Today's tale is the kind that is too crazy to make up.
I'll just go ahead and get the fun part out of the way. The inconceivable has, after 2.5 years, finally happened: I've spilled a sample.
Yeah. Ewwwww.
For the record: urine isn't harmful in any way. Go ahead, splash around in it. Gargle the stuff. Put it on your cereal. Whatever. It can't really hurt you. There's no potential health hazard to spilling a cup of urine near or on yourself. So I'm not going to break out in pee-pox or anything, it just doesn't work like that.
Also for the record: it wasn't my fault. Just stop laughing and wait until you hear the story.
It's a normal collection all the way through, save for the weird questions Mr. Dawg is asking me. "Is you all alone in here, all day?" Yep. "So someone could just roll in here and rob the joint?" I suppose so, though all they'd get is my pocket change and a few boxes of sample cups. "Yo I got a license for this 9 millimeter in my pocket, aight?" (He doesn't actually have a gun. This is apparently a funny joke that people like to make.)
As I'm trying to give him instructions, Mr. Dawg blurts out, "Hey, yo, son, so like you drive the peemobile?"
Yes. Of course I do.
I don't know why Mr. Dawg had it in for me. Perhaps it had something to do with my complete lack of interest in his "jokes" and diversions. If you poke around the "how to cheat on drug test" sites enough, one of the suggestions they have is to try and distract the collector. Try to get them to skip a step. Try to fill out the form wrong. I wonder if that's what creates the Mr. Dawgs of the world: feeble attempts to keep my mind off the procedure. Create a loophole he can slip through later when his test inevitably comes back positive.
Well, Mr. Dawg actually managed to do it. Well done.
There is one crucial point in the collection which requires my undivided attention: pouring the sample from the cup into the bottle. Imagine trying to pour a quantity of liquid from a measuring cup into a two-liter soda bottle. That's about the ballpark here. It's not difficult, but if you slip you have a mess on your hands. Right at this crucial moment, the pouring, the sacred three-second ritual where I am not paying any attention at all to the donor... Mr. Dawg starts barking like a dog.
Loudly. And suddenly. Like a Baha Men concert in my brain. Like a crazed Arsenio Hall fanboy on speed.
My whole body jolts. The cup falls to the floor. The bottle tips over on the counter. 40-some mililiters of ick go spilling everywhere.
Mr. Dawg just bursts out laughing.
"What is your problem!?" I shout, wishing he really did have a gun in his pocket so I'd have something to murder him with. No court would convict me. "Your honor, the defendant's act was fully justified. The victim made him spill pee."
As Mr. Dawg is exploding with laughter, I quickly realize three things. First, there obviously isn't enough urine in the bottle to complete this collection. Second, this is not going to be a pretty clean up job. Third, the form is drenched and I can't replace it (as I don't keep spare forms for that particular lab).
I tell Mr. Dawg that because of his unacceptable juvenile behavior, he now has to go get another form if he wants to complete this collection. I also inform him that he won't be doing it here.
"Naw man, I done everything you said, I ain't gotta do nothin' else."
"Okay, fine. You can leave, then."
Mr. Dawg exits, still chuckling. I get my mop, my sponge, and various spray bottles and set to work making my workspace livable again.
No sooner am I done drying the area do I get a phone call from Mr. Dawg's would-be employer. "He says you spilled his, er, sample, and then got mad and kicked him out."
I delight in detailing exactly how I managed to spill his, er, sample. The employer doesn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either. He was barking like a dog? Yeah, right.
"We're just going to give him another form, and send him back. You close at 1:00, right?"
"Yes, but don't bother. I'm not going to do this collection."
"Excuse me?"
"Mr. Dawg's conduct was immature and I'm not having it. Check your list of third party collection sites and send him to another one."
"Wait. You can't do that."
"If he comes back here, new form or no, I'll refuse to do the collection. It's that simple."
"Who is your supervisor at [insert lab name here]?"
"I don't have one. I'm a third party collector, just like the other two dozen collection sites in the area, one of which will soon be as amused as I was by Mr. Dawg's childish antics."
"This isn't the way to do business."
"That's really a shame. I have to go now. Good day."
I really did have to go. Another client had walked in, and this one had the decency to not ruin my morning by acting like a five-year-old.
I don't really have any reason to believe that Mr. Dawg was trying to screw up the test on purpose. It's possible he just never learned the few basic rules of civility the rest of us take for granted. It's possible he actually thought he was being funny, that I'd just laugh it off and, I dunno, siphon the spilled bladder-juice into the bottle with a straw. It's possible he thought I'd hang his sopping form on some clothespins to dry, go out and have a beer with him, and someday tell my grandchildren about the greatest comedian I'd ever met.
The how-to-cheat sites tell you to try and disrupt the process. Now more than ever I know that's just an extra reason to pay attention. My general policy is that if someone acts stupid, treat them like they're stupid. If you don't want to be embarrassed, don't act like you're mentally incapable of accomplishing simple tasks without being a jerk. Either way, acting like a clown won't get you under my radar. But it might get you kicked out of my office.
In the rare case something on the form actually does end up wrong, the lab just faxes me an affidavit to sign and that's the end of it. So screwing with the form isn't even a good way to cheat. Go figure.
