Meet the Stress

The stress from the job is not doing the annual wellness exam. It's mostly a lengthy questionnaire about lifestyle and habits with the up-to-datest recommendations for how little to smoke or drink or eat and how often to get screening tests to catch cancer or osteoporosis early.  The stress is not knowing, each hour 5-6 times 6 a day, who or what will be behind the door.  The bonus stressors are "will the technology work, will my cell phone have a signal if I have an emergency, will the person talk/take so long that I'm late to the next person, etc. " That kind of stress.  And after a few sketchy places the first work week,  I know the full spectrum of surprises that can lurk behind the door.   I don't even have to be creative and dream up scenarios. 

from Urban Dictionary

There was the guy my age who led the conversation with, "WoW! I've never had a LADY doctor before." And then as I'm seated at his kitchen table and his dog is snarfling under my skirt, he says, "Fido hasn't seen a LADY's ankles for a while." (Name changed to protect the dog.)*

Then there was the man who, unlike Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, who uses antlers in all of his decorating, this man uses boots in all of his decorating.  In the center of his kitchen table sat a big hunting boot filled, very vase-like, with artificial flowers.  And I could see a coffee table centerpiece of a life size black Army boot spilling out a bouquet of American flags on sticks. We got started with the questionnaire. I do look up to make eye contact with the client in between my data entry into the iPad, and I noticed that I was being aimed at by no fewer than 4 GI Joe dolls posted around the kitchen counter in all the corners. I didn't really want to think about where all the other guns in the house were.*

The day I was most worried was an address that must not have been on the scheduler's map. My 20 min route finder just kept spinning in a lost cell service circle.  The guy gave me directions over the phone 20 minutes further into the western woods that any cell map would allow.  "I'm in Milton TWP...go past the big chicken barn on the left and then  6 more miles and then..... " I got to a drive way, which was a football field length of muddy pot holes and had to stop the car and walk.  When I got to the smallest of 3 trailers, the man came out to welcome me in. The trailer had about the floor space of a king sized bed.  He had a TV and cook stove and composting toilet and a table the size of a long playing record in there but he could barely turn around. It was a little too close for comfort to fit two of us. The only seat was his bed by the round table so I said no thank you, I'd stand.  I was thinking the whole time, "how do I get myself nearer the only door? "  It was a good thing I had a premonition before arrival and took a picture of the driveway with the car out front so police could trace an ID in case anyone needed to come look for my body.*

Some homes are hard to spend 40-60 minutes in because of the reek of tobacco or the milder stench of urine or infection. More people than I knew seem to be hoarders where there is not one square centimeter of space on a table, couch or chair (sometimes floor!) to sit or put my bag. One lady was being treated for a brown recluse spider bite -- and quickly, before I could conjure up spider threats, she assured me she got the bite in Texas before coming home to Maine.  Well, I'll be googling what other kind of biting creature can live in a hoarded house!

* By the way, nothing bad happened. But stress levels were not lowered until I was back to my hotel for the night, getting the list for the next day's stress visits. Perhaps that should be added to the list of stress related words in the Urban Dictionary.