Fixing The Broken Systems

If anything turns my lip, it's these posts. How do you manage to stay married?

You don't get divorced.

Being married doesn't mean you are happy or even living with your spouse. Marriage does not indicate love, respect or...anything. It is a legal and often religious binding contract

Sorry, folks.

Divorce also doesn't mean someone broke "marriage." Or because you got divorced, you didn't work hard enough or you aren't good enough. I have family members and friends who have been married for a long, long time and see each other a couple times a year for public type functions. Otherwise, they just do their own thing.

Anyhow, for this post - if this couple has been married for 65 years, let's assume they got married in the 1940-1950s, right?

Remember, a woman's career and life-work was considered working on getting married and being married - she was not expect to go to college or work, she was only expected to find a husband. After finding a husband, she was expected to breed.

Not that there is anything wrong with this arrangement - it's just that it was the ONLY arrangement that existed for men and women.

Let's check on a little timeline of why marriages worked so well based on this slice of "when it was broken we fixed it."

• 1908: Oregon limits the workday for women to 10 hours
• 1940: WW2, most men went to combat leaving women alone
• 1941: Wonder Woman is introduced (Just like to mention this)
• 1940: Marital conflicts were usually handled within the home and kept private (Problems? We didn't talk about them so they didn't exist)
• 1950: Domesticity was idealized in the media, and women were encouraged to stay at home. Women who chose to work when they didn't need the paycheck were often considered selfish, putting themselves before the needs of their family
• 1950: Sex was viewed as a key component of a marriage. Without an effective female-controlled contraceptive, young wives faced three decades of childbearing before they reached menopause
• 1974: Equal Credit Opportunity Act passes in the US. Until this, banks required single, widowed or divorced women to bring a man along to cosign any credit application, regardless of their income. That's right, women could not get credit or often have access to money without a man
• 1978: The Pregnancy Discrimination Act is passed in the US. Until the law was put into effect, women could still legally be dismissed from their jobs for becoming pregnant. Can't get birth control? Married? Pregnant? Get thee home!
• 1980: Sexual harassment is first defined by the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, although a court had heard the first case in 1977. Up until this point, women could be openly abused outside the home.
• 1993: Marital rape becomes illegal. That's right. 1993, it became illegal for men to rape women

Experts suggested that wives consider whatever they were doing or not doing to cause their husbands to cheat, drink or abuse them. Women could not leave their marriages, they could not support themselves and "experts" easily told them it was their fault.

Husbands and wives of the 1940s began having children at a younger age on average because of lack of birth control. Therefore, most spouses learned to relate to each other in the context of parenting together early on. Couples had more children on average as well, as birth control methods were significantly limited.

Imagine that burden on people today.

So, is this to say all people who have been married for 60+ years are unhappy or all the marriages of those times were unhappy? No.

But, let's not pretend because time has past after a contract has been signed, everything is fantastic and we all need to learn a thing or two because that contract was not broken.

Make you own decisions. Walk away when it's right to walk away. Ain't no shame in admitting a mistake, in leaving a bad situation or even trying again. Don't stay in any type of bad relationship because you think the length of time you suffer is a "good" thing.

Be equal. Be smart. Be kind. Love.

The Chip Kid

Growing up in a crime-free type suburbia of engaged parents and lots of grass, I know I had a very certain childhood. I knew this more when our neighbors brought in a kid from a really bad area outside this landscaped world where horrible things were kept quiet until they were found out..and then someone’s parent went into the woods to off themselves.

This kid was in some type of program, my mother said, where they got “adopted” for a summer and lived up the street from me.  There was a good gang of us on my street so having another kid to hang out with and stuff was cool – we didn’t need some type of explanation or resume.

Another neighbor had her nieces stay over once. They left after some type of trial…anyhow…

I didn’t really get it as a child.

As an adult, I totally get how getting your young child out of the roughest part of the city during a time when there is no school or stuff to keep the kid occupied – it could be lifesaving. I don’t remember the kid’s name, but, he was younger than me. That was a big deal because I was always the youngest and…like…less fun than the other kids.

He could hang out with the older kids, though. I was still annoying.

I do remember one time, he walked around with a box of matches, he was lighting them and throwing them on the grass while he ran around with some other kids from our neighborhood. I told him I was going to tell on him, which is the worst thing you can tell another kid.

Kid: *lighting match* It’s my word against yours
Me: WHOA. Well…well…I can get evidence!

