Let it be said that I have a job that many who don’t know better yearn for, many are scared of, and many, like myself, are scared of losing.

I’m a pharmaceutical rep. Many of you already know this, and hopefully some of you doctors have read me and felt my wrath. I know…like anyone reads me, let alone doctors…sigh…

I don’t talk about my company, or my drug, and the only times in the past I have referenced my profession is when I was so frustrated with certain aspects of it that I chose to lash out. Today, I had something happen that gave me pause, and I wanted to share.

I am a specialty rep, meaning I call on other than Primary Care, and in my case, those professionals are Psychiatrists. And where do the psychiatrists practice? Yep, a collection of private practices, hospitals, and private and government-subsidized clinics. I was in such a clinic today, and although I like to think I am putting on a compelling show when giving a presentation, the real drama occurred as I was simply approaching the building. I mentioned this on Facebook this morning, but as I had hours to stew in the memory of a certain gentleman, I thought I could take a minute and add some detail.

Now, to be fair, I was given some general warnings when I was in training as to what I might encounter in waiting rooms and parking lots, but today put a face on what they were being so deliberately vague about. As I approached the clinic, I noticed that the path to the front door was split in two different directions, and each had individuals sitting alongside. As one side had a number of people sitting, smoking, and watching me approach, I chose the path less traveled, the one that led past the solitary gentleman, as large as he turned out to be.

I had been previously warned, by the way, to keep my samples hidden from view so as to avoid being asked about them by those who a detailed explanation of pharmacokinetics might be lost. Today, as on all days, I remembered this as it made perfect sense to me, and had them secured in my rolling black case.

As I approached the gentleman, I noticed him very slightly lift his gaze in my direction. He was large, larger than his sitting form gave credit to my previous cursory evaluation, and he was solid. As I got closer and his eyes found my face, I realized that there was a telltale look in his eye that seems to be common among those who struggle with normal neurotransmitter function. Whether it was the effect of disease on the general expression of his face, or the pharma effect of his meds that caused him to look so blank, he appeared to look right at me, and yet right through me.

He slurred something that I quickly translated to “You got some drugs with you?”

As I had been instructed to, I simply looked at him, smiled, and said, “No, sorry”, and continued along the path, mere feet from where he was sitting.

As I passed, he rose, far taller than my 6 foot form, looked at me and YELLED, “Somethin’ funny there Sarge??!!”

Pretty sure modern science couldn’t have measured how fast I made it inside the clinic.

I don’t get spooked a lot. I’m not the toughest character you’ll ever meet in a dark alley, and I don’t know shit about sports, but I can handle myself. I’ll just say that I wasn’t particularly scared today, but this gentleman gave me pause in the wake of what just happened at Fort Hood. I further think that life gives you wakeup calls, some with more violent ringers than others, and the prudent person doesn’t keep hitting the snooze bar.

I am more conscious than ever of being respectful of those with mental illness, and my uber-intelligent friend Em has taught me how devastatingly insensitive the “r” word can be, so I hope that if any of you ever catch me two-facing those topics you will reward me with an email-slap. Not to mention, I have a 5 year old and a 2 year old. I am in NO position to judge anyone’s mental health.

So these days as I get used to a new gig in new geography, I plan on keeping today’s safety-nod on my frontbrain, and I recommend to all of you being not scared, but always prudent.

Wishing you all a safe week.

My wife works. Despite the benefits of her semi-flexible work schedule, she still has to put in time caring for sick kids and their abhorrent parents on the occasional weekend. No, I’m not making a general statement about the parents of sick kids here, I am simply referring to the ones I hear stories about from my wife, who is very selective about what she brings home from work. And those particular parents paint many others with their misbehavior, the same as could be said about the silicone-laden pharmaceutical representatives who make my own work more challenging. But I digress.

She works on the occasional Sunday, leaving our kids with me in, again, questionable care. A friend described her family to me last night as having “2 boys, 3 if you count my husband, and I do.” It hit home, as I realized that my wife had married with her heart and not with her head in many cases as well. And being a kid at heart, my child-rearing skills sometimes…lack. Sure, I think I am a good father, but I watch other parents perform these attitude-corralling feats with much greater skill, and I haven’t yet discovered their secrets.