I'll just go ahead and get the fun part out of the way. The inconceivable has, after 2.5 years, finally happened: I've spilled a sample.
Yeah. Ewwwww.
For the record: urine isn't harmful in any way. Go ahead, splash around in it. Gargle the stuff. Put it on your cereal. Whatever. It can't really hurt you. There's no potential health hazard to spilling a cup of urine near or on yourself. So I'm not going to break out in pee-pox or anything, it just doesn't work like that.
Also for the record: it wasn't my fault. Just stop laughing and wait until you hear the story.
It's a normal collection all the way through, save for the weird questions Mr. Dawg is asking me. "Is you all alone in here, all day?" Yep. "So someone could just roll in here and rob the joint?" I suppose so, though all they'd get is my pocket change and a few boxes of sample cups. "Yo I got a license for this 9 millimeter in my pocket, aight?" (He doesn't actually have a gun. This is apparently a funny joke that people like to make.)
As I'm trying to give him instructions, Mr. Dawg blurts out, "Hey, yo, son, so like you drive the peemobile?"
Yes. Of course I do.
I don't know why Mr. Dawg had it in for me. Perhaps it had something to do with my complete lack of interest in his "jokes" and diversions. If you poke around the "how to cheat on drug test" sites enough, one of the suggestions they have is to try and distract the collector. Try to get them to skip a step. Try to fill out the form wrong. I wonder if that's what creates the Mr. Dawgs of the world: feeble attempts to keep my mind off the procedure. Create a loophole he can slip through later when his test inevitably comes back positive.
Well, Mr. Dawg actually managed to do it. Well done.
There is one crucial point in the collection which requires my undivided attention: pouring the sample from the cup into the bottle. Imagine trying to pour a quantity of liquid from a measuring cup into a two-liter soda bottle. That's about the ballpark here. It's not difficult, but if you slip you have a mess on your hands. Right at this crucial moment, the pouring, the sacred three-second ritual where I am not paying any attention at all to the donor... Mr. Dawg starts barking like a dog.
Loudly. And suddenly. Like a Baha Men concert in my brain. Like a crazed Arsenio Hall fanboy on speed.
My whole body jolts. The cup falls to the floor. The bottle tips over on the counter. 40-some mililiters of ick go spilling everywhere.
Mr. Dawg just bursts out laughing.
"What is your problem!?" I shout, wishing he really did have a gun in his pocket so I'd have something to murder him with. No court would convict me. "Your honor, the defendant's act was fully justified. The victim made him spill pee."
As Mr. Dawg is exploding with laughter, I quickly realize three things. First, there obviously isn't enough urine in the bottle to complete this collection. Second, this is not going to be a pretty clean up job. Third, the form is drenched and I can't replace it (as I don't keep spare forms for that particular lab).
I tell Mr. Dawg that because of his unacceptable juvenile behavior, he now has to go get another form if he wants to complete this collection. I also inform him that he won't be doing it here.
"Naw man, I done everything you said, I ain't gotta do nothin' else."
"Okay, fine. You can leave, then."
Mr. Dawg exits, still chuckling. I get my mop, my sponge, and various spray bottles and set to work making my workspace livable again.
No sooner am I done drying the area do I get a phone call from Mr. Dawg's would-be employer. "He says you spilled his, er, sample, and then got mad and kicked him out."
I delight in detailing exactly how I managed to spill his, er, sample. The employer doesn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either. He was barking like a dog? Yeah, right.
"We're just going to give him another form, and send him back. You close at 1:00, right?"
"Yes, but don't bother. I'm not going to do this collection."
"Excuse me?"
"Mr. Dawg's conduct was immature and I'm not having it. Check your list of third party collection sites and send him to another one."
"Wait. You can't do that."
"If he comes back here, new form or no, I'll refuse to do the collection. It's that simple."
"Who is your supervisor at [insert lab name here]?"
"I don't have one. I'm a third party collector, just like the other two dozen collection sites in the area, one of which will soon be as amused as I was by Mr. Dawg's childish antics."
"This isn't the way to do business."
"That's really a shame. I have to go now. Good day."
I really did have to go. Another client had walked in, and this one had the decency to not ruin my morning by acting like a five-year-old.
I don't really have any reason to believe that Mr. Dawg was trying to screw up the test on purpose. It's possible he just never learned the few basic rules of civility the rest of us take for granted. It's possible he actually thought he was being funny, that I'd just laugh it off and, I dunno, siphon the spilled bladder-juice into the bottle with a straw. It's possible he thought I'd hang his sopping form on some clothespins to dry, go out and have a beer with him, and someday tell my grandchildren about the greatest comedian I'd ever met.
The how-to-cheat sites tell you to try and disrupt the process. Now more than ever I know that's just an extra reason to pay attention. My general policy is that if someone acts stupid, treat them like they're stupid. If you don't want to be embarrassed, don't act like you're mentally incapable of accomplishing simple tasks without being a jerk. Either way, acting like a clown won't get you under my radar. But it might get you kicked out of my office.
In the rare case something on the form actually does end up wrong, the lab just faxes me an affidavit to sign and that's the end of it. So screwing with the form isn't even a good way to cheat. Go figure.
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