I spend most of that afternoon looking for matchsticks in the grass. I didn’t find any, as I recall. I told my Dad about it – not because the grass could catch on fire but because I could find proof to back up my story.

So, for us, he was a bad kid. He was dangerous and rebellious and funny and there is nothing better than that when you are like seven-years-old. Givin’ lip to adults and stuff. Phew. He was a blast.

But, he really wasn’t a bad kid or a dangerous kid. He was just a kid. Like us. Bored.

So, we had this neighborhood picnic once a year where we all went to the one house with the pool. Hanging out there, he was this calm, funny kid who was both out of place and so welcomed in our group. I remembered we all had burgers and the adults were asking if we wanted chips.

Kid: I want one chip
Us: What? One chip?

He held up one finger. He put the chip IN his burger and ate it. This was probably – wait – literally – the greatest thing he taught us. CHIPS IN THE BUGER! For summers long after, we would put a chip or two in our sandwiches or burgers so we could get a bite of chip with each bite.

As an adult, I can see the crunch-worthy structure. I can also see a kid who probably was taught that food was finite and by putting one chip in your sandwich, you don’t need as many. So, you have more for later or a sibling.

He never came back to our neighborhood and years later Mom told me that his brother had been shot and killed. I think everyone just lost contact in the shuffle and about a year ago the lady who “adopted” him died, too.

The thing about the Chip Kid, parents saw him as the sum of adult choices. He was become the sum of their worries and controls. They were running damage control on him. He was dealt a bad hand, no argument there. And yet, when he was allowed to just be a kid - even in the midst of all this stuff - he was...living this story.

For all the stories he had lived and all the ones he lived after - this was the story that the adults didn't see or that they couldn't see. Or that they didn't need to see.

Sometimes I tell my friends who are parents – who are stressed and trying to be all like Pinterest and over protecting the micromanaging process of living - that they are forgetting what it’s like to actually be a kid.

Childhood is inherently magical, even when it isn’t.

There is always magic.

Fringe Thanksgiving Message

For all you who struggle to eat and struggle with food, who are equally bombarded with the classic “how not to gain weight” and “how to lose weight” from MLM schemes urging you to buy their powders and potions to keep slim and appealing.

And when you say “no” you are met with, “I wish I could be ____ as you…”

For all those whose daily life is impacted by a tricky or broken digestive system that is too graphic to talk about polity and is easily dismissed because “you don’t look sick.”

I get the frustration of this time of year when all professional “team building” and social media games consist of being asked “what’s your favorite thanksgiving food” or “what is your favorite candy” or “what is your favorite pie” to be followed up by “but if you could eat, what would it be?” in attempts to dismiss conditions and struggles to normalize everything.

For all of you out there who get that this time of the year will never be about food, and knowing how hard that is to say because the rhetoric of the season untimely means family and friends are almost equal to a green bean casserole or slice of pie and sometimes people don't understand that you cannot “just sneak a bite, real quick.”

For all of those who finally found that thing you can eat so you can sit at a table and eat with people and feel normal… and then someone say “Is that all you’re having?” or “ewww, that’s gross, I could never be happy with just that.”

For all of those who are tempted by well-meaning people who earn commission by saying they can fix you if you buy that trendy thing... but your struggle does not have a quick fix because you are not broken. You are who you are and I, for one, am perfectly ok with you.

And I get it.

I love you.

I am thankful for your bravery, your ability to smile, for your weight (whatever it is), for your courage and snark. For your humor, your perception and perspective. I am so happy when something works for you and I am so sorry when it doesn't. You are awesome and you are more than your struggle.

Mostly, I am thankful for your person and that there are culturally appropriate times to express that without the need to consume something to make it palpable. 

Happy Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving Week 2017 Out of Office Message

I like to make feisty Out of Office (OOO) messages for my company people. I mean, who wants to read: "Hello, I am currently out of the office I will return on _____."

BORING. I like to anticipate needs, hopes and dreams with equal gusto. I also like to prove that I probably can be replaced by a machine.

Here is my current one since I took Thanksgiving week off.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello friend,

Today is a day you are emailing me – the excitement is palatial!

I, however, am not in the office and I’m not checking my email or voicemail or anything like that. Why? I’m on PTO. I’ll be back on Monday, November 27.

Here is a text base system for getting answers to your most pressing questions:

How can I book a training room?
Send an email to the local team and one of these locals here will get back to you.

