The Very Bad Day of Milton Carter

The Very Bad Day of Milton Carter
By
Kevin Duffield


         Milton Carter was an atheist in the manner that he only believed in God when he needed some higher power to blame for any misfortune in his life. As things were going lately, the Almighty was getting the tongue-lashing of the Millennium today. 
         It was God’s fault Milton had woke up late for work this morning. It was God’s fault his wife could not cook and tried to pass off malformed lumps of granite as fried eggs for breakfast. It was also God who was to blame for the next-door neighbor’s dog, who had decided to relieve himself on Milton’s front step. This was particularly bad, as this was the primary reason he was looking at a sterile hospital room instead of a sterile office cubicle. Slipping in dog shit and falling down a short flight of concrete steps was not the healthiest of experiences. Milton could still feel the throb in his temple where his head had impacted with stone.
While he was at it, he cursed God for making stone, too.
His arm had been broken in the fall. Doctor Chapman called it “a nice and neat greenstick fracture”.  How anything so painful could be called “neat” was beyond him. The cast encircling his arm itched in near epic proportions. Of course, this was God’s fault as well.  Add to all of this the fact the man in the bed next to him did nothing all day but describe, in horrid detail, the workings and reason behind his newly installed colostomy bag, it was the worst day of his life.  And whose fault was that?
         His wife had almost, but not quite, been the worst of it. After his fall, she spent nearly five whole minutes asking him if he was all right. As if the flow of blood from his forehead and the glassy look in his eyes weren’t an indication. Milton was nearly to the point of blacking out before she finally ran back into the house. At last! She would be calling for an ambulance!  Comforted by the thought, Milton had let himself drift away into sweet, painless oblivion.
         His wife, Caroline, was somewhat of a home remedy fanatic and fancied herself to be a modern-day Doctor Quinn. One entire wall of their living room held shelf upon shelf of books dealing with self-help, herbal remedies, and medical encyclopedias, all hopelessly out of date. She had read almost all of them, cover to cover, and as a result now felt she could cure everything from a paper-cut to another outbreak of the Black Plague. Milton didn’t trust her to put a Band Aid on properly.
         So, as Milton lay on the front walk, dazed and blissfully sliding into unconsciousness, he was abruptly wrenched back into full, agonizing awareness when his wife poured a mixture of salt and sugar onto the gash in his forehead.
         Milton screamed, cursed, and rolled around on the ground in agony. While doing so, he rolled on top of his broken arm. This, naturally, evoked more screams and curses.
         “Dammit, woman! What the hell are you trying to do to me?” He had never before had the urge to hit his wife, but he was starting to reconsider.
         Caroline smiled her best “nurse-smile” and ran her fingers through his thinning hair in an attempt to calm him.
         “Shhh!” She soothed. “I know it hurts, honey, but it’s the best way to prevent infection and help you heal faster.”
         “My ass!” He screamed, refusing to be calmed.  “You’re killing me! Call an ambulance!”
         “You don’t need an ambulance, the cut isn’t that deep. Quit being such a baby and let me help you.”
         Milton fumed. “My arm feels like it’s broken, you twit!”
         “Well if you’d stop yelling at me and let me take a look I could figure out how to help.”
         “You can help by calling an ambulance!”
         Caroline flashed an indignant frown and reached for his arm. “Let me see your arm, honey. It isn’t too hard to set the—”
         Milton jerked his arm away before his wife could grab it, ramming his elbow into the pavement in the process.  A fresh wave of torment ripped through his arm.
         “Damn it! CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!”
         His wife stood and stormed into the house, berating him as she went.
         “Fine! If you think that a bunch of strangers can take care of you better than your wife of fifteen years, then maybe I’m wasting my time! Dad warned me that you’d be nothing but a stubborn son of a ....”
         Thankfully, her voice faded as she went deeper into the house.
         “Damn!”  Milton complained. “I hate my life!”
         By this time, many of his neighbors had come outside to see what all of the commotion was about.  Great, Milton thought, witnesses to my misery, that’s all I need!
         The neighborhood where Milton and his wife had lived for the past nine years was a humble row of fourteen houses neatly arranged on both sides of a dead-end street.  Humble though it was, it seemed to him a magnet for some of the oddest collection of people he had ever met.
