it on here. It's like a medical encyclopedia of knee problems. Partially torn MCL, displaced ligaments, sprained ligaments, bruised, torn and displaced cartilage, torn meniscus, edema...the whole thing runs for about two pages. Completely brutal.
****

I told T that I was undecided on what surprised me less, that Dad had walked around on that chewed up piece of hamburger for over a month, or that he couldn't tell the doctor when or how he tore it up in the first place. Frankly the ONLY thing that surprised me was that Dad went to a doctor at all. "Chuck Norris should fear our Dad", I sent to T via text messaging.

Dad's older brother was in town from Virginia and happened to be sitting next to T when my text arrived. He made T text me back to say that no one was a real man until they survived a fall from a two story roof (Which my Uncle did about a year ago at the spring-chicken age of seventy).

Chuck Norris, hell. Pain should fear my family. Or as T put it, "Pain should be bringing us the finest wines and cheeses and calling us 'Sir'!"

Job hunting, blasted out craters for knees, falling off of rooftops...none of it holds a candle to my grandmother, the sainted and revered Matriarch of our clan. 90 years young and as tough as she is sweet. Two days ago, she was taking out her trash when she fell. Fortunately the neighbor was outside and saw it happen. He ran over and made sure she was OK, helped her up and escorted her into the house. Grandma insisted she was fine, and the neighbor came back to check up on her later in the afternoon. Grandam said she was tip top and went to bed. When she woke up yesterday morning, she fell again getting out of bed. When she couldn't get up she punched her "I've fallen and I can't get up" button (Greatest invention in the history of the world, in my opinion) and had the service call my aunt. Not an ambulance, not a doctor.

When my aunt got there, grandma said she was fine even though she couldn't stand up. Her ankle was black and blue and starting to swell. Against Grandma's objections, she was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that at some point in the last two days, she'd broken her ankle and now required surgery.

Now, I'm thinking that if you're going to break a bone at the age of ninety, then the ankle is a solid option. Beats heck out of a busted hip, which is pretty much a deal breaker, if you know what I mean.

Grandma didn't even want to do the surgery. I suppose she figured she'd maybe tape an aspirin to it, rub some dirt on it, and limp it off. Who knew that my sweet grandmother was one of the original authors of the "Manly Manual" code?

Nails, I tell ya. Strait up, iron nails. "They're what's for dinner".

In any sense, my dad (who was supposed to be on his back with his knee elevated for the next 7 to 10 days), decided to take mom to Burley to be with grandma.

Who didn't see that one coming?

Like Dad's going to lay on a couch for seven days and not go berserk. After the surgery, I gave Mom an over-under of three days and the smart money was on the under. I think he almost made it a day and a half.

Pain?
Indeed. Go bother Chuck, would ya?

We're busy.