Not reporting an injury at work may actually be breaking the law or company policy, and you don’t know how this injury will go - my husband, the construction safety officer, informs me that the policy at his company is to report all injuries sustained at work, every time, as soon as they happen, so they can be investigated and prevented in the future. It says nothing about your relationship with the company or how you feel about them. It says everything about following the proper protocol when injured on the job.
How do you feel about Corn Grates?
I bought a very expensive phone last year (for 75% off); it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. It did everything but make coffee. Now it does absolutely nothing, because it isn’t getting power any longer. I bought it approximately one year ago; it has a one-year warranty, but I can’t find the receipt because I think I stapled it to the manual which is one of the extremely few things that I haven’t been able to find since we moved last summer. It is driving me crazy that:
- The phone has broken down around the one year mark, like all electronic equipment.
- I can’t find the receipt so I don’t know if it’s still under warranty or not.
- The most expensive, high-end phone I have ever bought has crapped out a one year just like the $19.99 phones I would normally buy - it’s a friggin’ $200 phone!
My next stop is Radioshack (where I bought it) to see if they have a Panasonic AC adaptor so I can do a quick check to see if it’s just a bad power cord (fingers crossed!).
Worker’s Comp in the U.S. is generally more about covering medical costs–not like a pain-and-suffering type thing. Obviously, that wouldn’t be an issue in the U.K. Unless you run into one of those crazy death panels I hear you guys have.
You might be able to get your doctor to appeal that. I had problems with side effects when they switched my birth control to an “equivalent” generic, and I was able to get it swapped back to the original medication.
Did you use a credit or debit card to buy it and, if so, do you remember which one? You might be able to get a record of the purchase from the card vendor or your bank.
The idea is kinda cute, but when you really get down to dancing vermin . . . :eek:
By General Mills!
I was taking both Imitrex pills and injection. The pills stopped working and now I take Maxalt, which work pretty well when I can take them early and keep them down, but also give me the tightness in the jaw and neck. I have some of the Imitrex that dissolve, which (as emmaliminal says) are great because you can’t really throw them up, but my insurance balks at paying for them. Never tried Zomig or Treximet.
Ah, yes, I’m sure I did! Off to check my bank statements…
So I make a cup of chicken soup from a stock cube. I look at the cubes “Contains no animal products”.
What- how can this be?
Look closer- they are “Chicken Style Stock Cubes”.
I really hope that means they were shaped like tiny chickens. Tiny, dissolving chickens.
No, they were afraid to go into the hot water.
Or maybe they would run toward each other at a high rate of speed. First one to veer aside goes in the soup!
Stupid recurring piddly little arguments.
They’re a bad sign in a long-term relationship. If the same stooooopid argument keeps popping up, then the standard advice-columnist answer is to adjust your expectations and/or address the underlying problem. After nearly a decade together, the Other Shoe and I have resolved nearly all of our differences and come to mutually acceptable compromises.
Except … the litter box.
Goddamn stupid litterbox is the root of at least half of our piddly little arguments. Here is the typical script:
{late evening}
ME: Ok, it’s getting late, and I’m way too tired to scoop out the litter box now. Do you think you can get to it in the morning? (background: I work F/T at an office all day, and he’s home all day.)
HIM: Sure, hon!
ME: Thanks so much! <kissy hugging ensues>
{early morning}
ME: Ok, I gotta get going. Do you still think you’ll have a chance to scoop the litter box sometime today? Phew!
HIM: Yeah, I can probably get to it this morning. Woo, that stinks! Damn cat …
{lunch break}
HIM: <tells me all he did that morning, which, granted, is usually a lot>
ME: Wow, busy morning! Does that mean you didn’t <gag> scoop out the cats’ box?
HIM: No, I was too busy. I’ll <gag, cough> get to it this afternoon. It sure needs it!
ME: It sure does … :rolleyes:
{after work, unwinding in front of the TV}
HIM: Ooo, Iron Chef is on!