         There was Rob Ralston, for instance.  He was an insurance salesman who lived across the street with his wife and three children, if children were what you could call them. Each was in their late teens and had enough tattoos between them to fill an art gallery a hundred times over. Caroline called it “the new style”. Milton had a few less than savory opinions on the matter.
         Rob Ralston, having seen Milton lying on the ground, had apparently decided this would be the perfect time to increase his commission.  Milton could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes as Rob, smiling his best sales smile, walked casually over to where Milton lay.
         “How ya doin’, buddy?”
         “How does it look like I’m doing?” Milton could never understand the impulse to ask how a person was when it was so obvious.
Hey, pal, how ya feelin’?
Never better. I have this spear sticking out of my chest, but I feel great! 
Good! Glad to hear it!
         Rob’s smile broadened. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Y’know, its times like this that having a little extra insurance can take the bite off those medical bills.”
         Milton winced, his headache having suddenly become worse.  “Go away, Rob!”
         “Tell you what,” Rob reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small business card. “I can see you’re kinda busy right now. Why don’t you think it over and give me a—”
         “OH, MY GOD!” Milton didn’t bother to look in the direction of the new voice. The nasal screech of Brenda Lou Daniels was unmistakable. “OH, MY GOD! WHAT HAPPENED?”
         The 500-plus pounds of Ms. Daniels shambled over to her car and got in, all the while screeching “oh, dear” or “oh God”.  She started the ignition and drove the forty feet from her driveway to Milton’s before shutting the engine off and getting out –making sure to lock the door in the process. 
         “OH, DEAR! MILTON, ARE YOU OKAY?” Milton was quite certain she would be better served warning ships away from shallow waters. “ARE YOU HURT?”
         Ms. Daniels drove everywhere, regardless of distance.  Milton had never understood this, and part of him hoped he never did.  Every afternoon she would get in her car and back up to the mailbox to collect the mail and greet the postman who, after once having tried to lean out of his truck and hand Ms. Daniels her mail directly, had been given a proper chewing out for not putting her mail in the box.
         “AFTER ALL,” she had screamed, “THAT’S WHAT THE BLESSED THING IS THERE FOR!”
         Not one to argue against a perfectly logical statement, the postman calmly placed her mail into the box and began to drive away. This had earned him another stern lecture from her as she loudly reminded him to put the flag up.
         Now that Milton thought about it, he doubted if the woman could keep her voice at a level lower than a million decibels. A normal conversation with her would end in a splitting headache and a strong desire to slam one’s face into a pile of sewing needles. She could easily drown out the sound of the city’s emergency siren from the distance of a mile away.
         “MILTON! MILTON, SPEAK TO ME!”  Ms. Daniels looked frantically around, wringing her hands in worry. “OH, DEAR! I THINK HE’S GOING INTO SHOCK! DID SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE?”
         Milton squeezed his eyes shut in utter agony, trying for all he was worth to ignore the anvil that was repeatedly colliding with his brain.
         “I think Mrs. Carter went in to call one.” Rob informed her.
         “OH, THANK JESUS!” She looked around like a deer trying to decide which way to jump before being hit by a truck. “LORD! WHY AREN’T THEY HERE YET?”
         Milton felt the sudden desire to laugh and cry at the same time. The desire became even more intense as his wife came back outside.
         “The ambulance is on its way. I hope you realize how badly you hurt my feelings. I was only trying to help, you know? I’m not a total moron. I do have some knowledge about what to do in situations like this.”
         Milton began pounding the back of his head against the concrete in a desperate attempt to knock himself out. He was dismayed to find this refused to work.
         “DEAR LORD! HE’S HAVING A SEIZURE!” Ms. Daniels’ eyes rolled into the back of her head as though she herself would pass out from the horror of it all. Those around her took a hasty step backward, none of them wanting to be too close should this actually happen.
         “Ms. Daniels, maybe you should go sit down for a bit.” This was from Anthony Gardner, who probably had the largest collection of pink lawn flamingoes in the world and proudly displayed every single one in his front yard.
         “I MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT!” Ms. Daniels declared indignantly. “WHAT IF THE AMBULANCE DOESN’T MAKE IT HERE IN TIME? WHAT IF HE NEEDS MOUTH TO MOUTH OR SOMETHING?”