You made me review online courses and I finished it. What next?
Fantastic, email me your findings and I’ll get back to you when I get back. You can also email Head Busy Bee your results for faster and more professional service.

I need to contact your direct leadership to let her know you’re awesome
Send that message directly to Manager. Copy Director if you are feeling extra sassy. It’s only with support of people like you that I stay employed.

I am IT and I found that file you accidentally deleted
I don’t use the term “hero” often…but you, my friend, are a hero.

Can you tell me why sometimes we use “payer” and sometimes it’s “payor?” I mean, what’s up with that?
Payor is a post-classical agent noun. In current English it is chiefly used in legal documents but not in the vernacular since “payer” is closer to how English styles its agent nouns.

What?
Agent nouns are nous that specifically refer back to a skill, trade or profession - basically, a verb. In English, they are built off of the verb and end with –er.

For example, if you bake you are a bake-er if you dance you are a dance-er. Thusly, if you pay on a bill, you are a pay-er.

Why is there “payor” then?
About 40%-60% of English comes from Latin and those roots are preserved in all types of wacky ways. Agent nouns from the classical and post-classical Latin period pick up the suffix of -or.

For example, if you have a book published, you are an auth-or. If you operate on people, you are (hopefully) a doct-or. If you conquer a nation, you are a conquer-or. So, if you pay, you are a payor.

Then it would be beggor or begger...?
Beggar is from Old French and keeps that French tradition in the form of its suffix –ard.  ‘cept English chopped off the “d.”

Don’t worry, you can still see this French tradition in words like bastard, buzzard and coward.

So it is lieor? Lier? Lieard?
Liar is an agent noun probably from Anglian that got into Old English and trumped a lot of similar Dutch and High German words.

Ok, ok. Payor or payer, which is right?
I would consult with your institution’s manual of style. When in doubt, I would use “payer.”

*wink*
*double finger gun*

Maddie
Direct Line: XXX-XXX-XXXX
Non-Direct Line:  XXX-XXX-XXXX ext. XXX
Email: StoriesbyMaddie@gmail.com

The Time When I Learned About PTSD Before I Knew It Was PTSD

After I graduated college and got fired from my first job – ‘cause I’m excellent – I had to move back home. My parents were always clear that I could always come home because they weren’t going to support me if I couldn’t support myself if I wasn't at home. I mean, within bounds of reason.

My second job at the time of me being fired paid about $40 a month, which, was not a good deal. So, I had to move home while I looked for ways to support myself.

Anyhow, I was working at the Body Shop part-time in the mall and I was working with this girl. I actually forget her name – she was pretty, though, with short blond hair. I’ll call her Suzanne because that’s the first female name that came up on the TV while I was writing this.

She was fun, actually. A little quiet, but, fun. The store was high-volume but very small so working with someone you got along with was key to having a good day.

We had a good day working and we were closing up.

When closing the store you had to do some register stuff, then count all the cash. The ticket from the register tells you how much you should have, then you take out everything but $100 and put it in the safe. We close one register about a half an hour before the mall closes, then the other. Tacks on about 30 minutes to how long you are going to be there.

I still remember that because it’s like the same everywhere and I worked a couple retail jobs after this one.

So, I close the doors and lock up and she is standing at the second register – and like, shaking. She’s got the money in her hand and you can tell she isn’t counting. She’s trying to count or rather, going through the motions of counting and just shaking.

Then she is scampering between the office and the register as if she isn’t sure how to do the cash thing. There is a chaos to her as if she is a child and some parent is screaming at her and she is trying to…I don’t know…fix the broken vase she just knocked over.

I wanted to get out on time. And I've dealt with crazy. So, I moved in and helped her count the coins. She is getting more upset because division of labor is part of the whole retail thing – you got to carry you half and I closed the other register so she is either going to close this thing now or she is hopeless.

I don’t think that, but, the unwritten laws of retail are harsh.

Suzanne: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
Maddie: No big deal. Look, we’re done.
Suzanne: I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…
Maddie: Nothing to be sorry about.

And then in the midst of all this...

Suzanne:…A year ago today I was sexual assaulted and it’s dark out and…

I have no idea what else she said. I also didn’t really didn’t know what “sexual assult” was. This was back in the day when women were either proven to be raped or “nothing happened.” Unless a penis goes into the vagina – I guess it didn’t really count no matter how little you wanted to be touched – anywhere. I think this is important because we hide behind these terms to make something that is violent and and crime more ok to other people.

