A Hole In One

First off, to all of you who faithfully read my humble blog and up my hit counter, I would like to extend my thanks. My brother brought to my attention the fact that someone (who shall remain nameless but who came in SECOND to my first in the hold ‘em tourney) mentioned my south side blog to him the other day (more specifically, the new man in my life – who is still there, by the way) and kind of freaked him out. Kudos to you – there is nothing more entertaining to me than bothering or freaking out my brother. As much as I love him, I can’t help myself. Call it sisterly instinct. So keep reading and I promise to drop interesting tidbits about him every now and then. Unless he starts reading and commenting more often, then I may behave myself. (Yeah, right!)

Anyway, I was really rushed this morning and didn’t really have a lot of time to think about what to write about today. So I am reaching into the vault of info stored deep within and selecting a story rather than an issue to discuss today. I previously mentioned that as an injury paralegal, I hear many interesting stories. The things people try to sue over are amazing. And I thought it might be fun to share one of my favorites. Keep in mind that this is a TRUE story, I mean, come on, you can’t make this shit up if you tried.

One of my main jobs as a paralegal is to take “potential client calls” and screen them for the attorney. Which in a nutshell, is talking to these people, getting as much information as possible, and then passing this info on to the attorney to see if it is, in fact, something he wants (or is able) to handle. I can spend anywhere from ten minutes to almost an hour with these people, depending on the nature of their injury and the circumstances surrounding it. The reason being is that contrary to popular belief, you cannot sue over just ANYTHING. First, there must be liability on someone other than yourself (and no, you can’t blame God). Second, there must be an injury present, which has been confirmed by a doctor. NOT A CHIROPRACTOR. I know a lot of people swear by chiropractors, but let me tell you, attorneys HATE taking on cases with only chiropractic care. This is because insurance companies don’t consider anyone without an MD to be a real doctor, and therefore even if your chiro bill is in the thousands, will only offer a few hundred to settle. Regardless of how much better they made you feel. I know it sucks, but it is the God’s truth. So once these two things have been established, I need to find out the specifics, when and how it happened, any witnesses, if it was a car accident – any tickets issued, etc and so on.

So, on this particular day, I am busy doing something on the computer (I would assume, at least, I don’t remember EXACTLY what I was doing) when my phone rings. The receptionist informs me that I have a potential on the line. With a heavy sigh, I tell her to put it through. You never know exactly what kind of person will be on the other end of a potential call. Right from the start, I know this will be something different. Mainly because the woman on the phone starts by telling me she is calling for her husband, and that this is a delicate matter. My ears perk up, sensing something a little more interesting than usual, and she continues.

She proceeds to tell me that her and her husband had gone to the Sybaris, and starts to explain that this is an “intimate getaway” for couples. I tell her I am familiar with the Sybaris. (For those of you who are not, “intimate getaway” is a polite way of saying a “sex castle” – albeit a decidedly more expensive and classy place than those on Manheim Avenue – not that I’ve BEEN to any of those places, of course.) So she goes on and says that she and her husband were au naturel and hanging out in the swimming pool in their room. (Apparently they went a bit upscale.) This swimming pool also had a “hanging waterfall” overhead, and in order to create the waterfall, water is sucked out of the pool and into the waterfall, causing a kind of recycling thing. (For those of you skilled in the art of foreshadowing and think you know what is going to happen, you are probably right, but trust me, it gets even better.) So here they are, hanging out in the pool. She is sitting on the edge of the pool, and her husband starts to approach her. When he gets to the side of the pool, while standing in the water next to the wall, he feels an unnatural suction and the next thing he knows his tallywhacker (not the word she used, but SOOO much more colorful, don’t you think?) is stuck in the suction tube for the waterfall.

Well, she said she jumped in the water right away, and her husband started to panic because he couldn’t free himself from the suction. She actually had to help him pull it out. Poor thing, she told me their evening was completely ruined, because he was in so much pain, he couldn’t even perform. She said poor Mr. Willie (again not the term she used) was all black and blue and not able to rise to the occasion at all. Then, in the morning, he was actually peeing blood. So when they checked out, they told the person at the front desk, who she indignantly told me didn’t seem to give two shits. She said the person was insensitive and rude, and didn’t even offer them a comp. They proceeded to leave, and by this time her husband was in so much pain, they stopped at the ER on the way home.

Ok, here is the interesting part: I asked her what happened in the ER, you kow, what diagnosis the doctor had given her husband. And here’s what she said: “The doctor told him it was broken.” I KID YOU NOT. Now, I may not be the biggest authority on sex, but I do recall from my fifth grade “Our Bodies, Ourselves” class that even though it may be called a “boner,” there is no actual bone in this part of the male anatomy. So I questioned this diagnosis. Gently. Because you don’t want to piss off a potential client, no matter how stupid they are. But she kept insisting it was broken. (I was almost tempted to ask her if he was put in a cast, maybe with a little sling, but I held back.) Because it was broken, she said, it would take a long time to heal and may never work properly again. That said, I put her on hold and went to talk to the attorney.

When I repeated the story for him, I told him I deserved a bonus for not laughing the whole time I was speaking to this woman. As it was, he was unable to keep a smirk off his face while I replayed it for him. Especially the “broken” part. (At which time, may I add, he actually had the nerve to ask me if I realized that there was no bone in the, you know… duh!!) So he told me to ask her if the bruising was still visible, and if it was, to have her take pictures and mail them to us to examine, since “a picture is worth a thousand words.” I stood there with a goofy smile on my face, not sure if he was seriously asking me to tell this woman to start snapping porn shots of her husband and drop them in the mail. But he was, and he explained that he doubted the husband would want to do that, because of the sheer embarrassment, and it would be a easy way to get rid of her.

So, I went back to the phone and told the woman exactly what I was told to. She took down our address, thanked me, and hung up. And the attorney was right – we never got any pictures.

I spoke to one of my cousins about this, and she made a very good point. She said she doubted this was an “accident,” and that the desk clerk probably was used to the situation. “Think about it,” she said, “you got a guy naked in a pool with a hole in the wall about even with his schlong that is suctioning stuff. Tell me he didn’t stick it in on purpose just because he was a guy, and wind up getting more than he bargained for.” Hmmmmmmmmmmm…………