My therapy has progressed slower than originally planned, and it doesn’t look like I am going to make the one month window that my doctors originally set for me. Thus far, it’s been heat, massage, elecrto-stim, and light exercise. Dr. Priolo, my physical therapist, wants me to try acupuncture. I told him I would let midgets light me on fire if it will take the pain out of my back for good. He has said we can’t rush things, but I feel weird not having a job right now. I’m glad I still have some cash from my father’s estate, or I’d be broke right now. I’ve been back to the bank a couple of times, and the people there have been great. They haven’t replaced me yet, so maybe I will actually have a job waiting for me when I am able to come back. Hopefully they’ll be patient with me as I relearn the job.
The only good thing about my situation is that I have been able to visit my father’s grave every week. I still miss him terribly. He asked me each and every time how I was doing at the bank. I’d always tell him things were great, because… well, they were great, up until he died.
At this point Netflix hates me, because I’m watching two movies a day. They must be losing a fortune on me. What else is there to do when standing for more than five to ten minutes causes excruciating pain?
I went to school for Fine Arts. I'm an accomplished sketch artist, painter, photographer, writer, and designer. I'm gruff, rough, and kinda tough. So how the HELL did I end up working at Fiscal United Bank? The following stories are all true accounts of the day to day insanity that I have encountered as a representative of Fiscal United Bank. Only the names and minor details have been changed to protect... well, to protect me from litigation, frankly.