Maddie: Do you want me to call security?
Suzanne: I call them so much, I can’t do it again. They always come but…

It’s a guy. Security is always a guy. She would be alone with some guy while reliving what some other guy did to her.

Suzanne then tells me what happened – I don’t think I asked because it wasn’t important to me to know it, it was only important to support her. She tells me she was active on her campus for women’s safety. Making sure women know they can call someone if they need to be walked home from the library to their dorm at night and stuff or even making sure security is around and going through buildings and stuff.

She tells me she was part of this committee that worked hard to get the school to put in “blue boxes” – those phones when you pick them up they automatically ring at the security place and you can get help.

One memeber was this guy who was her friend. And one night, after they had a rally or meeting type thing on campus, he walked her home saying he wanted to make sure she got to her dorm ok since her roommate had gone home for the weekend. They got to her dorm and he wouldn’t leave. At first, it was like when a friend stops by, you maybe invite them in, watch a TV show. Whatever.

But, she said he wouldn’t leave and then he…sexually assaulted her. And she can't be out at night in the dark because it happened at night and she doesn't like to work night and she had to today and it's too dark now....

As an older adult now, I think there was more than just someone grabbing her boob or something. She was alone, she was trapped, no one was coming into her dorm room. He hunted, targeted, trapped and did whatever he wanted with her. It was rape.

A year to the day after it, she is a living wreck, pouring the story out with all these little details. Not about the event – just everything.

I do what I know how to do – I just tell her it’s ok. I mean, her situation wasn’t ok, but there was no danger around her right now, it's not happening right now, it was only inside her. I can’t fix what is insider of her. Then I did the only think I knew I could do – protect the f**king hell out of her.

Maddie: I am here! You hold my hand. You stay with me. I’m going to take you to your car, I will follow you home, I am going to do anything you need, you got it?

She is crying – not like sobbing or like crying in gratitude – it’s the type of cry where you don't know you are doing it. You vision just blurs. I, at least, know that type of cry.

She gets her things and I march out of that store with her. The mall is dead closed - all the gates are down. It sort of peaceful when you work there but I could see every shadow she saw. I made sure to march down those halls and look around corners for her even though I knew no one was there.

I took her the fast way out through the loading docks, which are actually super creepy and smells like pee. She was ok with that. We took the elevator to the top of the parking...thing and I remember having her stand back while I walked into the box, checked it top to bottom and then had her come in. She didn’t want to take the stairs because it would be easier to be attacked there. I kept her behind me while we rode to the second level. Then I walked out first and told her it was ok to come out.

Suzzane: I don’t think I parked here…oh no!
Maddie: Ok, come with me.

I took her to my car and we drove to her car. I mean, I wasn’t going to walk around all over the mostly empty parking garage. And she was a mess.

Suzanne: I'm so sorry. You must think I am crazy. I’m so sorry.
Maddie: YOU HAVE NO REASON TO BE SORRY, SUZANNE! NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS YOUR FAULT! YOU ARE NOT WRONG YOU ARE STRONG AND AMAZING AND YOU DO WHAT YOU GOT TO DO BECAUSE I AM HERE!

(no, I didn't yell that, it was just what I was thinking so hard at the time)

I got her to her car. I followed her out of the mall parking lot to the stream of normal evening traffic. I never saw her again.

That's dramatic. It's not because she died but when you work part-time you generally don't see a lot of people again and again.

I just remember her story about what predators really are. I wondered which of my guy friends would rape me for a moment. In present day, maybe it's a thought a lot of people don't want to have or a thing that happened that people don't want to express.

I remember she kept apologizing for her fear. She kept saying how sorry she was. Like my care of her was somehow an inconvenience to me. Like I cared about...having to care...and she needed to be sorry.

She should not apologize, ever, and we all should care. And because we care - because someone cares - it makes what happened wrong and that guy a bad guy and a criminal and not someone who belongs mingling in society like nothing ever happened. He needs to be sorry, she does not.

Later I learned about PTSD. That’s PTSD. She was suffering with PTSD. She couldn’t function as soon as the sun went down. She couldn’t even call for help. She just lived in this state of fear and being sorry for someone else's crime that hurt her.

Once it was named, I don’t know, it felt less approachable than Suzanne's story was. If someone had PTSD it was because they went to war and the media said you just avoided them because you don’t know what will trigger them or what will happen.

