WHAT? (Oh . . . THAT)

It’s story time, children. Everyone get cozy and make yourselves comfortable. Today, Uncle Grumpy’s gonna’ tell you about how I got this permanent scowl on my face.

I have been beaten so severely about the head and shoulders for so long that I am practically numb to almost all stimuli. The helpful passerby that takes time out of their day to point out to me something about my life of which I seem to be unaware mistakes my catatonic state for disinterest. They do not recognize that my apparent oblivion is an attempt to recover through deep coma.

Now, for many years Uncle Grumpy wasn’t grumpy at all. There really wasn’t anything to make me discontent. Mostly, I led a charmed life with very little to complain about and very little that didn’t seem to go my way. I had several nice jobs and sort of fell into one great situation after another. I was a bit of a wunderkind watching my star rise and my ideas realized as real products and successes. I had friends and lovers and was surrounded by creative people and the energy around us was electric.

This made me very lazy as well as ill equipped to handle real adversity. Of course, academically at least, I knew no good thing lasts forever and surely some unfortunate things would eventually come my way . . . I just didn’t expect them all at once.

It is a curious thing but something I long ago accepted that I seem to be approximately seven to eight years ahead of the cultural curve in my interests as well as any profound change for either good or bad that comes along. I don’t really have an explanation for this. For example, in 1980 I was neck deep in the computer industry while it was of no interest or concern to the general public. I fell into a company of über geeks that made the central office switching networks able to transmit digital information before people knew what a modem was. I had an interracial marriage in the 80’s and so on. Then I also experienced all of the fallout before most other people. I’ve gone down with the ship with start-up companies, failed to maintain my own sole proprietorship(s), been through a bankruptcy and foreclosure and the loss of my home and credit. I subsequently lost all of my security clearances and ability to stay employed in high-tech fields and had those same bad credit scores used to filter me out of contention for even menial labor jobs. I’ve received the full benefits due a white, middle-class, male that is now down on his luck - because no government sponsored assistance programs were ever designed for me – just paid for by my taxes. So, I am overqualified for everything for which I apply unless I surrender all remnants of a desire for self preservation and become homeless or sneak into Mexico and then sneak back disguised as an illegal alien. I’m not being coy or funny. This is real, folks. Take what I have to say seriously, because if my trend continues – as it seems to be in the housing market, right now – you’re all next!

Of course I also realize that the general whiny nature of my blog posts and the candid, full disclosure of my life will do nothing positive for me from the perspective of any spin doctors out there. Oh well. I’m not trying to paint myself in any light other than that of cold, naked truth. The confessions of a forty-six year old, divorced, man just climbing out of the loss of everything is not an attractive candidate for an interview or a date. I am, however, more than confident I will survive and eventually thrive. That’s the point. If I do not honestly confront myself and my circumstances I’m a fool. By putting myself out in the open like this I can’t hide. Neither do I want to be immune to the hardships of other people so I want to learn from my situation, get past it and my self-absorption, and contribute my energies elsewhere. The only problem is that somewhere between screwed and screwed some more I became Uncle Grumpy.

Out of the blue, I became aware that I could very quickly regain some credibility and credit history by completely re-thinking my career pursuits. I had never dismissed other professions as unsuitable for me but never thought I had the necessary skills or a way to get my foot in the door. In a quantum leap from one career path to another I am now a long haul truck driver – sort of. I’m supposed to be but I have not been on the road for a little over two months and counting. Why? I had some sort of medical hiccup that has not been duplicated or revealed in any tests but as a matter of public safety has kept me home. I laud the concerns for the public well-being. The issue now is simply a lot of CYA behavior and general half-assed efforts by those responsible for deciding not only when but if I should be allowed to drive. No one seems all that concerned that I haven’t earned a dollar (only spent hundreds of them) this entire time. They are jerking me around without any end in sight while I am sucked into the darkness.

If I were even the slightest bit concerned that the event which put me in this situation could happen again I would not be trying to drive an 80,000 pound vehicle. So, I have been playing an infuriating game of telephone tag and even after sitting in various doctor’s offices until they provided more than lip service to my plight the game goes on. My company has been extremely patient but how much longer can that honestly continue?

Well, last week was supposed to be the thrilling conclusion to all of this because my personal physician signed a paper authorizing my return to work without any medical limitations. Yeah!

Then I went to the company provided physician as a mere formality to be cleared to drive. Rah?

Again, you may wish to take notes because my story might become your story. It just so happens that the newest trend is for forty-something year old men and women to become truck drivers. The demand is enormous and the opportunities are really good. Good, that is, if you can get a doctor to return a phone call. My visit to the company doctor was looking great. I had no concerns about the drug or alcohol screening tests, I had blood pressure, vision and hearing results within the acceptable guidelines of the Department of Transportation – so, no problem, right? Of course not. Boo!

The paperwork asked and I answered that I had ONE incident that had required an emergency room visit and after two days of observation and thorough testing showed no abnormalities.

That confession has turned into a limbo contest to see just how low my finances can go.

The company doctor won’t sign off until he gets a report that covers his ass(ets) and makes the decision someone else’s for me to go back to work. I have hand-carried paperwork back and forth and made countless phone calls. No one makes any effort to contact me preemptively or proactively and it has traditionally required two hour dialing attempts before successfully speaking to a human being – usually a clerk, at each doctor’s office. Of course, the poor clerk is in no position to offer any assistance and only makes appointments and apologies. That means that I have no more assurance their memo will reach the doctor than if I left a voicemail message.

As of today I was informed that the company doctor was not in and that it was only last night that he reviewed the information my primary physician had sent over. Then the voice of surprise on the other end of the phone informed me that the doctor was not satisfied with the report and needed more information. Why am I in the middle of this? I should not be the liaison for the exchange of medical information between two doctors. Also, why did I need to make the call to find out something someone should have known was their duty to call me? Yes. These are rhetorical questions as anyone that has had to deal with any “professional” in business well recognizes. I am stuck in the middle of a major cluster and it’s only important to me because I’m the only one being hurt.

Uncle Grumpy would love to tell you that all is well that ends well. I can see this story is boring you, children. Your eyelids are heavy and your heads are bobbing so I will wrap this up.

After the requisite two hour attempt to contact my primary doctor’s office and follow up in getting a sufficiently complete report the poor clerk informed me that my doctor and his staff will be out the remainder of this week. For those keeping score at home that means that it will be a minimum of six days and probably seven before I may contact my doctor to even beg for the information "Dr. Jerk-off who wants to hide" claims to be awaiting. By any miracle I may finally persuade the two doctors to communicate directly. But, I doubt it.

So, children, if the knife in Uncle Grumpy’s chest looks painful just wait until you see the one in my back.