One is NOT the Loneliest Number

I am sitting at the shop (Pug City Euroworks) all alone drinking my Tim Hortens coffee and nibbling on a piece of strudel (or štrudla or štrudelj) wondering what I should write about today. Oscar and I haven’t done anything profound or adventurous this week or at least nothing worth writing about. Or so I thought.

The first sentence of this week’s blog says it all. I am ALONE at work. Totally completely alone. It’s just me here to answer the phones and speak to any customers that may wander in. I’m sipping my Timmy’s, face stalking people on the book of face, eyeing up some sweet Betsey Johnson’s on EBay and generally enjoying a moment of Allie time. I stop, look around and realize “I am fine being alone at work,” I quickly jump up, put on some Andrews Sisters and do a quick shimmy and shake.

As many of you know, when a person has Crohn’s there is no “holding it.” This is particularly annoying when you have a job that requires you to either wait on people (cashier) or be alone (security guard) with no hope of making it to a washroom when it’s needed. I have held a few positions over the years that were not washroom friendly. I have used garbage cans (security gate keeper) and have squatted behind anything that would offer some semblance of cover (parade marshal). That is more information than you may have wanted to know, but does serve to show that many of you are not alone. I started working only at places that had more than one washroom. I had to be close enough that a mad dash wouldn’t be necessary. Now that I have Oscar, I can comfortably sit by myself and not fret if a customer materializes, knowing that the frantic race for a washroom won’t happen.

Thank you Oscar for allowing me to be comfortable by myself. One may be the loneliest number but having you on my side means I am no longer truly on my own.