I was just telling this story to a friend of mine (it's what us older guys do...we tell old stories) and he thought it was pretty damned funny. I've always thought it is...especially as I lived it.
ERNIE & HOMER
When I was in college, back in the 80s, I had a friend named Ernie. He had cerebral palsy and was in a wheelchair. He also had, by choice, a colostomy bag...which we referred to as "Homer". You'll find out why in just a bit.
I'll admit, I thought that choosing to get a colostomy bag was a pretty radical idea. Being the kinda guy I am, I asked him about this choice. His answer was pretty simple and to the point. "I was really tired of shitting myself and having to wait for someone else to help me get cleaned up."
It really made sense! This was a young guy, in his mid 20s, with a dual degree in psych and criminology. He was bright! He lived on his own and handled his own affairs. There where, however, certain things he couldn't do. Like stand. Or walk. Or dress himself. Due to the cerebral palsy, he only had use of his left arm. While pretty much able to do a lot of things with it, like driving for instance, getting himself completely dressed, in/out of his chair, bed, the shower, etc. were not in his skill set. Not for lack of trying. There were a few times that I got calls in the middle of the night to help him get back in bed or into his chair. Or to help with "Homer". Sometimes, I'd just need to help him get into the apartment building...because he'd gone out, got drunk, and well...we've all been there.
"Homer" was a blessing in many way but also a curse. It meant no more sitting in his own shit for hours on end but it did require occasional assistance in emptying it, changing it, and maintaining the stoma. (For those that really want to know what that is, look HERE) He had a few people that helped but like the old saying goes, good help is hard to find.
As the semester was ending and I was looking for a way to keep from being homeless, Ernie made a suggestion: Why don't I become his "assistant" and help with all of the aforementioned. The state would pay me (and pay decently, I might add). The state would also pay me to go on vacation with him! In fact, he had a trip to Florida planned. A few phone calls and I was added along. It also meant he could get me to do the driving, thus making it easier to find a rental car.
We lived in the same building, on different floors, so this was a no-brainer. Of course I'd take the job! We were friends and hung out a lot anyway, so why not? While not thrilled about his early hours, I figured the man has to work so the least I can do is help him get ready.
Most of the routine was pretty simple. Get him out of bed, to the bathroom, help him shower, get him dressed, and he was on his way. I was pretty much 'on call' throughout the day, should an emergency arise. "Homer" wasn't too difficult, aside from the smell. Opening that thing up was like diving into a New Jersey sewer line. Pretty gagtastic. One of those smells that days later, out of nowhere, will appear in your nose. Imagine the smell of shit...but without the benefit of finishing it's way through the digestive tract, which in case you didn't know - actually filters a good bit of the stank out! The toughest part for me was maintaining the stoma but after a couple of weeks, it became pretty routine as well.
If we were going out someplace, to a bar or something, we'd take "Emergency Homer Packs" with us. These were one of my inventions. We kept them in a backpack on the back of his wheelchair. Each one consisted of paper towels, baby wipes, and rubber gloves, packed in a quart size zip lock freezer bag. Once I'd empty "Homer" into the freezer bag, I'd just close it up and throw it away. I'm sure it really freaked out the occasional janitor. It's not every day one comes across a bag of shit in the garbage.
ON THE ROAD WITH HOMER
Like I said, we were going on vacation to Florida. While not my favorite place in the world, a free holiday at the beach is a free holiday at the beach! And I was getting paid to be there! The trip was not without a few misadventures.
One day at EPCOT Center, we discovered that Ernie's stomach didn't handle Japanese food well. "Homer" was filling up and filling up fast! We had to get to a bathroom pronto! Only problem, the number of handicapped-accessible bathrooms were limited. Luckily, I got a map of all of them, and tilted Ernie's chair on it's back wheels and we raced to the nearest one. Heading straight for the handicap stall, I already had the Emergency Homer Pack out and as we opened the door, what do we see but some asshole middle-aged white guy in white pants taking a piss in the stall. I had Ernie's pants down enough to have "Homer" out and the look on this guy's face was sheer terror! I yelled for him to get out and he knew if he didn't, "Homer" was about to empty all over those white pants. Or worse...a "Homer-splosion"...which is exactly what you think it might be. Those colostomy bags are pretty tough...but they're plastic. They can only hold so much. (Note* Don't be a dick. Don't use the handicapped stall unless you really are handicapped. You don't want to run the risk of a face-to-face Homer encounter)
ERNIE LIKES THE LADIES
Like I said, Ernie was, in almost all ways, a typical 20 something. He liked to go out, he liked to get his drink on, and he really, I mean REALLY liked strip joints. As he wasn't the luckiest with the ladies, this was where he got the most attention from the ladies. Sure, he dated on occasion (and dated a few beauties too!), long story short, it never lasted. You had to feel bad for the guy. So, while not a fan of strip joints, I'd take him to one when he wanted to go and hang out with him like at any other bar.
