Never Underestimate My Ability to Mess Myself Up

I may be the only person in the history of man to injure himself while using mouthwash.

On Tuesday morning, I was using said product, and my swishing method must have been bad, because I pulled something on the right side of my jaw. It did not hurt at first, but after getting to work, the point where the right side of my jaw met my skull started to swell up. It got so bad that I could not eat my lunch.

My first inclination was to take sweet sweet drugs. Normally I avoid Advil and the like, what with that whole ‘don’t take if you have three or more alcoholic drinks a day’ thing (Which is very sobering the first time you realize this danger). But the pain was pretty bad, so I popped some extra strength Tylenol. Holy Shit that stuff is amazing. I still had a hard time chewing, but all the pain went away in ten minutes. I am now convinced I could walk around with a ninja star stuck in my leg if I had enough Tylenol going through me.

The pain being dealt with, I tried to figure out what caused it. I had done nothing obvious to myself to cause said problem (ie got into a bar fight or fall down some stairs), and the idea of doing this while using mouthwash seemed silly (I mean, it still does). I decide to consult the internet. Now dear readers(s?), if you ever take my advice on anything, take my advice on this; never consult the internet regarding medical treatment. As far as the internet knows, all human discomfort is caused by either working out too hard or cancerous tumors. Short of breath, sore elbow, limp, all caused by lifting something funny or tumors eating away at you says the Intertron. The funniest part here is that when the possibility of cancer crept into my mind, my concern wasn’t death, the horrors of Chemo, or the realization that I had wasted my young life. No, my major concern was, “Great, now I have to go see a doctor. I hate seeing doctors.” I am a big picture guy.

Now with all this jaw pain and concern about well being, you would think that our hero would maybe go home early from work and get some rest. But by now, you know better. I had already promised a friend I would go see his reading, which was at a bar. I had missed a friend’s workshop a month ago for personal reasons, and felt shitty about it, so I decided to buck up, throw back some more Tylenol Extra Strength (serious, this shit could get me through a defenestrating) and suck it up.

This reading was in the basement of the Zipper Tavern. The Zipper Tavern is a spot that bears some discussion. It is a bar/restaurant attached to The Zipper Factory, a performance space. On a pure physical level, the whole set up is beautiful. The theatre has it’s own bar, and is pretty decent space in an off-off Broadway sense. Next door (which is connected in the back) you have a restaurant with a bar up front, and a lounge space with it’s own bar upstairs overlooking the dining room, and even a roof space to go smoke. The tap is even good. The problem is that it is located in the garment district, which is south of Times Square, and kind of dead. So Last Call is at Midnight (which is a crime in New York) and the place can be less than inviting in its feel. The reading I was going to did not open its doors until 7:30, and I got off work at 6:15. Now it had been a rough day, what with the pain when eating and the fear of tumors, so I really wanted to throw back some beers. I had a couple of pints, and chatted up the bartender, a nice young lad by the name of Tim, and talked about the pros and cons of this establishment. The reading itself was very interesting, and was perfect in the venue. I did not hag out and talk to my friend about it, due to said jaw pain (also, the one side of my face had swollen up a bit, and I felt mildly self conscious).

At this point, I should have gone home and addressed this injury. But just as I arrived back in Astoria, Hubris called me, asking if I wanted to get a drink. At this point in the night, I had had enough beers where my brain decides beers equal joy and I always should be drinking them, and I was still stressed out about my jaw. So I head over to McCann’s and get a harp. Now at this point it is 10 o’clock, and all I have had to eat all day was some mashed potatoes, but I was working on Beer four. I grab some soup, and found that the Chicken Rice soup is the one thing on the McCann’s menu that would not make me fell sick the next day. Hubris came by, and we began slamming beers. After a while, Hubris’s girlfriend joined us, and more beers were slammed. I ended up getting home around 1:30am, put an ice pack on my face, and went to bed.

The next day, my face was still a little swollen, but it had gone down noticeably, and the pain was gone. So I declared myself cancer free, and went to work.

Serious, I defy all medical understanding.