Rubber rooms, clowns, and nuts

My mom always said that it took a special person to work in a place where people were forced to be locked up. Granted, I think she was referring more to the people who committed crimes and were behind bars, but it could most likely be applied to my current job as a night grunt at the local asylum.

I’m not a doctor, nor am I a nurse… but I’m the muscle they call when one of our “guests” (let’s be serious… the word guest leads one to believe that people come and go whenever they want AND get a mint on their pillow. In here? Not happening) flips right the hell out. It takes no real training and no real intelligence to speak of, but it does take a lot of patience because, despite what you see in movies, if we assault a resident, we are in VERY deep trouble. Assault is basically defined as “any action that is over-excessive,” so you can imagine our worry when we have to subdue someone.

Damn rules…

Anyway, this one guy, Bill, is in here because he’s terrified of clowns. He and I talked about it once…

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