One night in Florida, we were doing the tour of the OBT (Orange Blossom Trail) which, at the time, was well-known for it's large number of strip joints, dirty book stores, adult theaters, etc. Ernie was, in short, loving it. I, for the most part, felt completely creeped out.
We ended up at The Doll House, which was later mentioned in a Motley Crue video. As strip joints go, this place bordered on classy. Credit where due, the ladies there were really stunning. As we were having our first drink, Ernie offered up a bet. He wagered that he would have the best looking woman in the place hanging on him in 10 minutes. If he did, I bought drinks all night. If not, drinks on him.
Sounded like a pretty easy win for me, so I took the bet. If you know me, you know I'm not a gambling man. A "cheap bastard" would probably be a better description. I underestimated Ernie. He could be as conniving as any card shark.
Right after taking his bet, Ernie put on what I call "the gimp look". The sumbitch was milking it for all it was worth. He couldn't have looked more pathetic if he'd been holding a dead puppy!
His planned worked brilliantly. Almost too brilliantly. It didn't take 10 minutes. Hell, it didn't even take 5 minutes. In 2-3 minutes, all of the best looking strippers in the joint were all over him. "Poor little angel"...they were saying things like that. His smug mug just smiled at me as he said "Jack & Coke...and keep em coming my good man!" I would've been furious at being had if it weren't for the sheer brilliance of it...and how obviously happy he was. The night wasn't a total loss for me either. I got to talking with one of the dancers, I think her given name was Donna, and we hit it off. She had a great old powder blue 65 Mustang convertible. We hung out in the car a while, had a smoke and got to know each other a bit. But alas, I had to make sure Ernie was OK.
I went back in and some Marines had Ernie out of his chair, in their arms, on his back, while he tipped the dancers with bills in his teeth. He was living it up BIG TIME! Making friends everywhere he went...that was Ernie. You should've seen him in Vegas! (but that's another story)
Eventually, we had to get back to the hotel. I really should not have been driving. I'd had a few too many (Note* Never drink and drive!). I made the usual fool decision, thinking it was only 20 minutes or so to our hotel...I could make it.
I was pretty much a lead foot at the time. Apparently, I was also weaving a bit.
HOMER SAVES THE DAY!
Next thing I know, I see police lights come on behind me, and I hear the siren. FUCK! I figured I could handle a night in jail but Ernie? Man, that would be a disaster. At the very least, there'd be a Homer-splosion which would probably result in some other drunken asshole getting violent in the cells. But then I thought, HOMER! It was a quick idea but it had to work. It was our only chance. I just had to hope the cop wasn't too bright and had never seen a colostomy bag before.
I told Ernie to get "Homer" out, and to just sit there, look pathetic, and don't say anything. Maybe moan a bit like he's in pain.
I pulled over and rolled the window down. As the cop was asking where we were going, etc., I said "Officer please! If I don't get my friend back to our hotel room ASAP and take care of THIS (point to "Homer") he could die!" The cop shined his flashlight and a look of terror came over his face. "Homer" was pretty full at the time...mostly gas but still impressively disgusting looking. The cop asked what hotel we were staying at and gave us a full-speed police escort there!
Had that been all, it would still be a great story but noooooooo...it gets better. As we pull into the hotel parking lot, by the time I'm getting out of the car, the cop already has Ernie out and in his arms, waiting for me to get his wheelchair. The cop then opened the main door of the hotel and opened our hotel room door for us! I hurriedly wheeled Ernie into the bathroom, opened the gas valve on "Homer" (again, as gross as you're thinking), waited a minute then walked back out into the room. Officer Helpful was waiting with a look of great concern on his face.
"Is he OK? Does he need an ambulance??? What IS that thing????" he asked. I assured him Ernie would be OK and thanked him again and again for his brave, compassionate assistance. I even went so far as to ask for his name and badge number so I could call his captain in the morning and recommend him for a medal! He became Officer Humble at this point, saying things like "All in the line of duty, sir. Just doing my job." He acted like he did this all the time. After he left, I grabbed a beer out of the room fridge. As I opened it, I heard Ernie yell from the bathroom, "Hey! Are you just gonna leave me in here all night or what??????" Oops!