         The image of a blue whale giving mouth-to-mouth to a gerbil popped suddenly into Milton’s head and he found himself needing laugh insanely.
         Mr. Daniels had arrived at the scene at this point. The man always seemed to have a fresh can of beer in his hand no matter where he went. Milton figured he’d drink that much too if he were married to Mrs. Daniels. Shelton Daniels took a long pull off of his brew and let loose a loud belch.
         “Dear, why don’t you leave the poor man alone?”
         “I MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT!” Mrs. Daniels glared spitefully at her inebriated husband. “THE MAN COULD BE DYING FOR ALL WE KNOW! HOW CAN YOU BE SO HEARTLESS?”
         Mr. Daniels looked thoughtfully down at his beer, carefully considering his reply before speaking. “Because I’m married.”
         Mrs. Daniels’ jaw dropped and she turned an odd shade of red mixed with dark purple. Her eyes blazed with a fury so intense it threatened to burn her husband to ash right on the spot. Before Mount Saint Brenda could erupt, Caroline stepped between them and spoke soothingly to Mrs. Daniels.
         “It’s okay Brenda. Milton isn’t dying. His arm is broken, is all. The stubborn ass will be fine.”
         Caroline said this last part a little louder for Milton’s benefit. Not wanting to make the throbbing in his head worse by getting into another argument, Milton ignored her. He instead closed his eyes and composed several choice vulgarities for the Almighty. After all, this whole thing had to be orchestrated for God’s own personal amusement.
         The sound of an ambulance siren in the distance filled Milton with a joy no words could express. At last his rescue from the hell he was going through would soon be arriving! Like a child whose sand castle is viciously stomped on by the neighborhood bully, so was Milton’s joy ground under heel at the sound of the next voice to assault his ears.
         “Okay, everyone, STEP back! What is GOING on here?”
         Despite the hammering in his brain, Milton craned his head around to see Ms. Samantha Doflowsky arriving on the scene. He nearly began weeping from the sudden wave of madness he felt wash over him at the sight of her.
         Ms. Doflowsky –founder, operational head, and sole member of the local Neighborhood Watch chapter– was the closest thing to a midget Milton had ever seen. The woman stood barely four-foot-nine barefoot and had the temperment of a rabid Chihuahua. She wore neatly pressed black slacks and a blue button-down blouse similar in form to a police uniform. Attached to her belt was a small can of pepper spray next to a fully charged tazer, both of which she never left home without.
         Everyone except Mr. Daniels took a fearful step back from the diminutive woman as she stepped toward them. Ms. Doflowsky glared intimidatingly up at the group of people before her and questioned them again.
         “I asked WHAT is going ON here.”
         Mr. Daniels took another long pull from his beer can and belched loudly. “Good morning to you, too, Samantha. You’re looking quite the bitch today.”
         Ms. Doflowsky rounded on the man, intent on verbally bludgeoning him into his proper place. Before she could get the chance, Mrs. Daniels waved animatedly at Milton’s prone form and delivered another report of his impending demise.
         “IT’S MILTON! HE’S DYING!”
         Caroline rolled her eyes. “He’s not dying, Brenda.” She looked to Ms. Doflowsky. “Milton slipped and fell. He hit his head pretty hard and it looks like he may have broken his arm, too. He may have a concussion, not that there’d be any way to tell the difference.”
         Whipping out a pen and a small notepad from her breast pocket, Ms. Doflowsky stiffly walked over to Milton and looked down on him with all the grand authority of her lofty position. Setting pen to paper, Samantha prepared to record the answers to the rapid-fire barrage of questions she determined to ask.
         “Are you INJURED?”
         “No,” Milton said. “I thought I’d catch a little morning sun on the way to work but I forgot my swimsuit.”
         “There is NO need for SARCASM, Mr. Carter. I am MERELY trying to ASSIST you.”
         It drove Milton up a wall how the woman emphasized every third word she spoke. No doubt Ms. Doflowsky thought it made her sound more authoritative, but to Milton it sounded like a bad William Shatner impersonation.
         Samantha Doflowsky was also the most paranoid woman alive. Her home was decorated in what could only be thought of as a blatant attempt to recreate the prison at Alcatraz with historical accuracy. Her two-and-a-half acre yard was lined with a double chain-link fence topped with four rows of barbed wire and a motorized security camera atop each corner post.