I also had this feeling....belief.... when I learned about PTSD, that it was something I couldn’t do anything about. I’m not trained. I’m not good at it. I was powerless against it and so was everyone but people went to school to study it.

And that's not right, either.

I think if one person can wreck another person like that – we all have to step up. I learned from her I didn’t have to experience what she was going through to step up. I didn’t have to dismiss it or process it at any level other than she needed help. I had to walk into that war-room of her fear and do something to protect her. To take some small piece of stress from her.

I don’t know what happened to her. I would like to think the worst of the nightmare is over for her. I would like to think that she is using her story to touch other lives and walk into the war-room of other people’s fears.

I'll never know for sure, so, I'll believe that.

Words I Like

Here is a list of words I like from each letter of the alphabet:

• Alchemy
• Aprication
• Bobcat
• Catharsis
• Cattywampus
• Dodecagon
• Equinox
• Fiscal
• Fester
• Fritiniency 
• Gubernatorial
• Havana
• Ink
• Juxtaposition
• Kibble
• Lapis lazuli
• Mantel
• Melancholy
• Nomenclature
• Noodle
• Opioid
• Pugnacious
• Platter
• Quintet
• Retrograde
• Retort
• Rubric
• Silk
• Salon
• Tray
• Ukulele
• Vehicular homicide
• Waterloo
• Xiphoid
• Yack
• Zebra
• Zipper

The Time I Got A Boyfriend in College

Back in college, my roommate Wanda found this guy online. Since online stuff was still pretty new to her and meeting someone from online was scary – and we were in college – she set up a meeting.

I use Wanda's fears as something I didn't have. I was no great expert at this stuff, that's for sure. 

I went as the muscle because I’m a large-and-in-charge type lady. I also had a group of online-only friends so I was less afeard of being weirded out by meeting someone. You just want to avoid being killed and raped. Or raped and killed. Whatever.

Not to be outdone, her soon-to-be boyfriend showed up with his own large-and-in-charge friend. Big dude.

We all sat down and talked in this coffee type coffee place that was not really public – but whatever. And when the time was right, she and her really-boyfriend walked off to have some alone time chatting without the fear of murder and/or rape.

I look to the dude across from me...

Maddie: We going to make something of this?
Him: Uh. Sure.

And that’s the story of how I got my first boyfriend.

The Time I Went Casket Shopping

Back in the day, I was trying to be useful by getting all my funeral stuff down. So, one lunch break, I went coffin shopping. I mean, it's good to be prepared...

Friend: What are you doing?

Maddie: Looking at caskets.

Friend: Why are you looking at caskets?

Maddie: No reason.

Full nondisclosure, it wasn't for "no reason." I had been planning my funeral so if I did die it would be easier on people. Most people are not exactly into doing that, so, it's more normal to claim I'm whimsical than in a bad situation.

Maddie: Ooo, this is a nice one. $900 bucks! Dark brown, light copper finish. Oh crap, it has those creepy praying hands on the inner lid. I don't want to be looking at that.

Friend: First, you'd be dead. Second, you are being creepy.

Maddie: Look at it.

Friend: I mean, it is a cool looking casket. What about the purple one?

Maddie: I hate that flower detailing. Plus, it's over $1000.

Friend: You only die once.

Maddie: True. Also, since the odds of me getting married are slim to none, I'm sure I could spend any wedding dress budget on a casket.

Friend: How much is a wedding dress.

Maddie: Let's say, low-end, $2000?

Friend: That's a lot.

Wedding can be expensiveness, so are those dresses. Now that I survived a wedding, I can say I'm so glad I will never have to go through that again. I wish I could not have gone through it at all.

Maddie: What's with these flower detailing? Urg. It's like an old person's home.

Friend: Old people are the largest consumers of caskets.

Maddie: Ooo. How about an urn? This one comes with a stylish display box. And this one has six min-urns in one display box. Would six people want my ashes?

Friend: These are a four-pack.

Maddie: And an oversized one. Hm. Do you think if I got really fat I'd need an oversized one?

Friend: I think humans are like 80% water. Oversized urn people have got to be showing off. Do you want to be cremated?

Men generally produce more ash than women do because their bones are denser. The body fat is all consumed during the cremation process. The amount of ashes that remain after a body is cremated is around 1-2 pounds

Maddie: I could get this six-pack urn set, right, and then auction each off. Also, I think by the time I am dead, whatever the living want to do with me is fine. Maybe I could donate my body to science.