So that brings us to Sunday mornings. Days with so much promise, and yet they are built on emotional and behavioral eggshells these days. One 5 year old, one two year old, one 41 year old. One highly spirited kindergärtner, one fairly standard two year old ball of energy with his father’s suspect agility, and one 12 year old father of two simply trying to move from meal to activity, to snack, to activity, repeat.

They are wonderful at 6am, I will admit. Full of love and kisses, smiles and optimism. My 6am coffee and Facebook are the creme on top, and the day ahead seems open and laden with promise. A cup of milk, a snack, a show.

And then, 7:30. The screams, the accident, the backtalk, the terrorized dog, the fit, the tears.

Where is the damn manual for all of this? I can Google a how-to for a toaster whose blueprint hit the dumpster 40 years ago, but getting through a Sunday…no one seems to have a damn clue. Maybe that supernanny broad can help me out.

I know what the answer is, clearly…activities, keep them busy, blah blah. And as I sit here trying to write one damn post this week and actually have a few minutes to myself, I am back and forth to the kitchen to address the screaming and pouting more often than a OCD home pharmacist checking on his meth lab.

I mean, I can imagine that one would have to attend to one’s meth lab diligently…gulp…

I don’t know what the answer is, other than getting off the computer and attending to my kids’ needs. I sat with her this morning teaching her to draw her first third dimensional chair…she loves to draw and color, and I love to teach her. But even during a wonderful Daddy-Daughter activity, she managed to throw two fits for not getting her way about the silliest of things.

I’m doing something wrong. Or I’m simply expecting too much. Or I’m just too flippin’ controlling. But maybe I’m also doing a great job just because I care about doing better.

Regardless, it’s 8am. Three tantrums, one revelation, and one very long day ahead. One very long, exhausting, frustrating, wonderful day ahead.

As I write this, I’m high above the vast monotony of Tennesee, racing the setting sun back to the family I have missed so much while I worked this week to keep my job. I’m fully aware how much of a pansy I sound like when I say that it has been a stressful, emotional week, and I am unbelievably happy to be on my way to a halloween party to re-unite with my wife, Superman and a Fairy.

I did have some fun this week though…ate half my weight in sushi and concerned several friends with my ability to alternate coffee with vodka depending on the sun’s position in the sky. A long time friend and co-worker thought it would be fun to convince people at a hibachi grill that it was my birthday, something I strongly objected to right up to and including the point where the restaurant began to sing Happy Birthday, and the ice cream came out. But then the high point, a beautiful little japanese girl, roughly 3 years old, was so caught up in my fake birthday celebration that she came over to help me blow out my candle and clap for me, and I rewarded her by handing over my ice cream.

She went home with the memory of eating her ice cream before her dinner, and I take home an amazing memory of the best birthday I ever didn’t have.

I look out the window now, and Tennesee is gone. Once a habitual flier, I now find this form of travel, even though ooccasional, unbelievably annoying. And yet, I am returning home in a fine mood thanks to breezing past TSA, managing to grab the last window seat on an extremely full flight, and the following exchange I just had with a passenger…hope you enjoy as much as I did.

I sat in my window seat, and a gentleman counterpart who had the aisle seat followed me into the row. A minute later, a woman stopped in front of us, motioned at the middle seat next to me, and the middle seat in the row behind us.

She said, looking at my counterpart, and then me, “Those are our seats, but we were hoping to sit together. Will one of you move so we can sit together?”

The gentleman and I looked at each other, smiled briefly, and I asked, “You have the two middle seats?”

“Yes.”

The gentleman looked at me again, but said nothing. I replied as politely as I could, “I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to sit in a middle seat for the next 3 hours.”

I have a tendency to cut to the chase.

The woman paused, looked at me and yelled, “OH AWESOME. WE’RE GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW, AND NOW WE CAN’T SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER!!”

