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By Root 552 0

the next day. For five days straight. I would hold off going to the bathroom as long as possible since my foot throbbed painfully every time I brought it down from its elevation. I ran out of reading material early on day two, so I spent the remaining time just lying there, looking at the ceiling with my foot elevated on top of my gym bag. It was hell on Earth, a character builder like none other. I would have rather been outside doing something, anything, than cooped up in that place for five days straight. The only good thing about my injury was that I got to hear more war stories about guys who had been injured on the job: accidents at the paper mill, falls from second floors, and missing fingers. One guy showed me a huge scar above his knee that spanned half of the circumference of his thigh where he had almost cut his leg clean off with a chainsaw. I looked at my toe, and then I looked at his leg. And then I looked back at my toe. “Sissy,” I told him, pointing to my injury. “I bet your leg didn’t turn that color, did it?”

And each war story that I heard would end with the narrator exclaiming, “Wait, were you wearing steel-toed boots? Cuz you shoulda been wearin’ steel-toed boots. I’da been wearin’ steel-toed boots.”

Following the doctor’s orders was the easiest part of my injury since I wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. I took my medication and stayed on bed rest for those five days. Fortunately, Fast Company was able to survive those days without me, and when I went back five days after the injury, boss lady Jill was very accommodating about my injury. “I’ve got plenty for you to do,” she said. The doctor had informed me that I still wasn’t going to be allowed to move furniture for two to three weeks after my release from bed rest, so Jill put me to work around the office for twenty-five to thirty hours per week. She had me answering phones, filing paperwork, and performing other paltry office duties, but I didn’t hate it.

In hindsight, as I recollect my broken toe experience, I realize how fortunate I had been.

What if this had happened to one of my buddies who had been washing dishes and had no money saved up at all?

What if his boss wasn’t as tolerant? His injury would be covered by insurance, sure, but what would happen if he were let go?

What if I had broken my leg instead of a toe and I was sent home for two months instead of two weeks?

What if that experience happened to a working mom, and time off with a meager workers’ compensation check sunk her financially or she was unable to get her kids to and from daycare?

I suppose that these type of “what if” questions lead to even more questions than answers, and that the chain has to be broken off at some point. It happened; I hit a roadblock. Okay, now what do I do? I could complain about my situation and feel sorry for myself or I could get back on the horse. If nothing else, I was discovering that life just simply isn’t fair, but the difference emerges among the people that accept that ideal, embrace it even, and bask in the unsung glory of knowing that each obstacle overcome along the way only adds to the satisfaction in the end. Nothing great, after all, was ever accomplished by anyone sulking in his or her misery.

Office work at Fast Company provided a short enough release for me to take a recess from heavy lifting, but a long enough break for me to be rejuvenated and ready to get back to work.

And I was excited to get back out in the field. Even better yet, without Shaun. While I was laid up in the office, Jill received an anonymous letter from a customer complaining about Shaun’s drinking on the job. The customer wrote that Shaun’s antics were unprofessional and embarrassing for the company and that some sort of action should be taken. Jill had evidently had enough of Shaun’s mouth around the office anyway and receiving a letter like that warranted his immediate dismissal from the company. After nearly two months my partnership with Shaun came to an end. Some guys would miss him and others didn’t think twice about his dismissal.