Friend: You'd probably be dissected by some med student. Hey, here's one with the American flag.

Maddie: I do like America.

Friend: It says, "In fact, at an average cost of $2,400, a funeral may be the third most expensive consumer purchase after a home and a car."

Maddie: Maybe they have a used casket/urn section. . .

Friend: Yeah, I don't think so.

Maddie: This selection is sort of a let-down.

Friend: This conversation is a sort of let-down.

Maddie: OMG. Urns that are pendants! You can wear me.

Friend: Uh

Maddie: OMG, you can put the ashes in a pendent and wear them like a charm bracelet.

Friend: Mm.

Maddie: Earrings.

Friend: no.

Maddie: I don't have pierced ears. Ooo. An hourglass urn! I could be useful even in death! I hope I get to haunt something.

Friend: Really?

Maddie: Or get turned into a diamond. Yeeeeah. Years from now, some poor guys is going to be like, "Marry me Jane" and it's a diamond of my ashes. Bwhahahaha.

Friend: Unique, as always.

Maddie: Ok, back to work.

So, if you want to have some fun, plan your funeral. There are a lot of options out there. 

Why I’m The Worse ER Delivery Girl

One year, when I was in college, my mother said that summer I needed to get my wisdom teeth out. So I never went home. I got a “summer job” as acting station manager and program manager in the communications department.

Most of this was fancy talk for…uhh…IDK. I just made sure stuff was running while no one was around and painted stuff.

All of the college kids were moved to one dorm since the college rented out the other dorms to summer camps, sports camps and the Christen camps. The worst were the Christian ones – if you didn’t fall over kids having the sex with each other two to three times a day, it was weird. The other groups were far better behaved as far as tripping over them.

So, as a woman-person, I was in the ladies hall. I made friends with the other girls – maybe there were three or four of us on that hall. We all worked different times and stuff but I ended up hanging out with a couple of them and we had a good time.

Let me break it down:

• Rainbow: Had a car and tricked out dorm room with a rug and bean bag chair.
• Sprinkles: Always happy, fun. She was my summer-roommate. 
• Someone: IDK, I just know there was a third person. .maybe a fourth. Whatever. She bitched-out like a pussy when the sh** hit the fan.

The Set-Up
One night we decided we were going to go to the diner, because Rainbow had a car (ok, maybe it was Sprinkles, unimportant), and then watch a chick-flick and have a girl’s night in. We had a great time at the diner and then headed back to the dorm. I checked my messages when I got back while Sprinkles went to the ladies room and Rainbow set up the movie in her room.

Then Rainbow appeared at my door and says the following:

Something happened to Sprinkles. I think something happened to Sprinkles. I think she was attacked. I'm calling security

Well, I type that something happened into the messenger window to Boguslav Nikola (we were just starting to date - he is also featured in the Sexy-Time Cake Story) and that I needed to check some stuff out. In the course of Rainbow telling ME something was wrong, I became my human duty to fix it. And find Sprinkles.

I don't have a lot of friends, I can't let someone attack the few I got. Right?

I head off the bathroom to see what happened to Sprinkles. Help is useless if you only have a corpse when help gets there, so, I was going to see WTF was going on.This is when the other people who had been with us left. I stopped keeping track.

...Ruining my movie night...some type of killer in the bathroom.

Honestly, it wouldn't take much to get into the dorm and, as I later learned, there was no security you could count on to help you out.

The Stuff That Happened
Anyhow, these bathrooms are totally like every Japanese horror game, and per that horror culture, some awful sh** happens in these bathrooms. They are all small tile floors and walls, sinks lined up in one place, stalls in the other. You KNOW something bad could totally happen in there.

They are super clean and stuff, just...creepy...

I'm an America - I played games like Wolfenstein (the first one), Rise of the Tirade, Doom...and like Jedi Knight. I was prepared to deal with whatever because I learned everything I needed to know from this cluster of games and Resident Evil.

I was low to the ground, stalking in...

There is Sprinkles wearing her shirt and underwear but no pants. While I am a fan of not wearing pants myself, she was standing in front of the full-length mirror with a glazed look in her eye and swaying back and forth slightly. Something was up. Or at least off.

