The summer of 2001 was a memorable one to say the least. I had attended Boys State, a summer leadership and citizenship program sponsored by the American Legion, just as both my older brothers had done. It's a mock government summer camp. I ran for several offices and managed to lose mostly all of them due to my overwhelming charisma and wit. Although, in true political fashion, I was charged with sexual harassment. At an all boys camp no less! For those that know me, this would appear to be a scandalous falsehood. Bogus charges, they wouldn't stick. I did not sexually harass that woman, Linda Voder, the camp director's daughter. He was like 107 years old so she had to at least be on medicare.
Long story short, I was acquitted, took my defamation of character trial all the way to the Boys State Supreme Court and was awarded a $5 judgement. That was a lot of money in those days. You couldn't even pay a prostitute to do anything to you for $5 these days. But oh yes, this was going to be a great summer indeed.
One of the few positives of returning to Coolidge after camp was the fact that I was going to be lifeguarding at the glamorous city pool. For some reason, the city decided to change the official name to the Coolidge Aquatic Center. Please, it's the fucking city pool. Why so metropolitan all of a sudden? It was nothing more than a cement pond down near the Mormon church. It must have been when the city council was trying to woo the International Olympics Committee into considering Coolidge for the 2008 Olympics. Damn you, Beijing. In any event, I was happy to be on board. I helped add Latino flair. Pan dulce (pahn -dool -seh)!
It looked similar to this but simply worse.
On a late June night, behind the wheel of my sister's bitchin' Oldsmobile Omega, I headed off for a night under the stars otherwise known as night swim. Somewhere between my house and the city pool I was bitten by a spider. I didn't vex myself over it at first because I thought it was your typical bug bite. By the end of my shift, it was apparent that something wasn't quite right with my leg. For the remainder of the night, it became increasingly hard to walk let alone bend my knee. The next morning when I attempted to step out my bed, I landed face down and in complete agony.
Fluff your pillow?
I was fucked. At this point, I had ooze coming out of the wound and my leg my plumping up faster than Carnie Wilson after her lap-band failed. I cried out for help but I was home alone. I had to crawl down the hallway and felt like James Caan from Misery. And of course the cordless phone was in a high place! 35 minutes later, my stepmom Gloria showed up and whisked me away to Dr. Francisco Amaya's Family Practice where they made me WAIT another 30 minutes. I'm pretty sure I mentioned I had bloody ooze pouring out of my leg so you can imagine my surprise that this didn't alarm tweedledumb fuck at the receptionist's desk. Finally, nearly 2 hours after waking, I was admitted to the hospital. All that pain but instead of a 200lb. woman wielding a sledgehammer, mine was inflicted by a miniscule but deadly brown recluse spider.
Are you there Rod, it's me an asshole spider!
They let me keep my leg.
For the next two weeks, Casa Grande Regional Medical Center was my home sweet hell. My leg looked like a giant hotdog except when you squeezed it, it resembled a stress release ball. There were a few pleasant people to mention. There was John, the funny physical therapist, who rubbed my leg back to health and Roxie, my dad's favorite nurse. I thought I was on the brink of having a new stepmom. As the Fourth of July rolled by, I still lay in my craftmatic adjustable bed hoping for one that included being out with my friends, drinking and watching fireworks. In lieu of all that, I had nurses, painkillers and the sound of fireworks in the distance. God Bless America.