ME: <jumping to feet> Oh, for chrissakes! Howcanyoustandthatstench! I’mcleaningthisoutrightfuckingnowyousunovaBITCH! <grumble, grumble, scoop, bitch, scoop, glare, grumble>
HIM: Why didn’t you just ask me to do it?
ME: HOW CAN YOU NOT SMELL IT? THE HOUSE STINKS!!! WHATTHEFUCKISWRONGWITHYOU?!?!? I’VEBEENASKINGFORTHEPASTTWELVEHOURSI’MNOTGONNAASKAGAIN! <stomps off to the outside trash can with the grocery bag chock-full of cat leavings>
HIM: WhaddIdo?
ME: <shooting daggers out of my eyeballs>
I should add at this point that I have chronic wrist problems, and the jamming motion of scooping really aggravates the inflammation. So we’ve talked about things that help my wrists, and I always point out that fact. He always says, “Ok, well, I’ll do it. Just remind me!” (Why do you need to be reminded? The cats KEEP POOPING! It’s not an intermittent thing!!)
<deep breath>
Then I have to feel like a bitch and an idiot for blowing up like that. I swear, other than that one stoooopid fucking recurring argument, we get along like teenagers in their first crush. Until the cat craps again.
Why not just get another catbox? There’s the self-scooping kind, or the flushing kind, or the kind where you just tip it over (no mechanical parts).
Why is it when you try to do someone a favor it either comes back to bites you on the ass or they find some way to inconvenience you even more? No wonder so many people can’t be bothered to help other people.
Look, here, I even did your research for you:
Self-scooping: http://www.littermaid.com/
Flushing: http://www.catgenie.com/
Tip to clean: http://www.amazon.com/Omega-Self-Cleaning-Litter-Large-Green/dp/B0002DK2DU
I’ve never used the first two kind, but the last one’s name is false advertising. It’s not “self cleaning” or even “tip to clean” – it’s “tip to get most, but not all, of the poop and pee clumps into a little removable plastic basket, where inevitably some poop and pee sticks, quickly making the basket no longer removable until you REALLY clean the damn thing, which is a pain in the ass because of all the extra parts and nooks and crannies and is best accomplished with a pressure washer in the yard”.
I’ve heard that the main problems with the first two types are a) cost and b) finicky cats who won’t use them.
It’s never as simple as it says it’s going to be on the box.
Neither are boyfriends. Whatta ya gonna do.
They’re still better potential options than bitching to strangers about an asshole of an inconsiderate husband. Come to think of it, having a rational discussion with the asshole of an inconsiderate husband as to why, exactly, you’re annoyed with him might also be a good option, followed by setting up some kind of specific schedule or reminder (that isn’t just you telling him) for him to clean the box, instead of just being all passive-aggressive about it and enabling the behavior by caving in and doing it yourself every time.
That’s why *my *box doesn’t say anywhere that it’s simple.
Hang on a sec – ::checks thread title:: – what’s all this now?
In addition to bitching about things in this thread, I also enjoy proposing reasonable solutions to the things other people are bitching about. It’s kind of like trolling, but people can’t get mad at you, 'cause you’re being helpful.
We have death panels? So far, they’ve refrained from kicking down my door in the middle of the night.
My only costs werer the price of a couple of packs of plasters - the wound on the tip of my middle finger was (based on my experience of previous injuries) probably on the borderline of needing stitches, but I just taped it shut instead (using breathable plasters like skin closures), as I had to get back into a training session in the afternoon. Seems to be closing up nicely - I’m going to keep it completely dry for a week.
That’s not how they work, which makes them so sneaky.
They wait patiently – sometimes for years – until you have a condition or disease requiring you to go on disabilty and that finally requires immediate attention (or a razor cut that becomes so infected you have to cut your thumb off). In the meantime, they arrange for you and your spouse to have children, so at the crucial moment, they force you to take payments in support of those children. Once you’ve done that, you don’t qualify to receive the operation or treatment to save your life. When you try to ask why, the just DIE, BITCH, DIE.
They’re bastards like that.