         The day Milton and Caroline moved into the neighborhood, Ms. Doflowsky ran a full background check on the both of them. She then passed around a petition to have them kicked out of the neighborhood. This was after discovering Milton had a parking violation on his record from 1978.
         “We should NOT tolerate the PRESENCE of criminals IN our neighborhood!” She announced at the local town meeting three weeks later. “Think of WHAT their presence COULD do to OUR children!”
         The fact Ms. Doflowsky had no children to speak of seemed absolutely lost on her.
         Caroline had tried to make peace with the woman by baking her a dozen chocolate chip cookies. Ms. Doflowsky graciously responded by shipping the whole platter to the local Center for Disease Control to have the treats tested for Anthrax.
         Still standing with her notepad and pen at the ready, Ms. Doflowsky fired more questions at Milton.
         “Were you ASSAULTED? Did you SEE your assailant?”
         “What? No!”
         “No you WEREN’T assaulted, or NO you did NOT see your ASSAILANT?”
         “No to both, you nit-wit!” Milton yelled, making his head throb again.
         “Mister Carter, IT would be HELPFUL if you WOULD refrain from MAKING rude comments WHILE I am CONDUCTING my investigation. Now, did YOU see the PERSON who assaulted YOU?”
         Milton responded with a very personal and vulgar suggestion as to where she could stick her investigation, but his voice was drowned out by the siren of the ambulance as it rounded the corner. He laughed victoriously at the sight of his salvation from the lunatics around him.
         “OH, THANK GOD!” Mrs. Daniels screeched. “THERE’RE HERE!”
         Ms. Doflowsky began herding everyone away from Milton like a patrolman at a crime scene. They all watched expectantly as the ambulance approached. They then watched in confusion as the ambulance drove by and pulled into the driveway of Mr. Gardner’s home, which was three houses down. 
         Once the ambulance stopped, two paramedics jumped out and, with rapid efficiency, began unloading their equipment. Before they could get too far along, Caroline waved her hands in the air to draw their attention.
         “Uh… excuse me,” she called out. “We’re over here!”
         Milton groaned in frustration as he observed the paramedics’ bewildered looks at his wife before it dawned on them they had gone to the wrong house. The group of people standing around a man lying on the ground must not have been too obvious for them, Milton reasoned.
         The paramedics rapidly packed their gear back into the ambulance and hopped in. As they sped backwards out of Mr. Gardner’s driveway, the driver turned the wheel too sharply too soon, resulting in the vehicular homicide of two of Mr. Gardner’s prized pink lawn flamingoes.
         Milton had never heard the sound of a chimpanzee being strangled by a rabid cat. He imagined if he had, it would sound very similar to the noise that emanated from Anthony Gardner’s throat.
         Howling in anguish and fury, Mr. Gardner charged over to the shattered and broken remains of his murdered flamingoes as the ambulance finally pulled into Milton’s driveway. Mr. Gardner fell to his knees, pulling at the tufts of hair that encircled his balding scalp and weeping like a man who had just lost the love of his life.
         The ambulance driver and his partner repeated the process of unloading their equipment before rushing over to where Milton lay. Mrs. Daniels was wringing her hands together and biting her lower lip as she watched the drama play out before her.
         “THANK JESUS! YOU HAVE TO SAVE HIM!”
         Crouching down beside Milton, the ambulance driver –¬whose name badge identified him as Orlando– began quickly checking Milton’s vitals.
         “So how are we feeling today?” Orlando asked with a smile that, while meant to be comforting, made Milton think the man was having a very difficult bowel movement.
         “Oh, I’m just peachy as hell,” Milton sniped.
         The burly man was unfazed by his patient’s sarcasm and looked up at his partner while performing his preliminary check.
         “Louis, our friend here seems to have sustained a slight head injury. You might want to go fetch the neck brace, just to be safe.”
         “You might also want to get splint ready,” Caroline offered. “He may have a fracture of his phalanges.”
         The paramedic looked down at Milton in confusion. “Your toes are broken?”
         “No,” Caroline said condescendingly, “his arm. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
         Milton sighed in irritation. “Honey, will you please shut up and let the man do his job!”
