I was scheduled for about eight hours today. I was bored out of my gourd for half of it and driving like a headless chicken for the other half. (Damn headless chicken drivers! *shakes fist*) As per the policy, I had my cell phone on "silent" while I was at work. Consequently, I missed a few calls from Carl, and didn't get the messages til I was almost done. His daughter did get ahold of me at some point, asking a favor, but she failed to: a.) put her dad on the phone, and b.) mention that her dad was laid out on the couch, back all out of allignment, unable to do much but flick listlessly through the world of crap that is Monday night television.
I called him back later, around eight, and learned about this, along with the fact that he had been trying to call me to ask if I'd come over after work and maybe bring dinner. But since I didn't call right after work, he'd been laying there for many hours, with no one but himself for company, and his daughter had to scrounge up some pretzels and a hard-boiled egg for dinner. Now, on the messages, he sounded fine. He did say he was hurting, but he sounded fine. I didn't realize it was that bad. When I talked to him, he sounded like he couldn't quite concentrate on what I was saying, because the Jolly Green Giant was standing right behind him, giggling maniacally and twisting his vertebrae upside-down with a rusty pair of pliers, one by one. After a while, he had to get off the phone in search of pain-killers.
Ok, I feel like such a jerk. I am the worst girlfriend ever.
In an act of self-flagelation, I agreed to go back in to work from nine til midnight when the closing driver called out. I didn't do much driving, but I did do a metric fuck-ton of dishes. Which were gross. And made my nice nails all raggedy. And did not tip very well.
Drowning my guilt in greasy dish water didn't really work; I still feel bad.