Apr 15, 2006
THE BEGINNING: I love the snow. I love the cold. I love watching people ice-skate and seeing children building snowmen. I love it all… as long as I’m watching it while sitting in front of the fireplace while becoming comfortably numb by whacking back some Vicodin with a couple of Mickey’s double-deuces.
Dexter, a cannabis-loving friend of mine who has a place up in Lake Arrowhead, invited me up for a few days. Against my better judgment, he talked me into participating in some of the local activities, such as snowboarding (never good at it… not very balanced), ice-skating (never good at it… weak ankles), and sitting around a big bonfire on the frozen lake while some fellow potheads strumming acoustic guitars had a hootenanny (can we go home now?). Yet all in all, I had a pretty good time… until something unusual occurred.
I don’t recall exactly when I noticed it. At first I thought I might have strained myself, and didn’t give it much thought, but then it woke me up the following night. I knew something was wrong then, but I didn’t know what it was. I wasn’t sure who to consult on this. My doctor? No, not yet, at least. My mom? No, too embarrassing. I decided that my problem was directly related to my visit to Lake Arrowhead, so the next morning, I called my friend:
Dexter: What’s up?
Me: Hey, I got a problem.
Dexter: Sorry, I don’t have any money.
Me: It’s not that. I’ve got a (hesitant)….
Dexter: Come on, spill it.
Me: I’ve got a… bump… coming out of my …ass.
Dexter: (hysterical laughing).
Me: It’s not funny. I’m thinking it may be cancer.
Dexter: Oh, come on, you’ve never had them before?
Me: Had what?
Dexter: Hemorrhoids, man!
My jaw dropped. I felt faint. It seemed as though the room was swirling around me, and all I could hear was that word reverberating through my head… HEMORRHOIDS! HEMORRHOIDS! HEMORRHOIDS! I dropped down into my chair… it hurt.
Me: How much… time… do I have, Dexter?
Dexter: A few weeks…
Me: Huh?
Dexter: They can last a few weeks unless you do something about them. You probably got them from sitting around the lake. The cold can cause them.
I vaguely knew what they were, of course, but over the course of the next ten minutes I was given a grand overview into my sore rectum.
Me: So what do I do now?
Dexter: Go to the store and get some ointment. It’ll clear it right up. ‘Preparation H’ is the best.
Ugggggggh. ‘Preparation H’. The “old people’s” medicine I’d laughed about for years. Suddenly my own mortality hit me. I was over 40 now. I was officially a middle-aged man… and I was going to die soon.
Fantasy:
My body, covered by a sheet, is wheeled out of the medical examiner’s office. The Chief Examiner is followed out of the room by his assistant, who is holding a clipboard…
Assistant: What should I list the cause of death as?
Chief Examiner: (sadly shakes head) The worse case of hemorrhoids I’ve ever seen in my life. Death by rectal asphyxiation. Poor bastard.
THE MIDDLE: I should have been a man. I should have marched right into the drug store, walked up to the clerk, and said, “I’ll take a tube of ‘Preparation H’, please”. But I didn’t. I charted out my mission with the precision of a military action. Upon deciding that I’d least stand out in a large crowd of people, I decided to go to the supermarket to make my purchase. Although I’d gone food shopping just a few days ago, I needed some camouflage items to cover the purchase I needed to make most. Commandeering a shopping cart, I started rolling down the aisles…
I grabbed an industrial size box of laundry detergent, enough to last me a year. Four Porterhouse steaks. A tube of bathtub caulking. Assorted boxes of frozen Green Giant vegetables. A meat thermometer that I could possibly stick up my ass to take my rectal temperature if I suddenly felt feverish. And then, I reached the drug and cosmetic aisle…
I quickly browsed the shelves, wondering where they’d keep the stuff. What category would they keep it under? First aid? Pain relievers? Next to the Polydent, so that other old people like me could easily find them on what will soon be regular visits? And then I saw it.