         Ms. Doflowsky approached and took his wife by the arm, intent on pulling her back to the others. “Mrs. Carter, YOU need to LET these men DO their jobs. THEY are professionally TRAINED and do NOT need your ASSISTANCE.”
         “I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of my husband!” Caroline replied venomously, yanking her arm away. “I do have some idea of what I’m talking about, you know!”
         “Could you give me something to knock me out?” Milton asked Orlando pleadingly. “Better yet, could you knock them out?”
         The large man nodded sympathetically. “I feel your pain, man.”
         Louis had brought the neck brace and secured it around Milton’s neck as Orlando set a field splint on the broken arm. Nodding to each other, they then hoisted Milton onto the nearby gurney and began securing the straps across his body to keep him in place.
         “There we go,” Orlando said. “We’ll get you to the ER and have you fixed up good as new in no—“
         Orlando’s head rocked forward as something bounced off his head and landed on Milton’s chest. Milton could see that the something was the crushed plastic head of a pink flamingo. It lay staring at Milton like the horse head left on the mobster’s bed in The Godfather.
         Mr. Gardner was marching toward them, red with fury, chucking piece after piece of bright pink plastic at the ambulance driver.
         “You bastard!” Mr. Gardner screamed. “You clumsy, stupid, idiot! These… are… COLLECTIBLES!”
         Mr. Gardner’s voice rose to a high falsetto as he cast the remaining pieces left in his hands at the paramedic. The only remaining flamingo part left to him was a severed flamingo leg, which he raised over his head with the intention of pummeling Orlando senseless with it.
         Charging forward, Mr. Gardner was stopped just short of the paramedic by both Ms. Doflowsky and Rob Ralston. Rob had wrapped his arms around his rampaging neighbor in a tight bear hug. This only served to make the man flail his arms and kick his legs in an attempt to free himself.
         “Calm down, Tony,” Mr. Ralston tried to soothe.
         “NO!” Mr. Gardner sputtered as he struggled. “That… murdering asshole! Look what he… did!”
         Ms. Doflowsky had positioned herself between the paramedic and his aggressor. She glared sternly at the flamingo leg club-wielding man before her.
         “Mr. Gardner, you WILL calm yourself NOW or I WILL have no CHOICE but to FILE assault charges AGAINST you!”
         Orlando looked across the gurney where Milton lay and addressed his partner. “Let’s get him up and in the bus before things get any worse.”
         Louis nodded in agreement and, after a brief count to three, hefted the gurney up and locked the collapsible legs in place. It was at this moment that Orlando’s wish for a hasty getaway fell apart like a house of cards.
         Hearing the metal locks for the legs click in place, Orlando turned to go open the back doors to the ambulance, accidentally bumping Ms. Doflowsky with his elbow.
         With nerves that were already high-strung and a mind racing with a heightened sense of paranoia, Ms. Doflowsky took the accidental collision as a direct assault against her. With a speed and accuracy that would have made any old west gunslinger proud, Ms. Doflowsky reached for her hip and drew her tazer.
With a cry of “RAPE!” she spun around and rammed the metal prongs into Orlando’s ribs as hard as she could as she activated the tazer’s electrical charge.
         The result was instantaneous. Orlando’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body shook violently as the charge from the stun gun raced through his body. The jolt sent Orlando crashing to the ground, tumbling backward onto the gurney as he fell.
         Milton felt the gurney tip and sway dangerously under him. Louis tried, to his credit, to keep the whole works from toppling over by yanking hard in the opposite direction it was falling. Milton’s heart leapt into his throat as he suddenly found himself flying in that same direction as Louis failed to realize his own strength.
         Agonizing pain ripped along Milton’s broken arm as he smashed into the stone walkway face-down with the gurney lying on top of him.  The straps held him firmly in place, making it impossible to move. Too make matters worse; Milton realized his right cheek was firmly mashed into the same pile of dog shit that had placed him in this situation to begin with. The foul aroma filled his nostrils, making him want to vomit.
         “Oh my god!” Caroline rushed over to her husband and attempted to roll the gurney upright again. She only succeeded in sending more pain through Milton’s arm as she rocked the metal frame back and forth on top of him, grinding his face deeper into the dog droppings in the process.
