Gathering of Imbeciles: Book One

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  Several months ago, after several months of intermittent pain, Donald reconciled himself to the fact that he was going to need to seek medical advice about his wrist. He perused the union website doctor directory for a suitable practitioner and narrowed the list rather randomly based on how American the doctor’s name sounded. He finally settled on a Dr. Lee – like the Civil War general, but was somewhat dismayed that Dr. Lee, formerly Li, was not at all how he pictured him.

  The union approved doctor asked a bunch of questions, poked, probed and twisted the offending appendage, and finally, coming to no definitive diagnosis, wrapped it in an Ace bandage and prescribed three weeks rest at home. Donald cheerfully obliged, and three weeks later, feeling good as gold, reluctantly returned to work.

  After only two weeks back at the zoo, Donald’s right wrist again began to bitterly complain. It wasn’t a constant pain. It would subside just long enough for him to forget what not to do – turn a key in a lock, pour milk from a gallon jug, reach behind himself to wipe – only to remind him, with abrupt stabbing pain, that any one of these, as well as any number of other seemingly innocuous actions could no longer be taken for granted.

  Again, Donald sought relief from his union approved Medical Professional and again, finding no obvious cause for the condition, was granted three weeks off. And again, following his Doctor mandated respite, Donald felt well enough to feel bad about returning to work.

  Two more weeks and, like Freddy Kruger, the ailment returned, uninvited and unwelcome. The pattern repeated itself a couple of more times until, due to the fact that Donald’s doctor refused to see him again, he was forced to consult another union approved practitioner.

  The new GP had recently read a journal article describing a previously unknown malady. It afflicted mainly 20 to 40 year old males – although women of the same age group were rapidly catching up – who lived twenty or more miles from their place of work and who commuted by automobile. He was thoroughly thrilled to have diagnosed this new and interesting ailment right there in his very own office. It was called DeSoto’s Autosfinctus Tendonitis or more informally as “Road Wrist”, and was the result of unsanctioned, ire-induced hand signals.

  Apparently Donald’s pain was not the result of over-taxing his wrist at the zoo, but rather the result of over-use and over-extension of his middle finger during his commute to and from work. Thus he was granted no more rest time and strongly advised to keep his fingers in the car and firmly around the wheel at all times. Of course, this would prove to be too much to ask of Donald and so, unwilling to sacrifice his personal satisfaction at pointing out to other drivers what assholes they were, he endured the pain.