Maddie: Sprinkles, are you ok?
Sprinkles: [big smile] I’m fine.
Maddie: You sure. Let’s get you back to the room.
Sprinkles: [big smile]: OK
Maddie: Do you need help?
Sprinkles: [big smile] No

Sprinkles, apparently not noticing she is missing pants, walks toward the door and careens right into the row of sinks as if she was on some type of boat that just shifted. BOOM. Right into them. Almost goes down.

I did notice there is no blood or otherwise signs of a struggle.

Maddie: Let me help you
Sprinkles: [big smile]: I don't need any help

Sprinkles has a strong right-side lean. As in she was hugging the wall and sort of unable to straighten her body or stride. I tried to take her arm and she was not having in – in the nicest way possible. Because she's a really sweet girl.

Maddie: Do you notice you can't walk
Sprinkles: [big smile]:I can walk
Maddie: No you can’t
Sprinkles: [big smile]: I'm fine
Maddie: You sure you don't want help?
Sprinkles: [big smile]: I'm fine. I can walk just fine

I got her by the arm and helped her because she wasn't really able to fend me off or something. Also, Rainbow is really judgy when it comes to not helping people. You'll understand later.

Anyhow, our room was on the wall she was plastered to, and I didn't want her falling through the door or something. Rainbow was there, just getting off the phone and got Spinkles into her bed. Knowing Sprinkles was safe - I make a bee-line back to the bathroom:

• One: I want to find if there was a motherf**ker in there who messed up my friend.
• Two: Pants.
• Three: Evidence?

I quickly search the bathroom - I kicked open all the stalls - so probably a GOOD thing no one was in there. I ran to the other end of the hall to see if someone might have slipped out while I was helping Sprinkles to the room. No one. No one for miles. I couldn't find any evidence of an attack. Sprinkles herself was not bloody and if she had been raped in the slim amount of time she was alone in the bathroom, why would she still have on her underroos?

I found her pants - it looked like she walked out of her pants after she peed. She also peed successfully. No sign of weirdness there. I did not flush. Evidence...people, evidence.

I trot back to the room and Sprinkles is out of it. She is replying ok to what Rainbow is asking her, but, she’s not there. Then she passes out - she just falls asleep.

Now, I don’t know much about things, but, sleeping is like being dead and I didn’t want her to die so I got her to wake up and just kept rubbing her back and tying to make it uncomfortable for her to go to sleep again. And she says the most terrifying thing -

Sprinkles: What happened?

Then she passes out as Campus Security arrives. FINALLY...an adult. Campus security comes in and looks as us. We look at him. We are like all under 20. Sure, adults, but, totally not adults. We are actually scared, we called for help and help had arrived and we wanted so badly for someone to tell us what was happening - and that everyone was going to be ok.

Sprinkles starts to cry – the last thing she remembered was being at the diner and she has no idea how she got into bed, why her pants are missing, why we are calling someone – anything. Rainbow just makes sure Sprinkles is covered – because it’s not a crisis until someone sees your panties.

Campus Security: You ladies take any drugs tonight?
Rainbow: No
Maddie: No
Campus Security: Did she take any drugs?
Maddie: No
Rainbow: No – but she had cancer when she was a kid and...
Campus Security: Does she normally take drugs or drink?
Rainbow: No.
Maddie: No. Look we need some help here. Can you take her to the ER?
Campus Security: That’s not really what we do here. We don't know if she took something not around you guys.
Maddie: But something happened...
Campus Security: You sure you all didn't take some drugs?

Sprinkles is crying, I am rubbing her back. I'm ready to give a run down of everything in the bathroom while Campus Security continues to let us know it's not his job to do...anything?

Rainbow LEAPS into action – because the motherf**ker we just called for help only was interested in what drugs we had, not about the fact that something really, really wrong was happening and someone was in distress and we needed help.

I had a strong suspicion movie night was ruined, at this point, also.

I don’t know when the guy left, he was not even going to call 911 or something.

He just left.

Looking back, I wonder how much blood or gore would make him want to take action. Or if he would just say it’s “not my job" or "rape/murder/broken bones/etc isn't really what we do here. Are there drugs?"

Let's focus on the real hero - Rainbow.

Rainbow speeds out of the dorm to get the car and bring it to the front of the dorm so we don't have to walk Sprinkles that far. Then I get Sprinkles up (and in pants) and we are walking out while she still can’t quite get her rudder straight – she keeps pitching right.

As the largest of the women folk in almost any group, I knew I could keep a firm hold on her and keep her from crashing into things like trashcans, doorknobs...the ground.