         “Dammit, woman!” Milton screamed in pain. “Stop! STOP!”
         Mr. Gardner was dancing in joyous victory, jabbing his finger in the direction of the fallen ambulance driver. “AHA! See? That’s what you get, you mother—“
         There was a loud thud and everyone looked over to see Brenda Lou Daniels flat on her back, having finally fainted from the horror of it all. Her husband, finding the whole situation wildly amusing, took another swig of his beer and smiled.
         “I wish I had my video camera right now. I could make a mint on that ‘Funniest Videos’ show.”
         In the end, Louis had to send out a call for two more ambulances as well as two police cruisers. The first ambulance was for Orlando, who had returned to consciousness with a severe twitch from being tazered. The second was for Mrs. Daniels. Upon being revived, the hefty woman clawed desperately at her large bosom and at the air with her hands.
         “MY HEART!” she declared. “OH, MY POOR HEART! I THINK I’M HAVING A STROKE!”
         Ms. Doflowsky was unceremoniously stuffed into the back of one of the police cruisers, charged with assaulting the ambulance driver. Before the police could place her in handcuffs, she took the opportunity to present Orlando with a citation for reckless driving.
         “I don’t KNOW why you’re ARRESTING me,” she argued with the officers as they placed her in the car. “I did NOTHING wrong! It WAS self defense! He sexually ASSAULTED me!”
         Mr. Gardner had taken to sitting on the street corner, tears streaming down his face as he cradled the gathered pieces of his yard ornaments. He was rocking back and forth, hugging the remains tightly to his chest, muttering to no one in particular.
         “Why? Why? It doesn’t make any sense! Why?”
         With the help of the other paramedics, Milton was finally placed upright, cleaned up, and placed into the back of the ambulance while his wife went to get the car to follow them to the hospital. As he was being loaded in, Milton felt someone grab his hand. To his dismay he saw it was Rob Ralston standing over him.
         “Hey there, buddy,” Rob said with his best sales smile again plastered on his face. “If you need anything at all, just let me know.”
         Rob pointed both hands at Milton, like pistols drawn at a gun fight, and hammered the thumbs down while clicking his tongue. Milton looked down at his own hand to see Rob’s business card stuffed neatly into his palm.
         Jesus! Can the guy ever take a hint?
         After arriving at the hospital, Milton was poked, prodded, and x-rayed to the point he thought he would go mad. This feeling was enhanced by the constant efforts of his wife to instruct Doctor Chapman on the best treatment recommendations and how he could improve his practice.
         Having placed Milton’s arm in a cast, Doctor Chapman informed his patient that he would be having Milton stay overnight at the hospital. This was to make sure the head injury was nothing more serious than a mild concussion. Milton saw this as a blessing, even though he figured it more an attempt to bilk his insurance out of more money. The idea of a nice, comfortable hospital bed well away from the psycho ward that served as his neighborhood was very appealing.
         It was not as appealing as he thought once he met his roommate, Bernard Thomson. Hearing all the benefits from being able to poop into a plastic bag threatened Milton’s already fragile sanity. This was followed just after midnight when the nurse on staff woke him out of a sound sleep to see if he required a sleeping pill.
         Now that he was awake, Milton stared at the dark ceiling of his hospital room, listening to the man next to him saw through an entire rain forest, so loud was he snoring. The events of the day played back in Milton’s mind. He set aside his lack of faith long enough to blame the Almighty for each and every mishap he suffered during the day. After running down the long checklist of events, Milton decided it was high time he and God had a talk.
         “Why me,” Milton asked, softly so as not to wake his roommate. “Have you nothing better to do than get your jollies by picking on me? Did you get a good laugh? I hope so, because I didn’t find it funny at all! Not one damn bit! So, why me, huh? Why… me?”
         There was no answer. There was no response at all to Milton’s furious questioning other than the loud and obnoxious snores of the man in the room with him. Satisfied that he had gotten his point across, Milton turned on his side and closed his eyes, intent on trying to get a little more sleep before the nurse came back with another stupid question.
         It was then Milton’s eyes flew back open as a soft disembodied voice spoke to him out of the darkness of the hospital room. It was deep and comforting, yet somehow filled with a sense of sarcasm as it answered Milton’s question.
         “Because I like you.”


END