ERNIE & HOMER
When I was in college, back in the 80s, I had a friend named Ernie. He had cerebral palsy and was in a wheelchair. He also had, by choice, a colostomy bag...which we referred to as "Homer". You'll find out why in just a bit.
I'll admit, I thought that choosing to get a colostomy bag was a pretty radical idea. Being the kinda guy I am, I asked him about this choice. His answer was pretty simple and to the point. "I was really tired of shitting myself and having to wait for someone else to help me get cleaned up."
It really made sense! This was a young guy, in his mid 20s, with a dual degree in psych and criminology. He was bright! He lived on his own and handled his own affairs. There where, however, certain things he couldn't do. Like stand. Or walk. Or dress himself. Due to the cerebral palsy, he only had use of his left arm. While pretty much able to do a lot of things with it, like driving for instance, getting himself completely dressed, in/out of his chair, bed, the shower, etc. were not in his skill set. Not for lack of trying. There were a few times that I got calls in the middle of the night to help him get back in bed or into his chair. Or to help with "Homer". Sometimes, I'd just need to help him get into the apartment building...because he'd gone out, got drunk, and well...we've all been there.
"Homer" was a blessing in many way but also a curse. It meant no more sitting in his own shit for hours on end but it did require occasional assistance in emptying it, changing it, and maintaining the stoma. (For those that really want to know what that is, look HERE) He had a few people that helped but like the old saying goes, good help is hard to find.
As the semester was ending and I was looking for a way to keep from being homeless, Ernie made a suggestion: Why don't I become his "assistant" and help with all of the aforementioned. The state would pay me (and pay decently, I might add). The state would also pay me to go on vacation with him! In fact, he had a trip to Florida planned. A few phone calls and I was added along. It also meant he could get me to do the driving, thus making it easier to find a rental car.
We lived in the same building, on different floors, so this was a no-brainer. Of course I'd take the job! We were friends and hung out a lot anyway, so why not? While not thrilled about his early hours, I figured the man has to work so the least I can do is help him get ready.
Most of the routine was pretty simple. Get him out of bed, to the bathroom, help him shower, get him dressed, and he was on his way. I was pretty much 'on call' throughout the day, should an emergency arise. "Homer" wasn't too difficult, aside from the smell. Opening that thing up was like diving into a New Jersey sewer line. Pretty gagtastic. One of those smells that days later, out of nowhere, will appear in your nose. Imagine the smell of shit...but without the benefit of finishing it's way through the digestive tract, which in case you didn't know - actually filters a good bit of the stank out! The toughest part for me was maintaining the stoma but after a couple of weeks, it became pretty routine as well.
If we were going out someplace, to a bar or something, we'd take "Emergency Homer Packs" with us. These were one of my inventions. We kept them in a backpack on the back of his wheelchair. Each one consisted of paper towels, baby wipes, and rubber gloves, packed in a quart size zip lock freezer bag. Once I'd empty "Homer" into the freezer bag, I'd just close it up and throw it away. I'm sure it really freaked out the occasional janitor. It's not every day one comes across a bag of shit in the garbage.
ON THE ROAD WITH HOMER
Like I said, we were going on vacation to Florida. While not my favorite place in the world, a free holiday at the beach is a free holiday at the beach! And I was getting paid to be there! The trip was not without a few misadventures.
One day at EPCOT Center, we discovered that Ernie's stomach didn't handle Japanese food well. "Homer" was filling up and filling up fast! We had to get to a bathroom pronto! Only problem, the number of handicapped-accessible bathrooms were limited. Luckily, I got a map of all of them, and tilted Ernie's chair on it's back wheels and we raced to the nearest one. Heading straight for the handicap stall, I already had the Emergency Homer Pack out and as we opened the door, what do we see but some asshole middle-aged white guy in white pants taking a piss in the stall. I had Ernie's pants down enough to have "Homer" out and the look on this guy's face was sheer terror! I yelled for him to get out and he knew if he didn't, "Homer" was about to empty all over those white pants. Or worse...a "Homer-splosion"...which is exactly what you think it might be. Those colostomy bags are pretty tough...but they're plastic. They can only hold so much. (Note* Don't be a dick. Don't use the handicapped stall unless you really are handicapped. You don't want to run the risk of a face-to-face Homer encounter)
ERNIE LIKES THE LADIES
Like I said, Ernie was, in almost all ways, a typical 20 something. He liked to go out, he liked to get his drink on, and he really, I mean REALLY liked strip joints. As he wasn't the luckiest with the ladies, this was where he got the most attention from the ladies. Sure, he dated on occasion (and dated a few beauties too!), long story short, it never lasted. You had to feel bad for the guy. So, while not a fan of strip joints, I'd take him to one when he wanted to go and hang out with him like at any other bar.
