Room 6 is a lady with an MRSA (Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus, a.k.a., the super-bug) infection in her pannus. Outside her room is a cart full of an assortment of gloves, gowns and masks. Ostensibly, so that we, as health care providers, don’t acquire that nasty little bug. And more importantly, so we don’t spread death and disease to the rest of our patients. I dutifully don the gloves and mask each time I go into the room. Half the time, I do all that, don’t ever lay hands on her, but still feel the need to scrub my mitts with toxic cleansers. Sometimes, I just speak loudly from the doorway so I don’t have to go through that silly charade. After she has completed her stay in the ER, the room will be deep cleaned and scrubbed with an antimicrobial cleanser that claims to kill 99.99999% of germs. The joke, you see, is that when she leaves the hospital, she’ll go directly to the King Soopers to squeeze the tomatoes, sample the deli meats, and rub up, down, and all over the donuts. She’s not the only offender. Those bulk bins of granola and dried fruit? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen some snot-nosed kid playing sand box in those things. And a couple of times, they weren’t even my kids. Yeah, I know. I also test out a grape or two to make sure it’s up to snuff. I am certain that I’m already colonized. So my paranoia has it’s limits. But I do lay down some squares on the seat before I pinch a loaf in a public bathroom. I don’t have the quad strength to levitate above the toilet seat. And it’s nice to relax when you take care of business, even if a thousand other assholes have sweated over the same spot. But yeah, I still take comfort in that paper thin Scott tissue repelling the layers of evil underneath me. No doubt, my MRSA patient, and all her family, have been violating the public toilet seats at Arby’s too.
A couple new design are now available for purchase. Walt Works Team
and Alchemist Wings
are now ready to throw down with the likes of Patagonia, J.Crew, and Ralph Lauren. So if you happen to know those guys, let em know we’re a comin’.
Claire strutted the Alchemist threads at the latest Louisville Farmer’s Market. It went over great. Lot’s of lookers, and yes, some of them were buyers too. Alchemist Tweets and Facebook will have a shout before the next booth, so all you crazies can go by the booth to check out the action. Special Market pricing and giveaways in the future.
In follow-up from the follow-up from the last post. Mr. “I-died-and-lived-to-tell-about-it” had clean coronary arteries on his heart cath. But he did get an internal defibrillator. So the next time he spontaneously goes into a lethal rhythm, he’ll get a heavy dose of electricity directly to Grand Central Station. It boggles the mind that you can be out shopping with your wife, laughing and joking, and the next thing you know, you’re dead. Whose twisted sense of humor is responsible for that?
Last week, Team Alchemist rode out to Super Hall. Left from my garage in the ghettos of East Boulder, rode to the Boulder Res, through the trails of Boulder Valley Ranch, up 36 to Left Hand Canyon, Over Heil, down Picture Rock, up the back side of Hall, around the lollipop, down the front side, then back the way we came. Some of us on 27 gears, some of us on one. Finished at Reuben’s Burger Bistro for a decadent feast of gourmet burgers, beer , and fried foods. That area behind the fence is actually a bike stable where you can park your steed before stepping into the eating area. We rolled in with dirt on our legs, salt in our hair, and sweat in our chamois. But it was cool. Reuben’s burgers are tributes to monuments of cycling, with names such as the Paris Roubaix, Alp d’ Huez, Eddie Merckx. So grungy, spandex clad folks like us were welcome to saddle up.