My counterpart and I looked at each other one last time, and although somehwat taken aback, grinned, and went back to our activities. Ultimately a woman seated behind me agreed to give up her window seat to allow the couple to sit next to each other, and Bridezilla promptly went to sleep in her middle seat next to her “fiance” (alleged), and they havent spoken in over two hours. Do I feel bad about not giving up my seat? No. Am I glad I don’t have to sit next to that woman for the entire flight? Absolutely. I am only bothered by one thing.

I will now have to live out my life knowing there is someone out there who is more sarcastic than I am.

Thanks for stopping by, friends…I missed you.

There are a grand total of ZERO circumstances that make chicken chili at 2am a good idea. Great people, a lot of laughs, too much to drink, and a terrible showing of impulse control with a spoon led to a painful following day, so please accept this tip as gospel.

I’m gonna be tied up for the next couple of weeks, if you care. In our industry, when you start carrying a new drug, or in my case, when you keep your job and have to re-learn your drug for the THIRD time, the company sends you some brief night table reading. Then they put you in front of a firing squad and ask you to recite it word for word. And THEN, they pull you away from your family, test you on your ability to recount all of that data to a healthcare professional, all the while holding your family’s financial well-being and food for your children as incentive for you to get a score of 90% or better.

It’s all fairly low stress, and positive.

As you can maybe imagine, the chicken chili had less of an impact on my tract than the next couple of weeks will. The upside is that the amount of vomiting and shaking the next weeks will bring will be fantastic for weight loss. If I am strangely quiet it is because I may be focused on other things.

Although, some would argue that some quiet from me may be a good thing. I call those people “my wife and kids”.

Fair warning, this will not be the place for a laugh tonight. Just need to write some things down so I can try to put this day behind me, if that’s remotely possible.

Today I narrowly avoided becoming one of the thousands of Pharmaceutical Representatives that have been, and continue to be laid off. It has been going on for years, and one could argue, as I have, that we created this mess ourselves. And today, my company reduced the salesforce that I have been a part of by half, or better.

I’m sitting here tonight shellshocked, sad, with even other emotions I can’t seem to find titles for. After having worked here for five years, I developed a tighter bond with this family of co-workers than I had at any other company I have worked for past. And today, most of those friends were shown the door despite years of outstanding achievements, and I was kept along with few others for reasons that I may never be able to fully explain.

I remember the inner panic and financial devastation of being unemployed, I have been there myself. I also remember the feeling of boundless elation when I got this position, saving my young family from ruin. And tonight, I know I should be grateful for what amounts to a promotion, but the empathy I feel for these people I consider to be dear friends chokes away any feeling of happiness.

I know they will all be fine. They are fully capable and talented people with futures that remain bright. And tomorrow I will get up and embrace my own opportunities while they go in search of the window that just opened somewhere.

Tonight, I am grateful. And for them, I am hopeful. I hope they know how much I will miss them at work, but also how happy I am knowing that our friendship doesn’t need an employer to hold us together.

Welcome. Back.

I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time. Leave Blogger, get a new look, do things kind of differently. I had some of the usual fears…losing readers by moving to WordPress, learning a whole new platform, etc. But in the end, I had some ideas about how I wanted to do all of this online thing that mattered more than that stuff.

My wife quickly pointed out to me that she could barely tell the difference from my old layout…sigh…clearly she spends a lot of time reading me.

I’ll be doing some other things differently. You may not even notice, I’m just glad you came along. But I am opening up my blog from now on to a group of people in my life that didn’t know I did this stuff, and I may be throwing myself in front of the bus in the process. But considering the turmoil that some other parts of my life are in right now, encouraging some family and friends into the recesses of my twisted mind seems fairly tame. So, in short, my time of dancing for the anonymous is coming to an end today. I’m gonna try not to get all guarded in the process, but if I look like I am pulling punches, don’t be afraid to call my pansy ass out.

One more thing for the bloggers out there… There’s something big coming.

I can’t get into any kind of specifics yet, but I hope that each of you who wish to be affected by it get from it what you want. I know I’m being cryptic, that’s all I’m allowed to do right now.

Just stay tuned.

To my new readers, be kind. I’m a vulnerable little bitch right now.

And those of you who have…thanks for sticking with me.