One night in Florida, we were doing the tour of the OBT (Orange Blossom Trail) which, at the time, was well-known for it's large number of strip joints, dirty book stores, adult theaters, etc. Ernie was, in short, loving it. I, for the most part, felt completely creeped out.
We ended up at The Doll House, which was later mentioned in a Motley Crue video. As strip joints go, this place bordered on classy. Credit where due, the ladies there were really stunning. As we were having our first drink, Ernie offered up a bet. He wagered that he would have the best looking woman in the place hanging on him in 10 minutes. If he did, I bought drinks all night. If not, drinks on him.
Sounded like a pretty easy win for me, so I took the bet. If you know me, you know I'm not a gambling man. A "cheap bastard" would probably be a better description. I underestimated Ernie. He could be as conniving as any card shark.
Right after taking his bet, Ernie put on what I call "the gimp look". The sumbitch was milking it for all it was worth. He couldn't have looked more pathetic if he'd been holding a dead puppy!
His planned worked brilliantly. Almost too brilliantly. It didn't take 10 minutes. Hell, it didn't even take 5 minutes. In 2-3 minutes, all of the best looking strippers in the joint were all over him. "Poor little angel"...they were saying things like that. His smug mug just smiled at me as he said "Jack & Coke...and keep em coming my good man!" I would've been furious at being had if it weren't for the sheer brilliance of it...and how obviously happy he was. The night wasn't a total loss for me either. I got to talking with one of the dancers, I think her given name was Donna, and we hit it off. She had a great old powder blue 65 Mustang convertible. We hung out in the car a while, had a smoke and got to know each other a bit. But alas, I had to make sure Ernie was OK.
I went back in and some Marines had Ernie out of his chair, in their arms, on his back, while he tipped the dancers with bills in his teeth. He was living it up BIG TIME! Making friends everywhere he went...that was Ernie. You should've seen him in Vegas! (but that's another story)
Eventually, we had to get back to the hotel. I really should not have been driving. I'd had a few too many (Note* Never drink and drive!). I made the usual fool decision, thinking it was only 20 minutes or so to our hotel...I could make it.
I was pretty much a lead foot at the time. Apparently, I was also weaving a bit.
HOMER SAVES THE DAY!
Next thing I know, I see police lights come on behind me, and I hear the siren. FUCK! I figured I could handle a night in jail but Ernie? Man, that would be a disaster. At the very least, there'd be a Homer-splosion which would probably result in some other drunken asshole getting violent in the cells. But then I thought, HOMER! It was a quick idea but it had to work. It was our only chance. I just had to hope the cop wasn't too bright and had never seen a colostomy bag before.
I told Ernie to get "Homer" out, and to just sit there, look pathetic, and don't say anything. Maybe moan a bit like he's in pain.
I pulled over and rolled the window down. As the cop was asking where we were going, etc., I said "Officer please! If I don't get my friend back to our hotel room ASAP and take care of THIS (point to "Homer") he could die!" The cop shined his flashlight and a look of terror came over his face. "Homer" was pretty full at the time...mostly gas but still impressively disgusting looking. The cop asked what hotel we were staying at and gave us a full-speed police escort there!
Had that been all, it would still be a great story but noooooooo...it gets better. As we pull into the hotel parking lot, by the time I'm getting out of the car, the cop already has Ernie out and in his arms, waiting for me to get his wheelchair. The cop then opened the main door of the hotel and opened our hotel room door for us! I hurriedly wheeled Ernie into the bathroom, opened the gas valve on "Homer" (again, as gross as you're thinking), waited a minute then walked back out into the room. Officer Helpful was waiting with a look of great concern on his face.
"Is he OK? Does he need an ambulance??? What IS that thing????" he asked. I assured him Ernie would be OK and thanked him again and again for his brave, compassionate assistance. I even went so far as to ask for his name and badge number so I could call his captain in the morning and recommend him for a medal! He became Officer Humble at this point, saying things like "All in the line of duty, sir. Just doing my job." He acted like he did this all the time. After he left, I grabbed a beer out of the room fridge. As I opened it, I heard Ernie yell from the bathroom, "Hey! Are you just gonna leave me in here all night or what??????" Oops!
You 'da MAN!!!
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