Our entire walk down a hall, out a set of doors and to the car was this:

Sprinkles: I can walk
Maddie: No you can’t
Sprinkles: I can walk just fine
Maddie: No you can’t
Sprinkles: I can walk
Maddie: No you can’t
Sprinkles: I can walk. You can let me go
Maddie: No you can’t
Sprinkles: I can walk
Maddie: …fine…

I picked a really bad time to prove to Sprinkles that I'm a dick - and by that,  I mean,

• First: She was in obvious distress and when someone is in distress, they can say and do whatever and you just make sure they are safe 
• Second: We had made it to the pavement and not grass, carpet or anything soft 

She goes down like a ton of bricks and busts her knee on the curb. It is a spectacular fall, because she is still leaning right so it's not like she went down like a normal person.

Maddie: Still think you want walk?
Rainbow: OMG, Sprinkles! Are you ok?!
Sprinkles: [laughing]: I'm so clumsy
Rainbow: *DEATH LOOK AT ME*

Yea, yeah. But, to my credit, Sprinkles was more open to help.

We got her into the car. She is bleeding pretty good from her knee but it’s one of those superficial bleedy things. Nothing is broken but since the skin is so thin, you get a LOT of blood. We gave her some take-out style napkins. You know, problem solved.

No blood in the car.

Sprinkles is coming around a lot more. She tells us everything – she took no drugs (not that she was the type), she just remembers the diner. There was no one in the bathroom that she remembers. She is positive but scared at the situation.

She is also really happy she wore cute underwear.

Two thumbs up to Rainbow, by the way. While I was helping move the body, she got Sprinkle's stuff which contained her medication and ID and stuff. We were f**king lucky we had both Rainbow had a car.

We get to the ER – which is not that far away, might I add.

NOT THAT FAR AWAY, CAMPUS SECURITY. WITH A WHEELBARROW WE COULD HAVE GOTTEN THERE BEFORE DAWN

In the ER the nurse at intake looks at her knee. I mean, Sprinkles is still stumbling around but with blood running down her knee it just makes that visible injury look so much like the focal point.

Nurse: Oh! How did this happen.
Maddie: Her knee isn’t the problem, it’s her brain. Don't worry about her leg
Nurse: I'm the intake nurse, I'll figure out what's wrong...

Touché, second adult we have encountered. Touché .

The nurse gives her some gauze and stuff to suck up the blood and Sprinkles gives her all her information and what she remembered happened. Rainbow and I fill in the missing time and what we know.

Into the ER we go to wait for testing and all that. I’m not like a GOOD waiter type person. So, I pick up one of these children’s book and start to read it. Yes, they have a stack of children's books in the ER. We end up playing a game where we try to remember the lines or talk in silly voices while reading and reciting.

Sprinkles is laughing. Rainbow is laughing. You know – typical sounds from an ER situation. Some tech pokes his head in – behind him, someone is getting their stomach pumped or something. Someone is dying.

Tech: It’s just odd to hear laughter in here.

Yep. Well, this is f**king girls night. Recognize. Also, we are all really scared. We all know we aren't "related" we are young, not family...what if they discharge Sprinkles because they think it's drugs or tell us we need to leave her?

Sprinkles is taken in for testing and Rainbow and I just stare at each other...

Rainbow: Do you know her parents phone numbers?
Maddie: Nope.
Rainbow: She's going to be ok.
Maddie: Yeah. Totally. She's going to be fine.

Because when no one tells you what you need to hear, you tell it to yourself until you believe it. And when no one helps you when you need help, you help yourself.

#belikerainbow

So, stuff happens – she is deemed fine, gets discharged and we take her back to the doctor the next day for more tests. Ends up Sprinkles had like a fake stroke or real stroke - something strokey. She had brain cancer as a child which didn't help the structures of her brain and something just happened.

As it turned out, the next week or so she already was scheduled for a lot of post-cancer tests that she gets every year or so, so, that was good. She wasn't allowed to drive so her parents had to come get her.

I didn't sleep until Sprinkles' parents arrived to take her home. I just kept waiting for something else to happen. Even Rainbow stuck with her as much as possible when she wasn't in the room.

I DID get a tin of cookies out of it from Sprinkle's mom which I shared with Rainbow.

I hate chocolate, anyway.

And for this collection of events is why I am a horrible ER Delivery Girl. And, also, women are awesome.