Jesus Christ, the ‘Preparation H’ came in the size of a jumbo tube of toothpaste! Weren’t there any smaller, dainty tubes for people who only needed to use the stuff for a short term problem? This tube would last me years! I could pass it around to all the neighbors on my block to use! I felt like crying. This was not going to be an item that could be casually hidden. I sighed, then quickly glanced around. The aisle was empty. I made my move with the smoothness of a swift pickpocket… I grabbed the tube and stuffed it under a loaf of bread.
I scanned the checkout lines. I was looking for a clerk who was older, someone more mature. Someone who might have had to make a similar purchase themselves. Ahhh, there she was. A matronly, gray haired woman who kind of looked like my dear, departed grandma. I was sure that she could sympathize with my plight.
I placed the ‘Preparation H’ in the middle of my other items, laying it so that the label was down, with the bar code blatantly exposed. With a quick turn of her wrist, the clerk would easily scan the tube, and no one in line behind me would even notice what I had bought. Heh-heh… it was foolproof. Or so I thought.
I started to bag the groceries myself. I didn’t want some punk bag-boy picking the tube up and chuckling. The clerk picked up the tube (I was ready to grab it the moment it landed). She scanned it (almost there). She was ready to slide it down the conveyor belt (come to Papa!). And then the clerk at the next stand asked her a question about the produce code for hot house tomatoes…. and I was sunk.
My clerk was very animated, waving her hand and my industrial sized tube of ‘Preparation H’ as she spoke. The label was clearly visible to everyone around me. I was mortified. I felt myself turning beet red. I turned my face so that the people behind couldn’t readily identify me…
Fantasy:
Policeman: Can you describe the item the clerk was holding when the man ran out of the store?
Shopper: It was an enormous tube of hemorrhoid ointment! The largest I’ve ever seen!
To make matters worse, an attractive bag-girl had walked to the stand and was starting to pack my groceries. My plan was falling apart! It was chaos! Oh, the humanity!
I quickly thought about prying the tube out of the clerk’s hand. “Give me my anal ointment, you silly old woman!”. But it was too late. I’d lost. I could feel sweat rolling down my face, and I thought I heard snickering behind me. I just felt lucky that the clerk didn’t call out for a price check over the loudspeaker. I felt two-foot tall, and I could swear that my inflamed vein was clearly protruding from the back of my jeans for all to see.
THE END: It took two trips to my truck to carry in the five bags of groceries. I grabbed a beer and ran the cool bottle over my perspiring face. Well, at least it’s over with, I thought. But as I emptied out the bags, I started to panic again… “Where the fuck is it!?”.
My God, the silly little bitch had forgotten to pack my ‘Preparation H’! I’m going to have to call them! I’m going to have to go back there!
Fantasy:
Me: (into phone) Yes, I just found that one of my purchases wasn’t bagged.
Store Manager: Oh, you’re the guy with the ‘roid cream? Well, we have it hanging from a rope over the front desk. Stop by anytime to pick it up. Have a nice day (click).
My knees shook like jelly. I couldn’t go through it again. I grabbed the kitchen counter for support. And then, in the bottom corner of one of the bags, I saw it. She hadn’t forgotten it after all!
I clutched the tube to my bosom and ran to the bathroom. I carefully went through the instructions as though I was reading the Lost Scrolls. ‘Clean the affected area… This product is not for oral consumption… Carefully apply the ointment to… KEEP OUT OF CHILDREN’S REACH, FOR CHRIST SAKE’!
I’ll spare you the sordid details. Let’s just say that after several days of “a little dab will do ya”, I was back to normal. And once I returned to my old self, I took the tube and looked for a safe place to hide it; out the eyes of prying guests who rummage through your medicine cabinet to steal your pharmaceuticals. I decided on the attic, where it now sits safe and sound in the event that I ever have to live through that nightmare again.
