Sam Martin’s Gonna Lose It
Issue 15 | Saturday Stories | The Saturday Night
I want to preface this story by saying, for the record, that I’m fine.
Really.
I’m fine.
However, several witnesses to this story may dispute this statement.
I woke up at 6:30 AM on a Friday after a crappy night’s sleep. I hadn’t slept well in two weeks. Between my new dog and a home invasion earlier that week, I had slept maybe twelve hours total. Brief periods of sleep were usually punctuated by either waking in a cold sweat with my brain already running a marathon, or my dog wandering around her new digs at 3 AM.
As usual, I checked my email before I was fully awake.. I had been unemployed for six months now. I wanted to take a chance on myself and find a job that paid me what I was worth, but that gamble was looking more like a bust. Six months, zero interviews.
Until I saw it.
“Invitation for an Interview….”
I leapt out of bed in ecstasy. FINALLY! It had been a difficult six months, and all my hard work was about to pay off.
One of the companies I applied to wanted to interview me via Zoom.
I replied instantly with my availability. Maybe my circumstances were finally about to change.
I went through the rest of my unread emails and deleted the ample spam and marketing emails. I refreshed the app one more time, and saw the same recruiter quickly replied to my email about interview availability.
Hi Sam,
I wanted to clarify that a recent message you received was sent in error. Please disregard that communication, and I apologize for any confusion.
Thank you for your understanding and continued interest.
Best,
Nikhill
My excitement began to leak out of me like air out of a balloon.
Well, looks like today will be another day of trudging through.
I tried to maintain positive thoughts and remain calm despite how absolutely insane that email exchange was. After some brief prayer, I got out of bed and began to make my way to the gym for some exercise.
There’s no better place for some reprieve than the gym.
Except when you run into the gym couple.
There had been a couple (actually a throuple, but we don’t need to get into details) at my gym that likes to commandeer a machine and engage with each other physically. They had a habit of turning random gym equipment into their personal honeymoon suite, so I had moved my workouts to mornings to avoid them.
It had been successful for weeks.
Today, I walked in, and there they were. Commandeering the only squat rack on my leg day to put on a live-action PDA-filled romance.
Not dealing with that today. I walked right out and headed home.
The entire drive home, I tried to vent out my frustration internally. How could people be so rude and inconsiderate? Why do people feel the need to do that in public? I was so irritated that I drove all the way home before realizing I had forgotten groceries. Fifty unnecessary minutes later, I finally got back.
Or at least I thought.
I walked into my house to see my dog greeting me at the door with her cute smile and tail that wagged like a whip. Unfortunately, I looked around to see that she completely destroyed the house while I was gone. Pictures were ripped from the wall. Dirty dishes were removed from the sink and strung about the house. My couch was covered in her urine.
I thought her smile was excitement to see me, but I began to wonder if it was actually pride in her deviant acts.
I placed my groceries down assuming I had surveyed the total extent of my damage. Nope.
I looked on the floor to find my Vitamin D supplements all chewed up, bottle, cap, and all.
Being a new dog owner, I was not sure if my dog ate any pills, and if she did, if it was an issue.
Off to ChatGPT.
Yes, Vitamin D is poisonous to dogs. Call ASPCA Poison Control Immediately.
My frustration began to boil over. No sleep, job issues, I couldn’t work out today, and now this?
Whatever, I was hungry and needed to eat. I put my lunch in the oven and called poison control.
I was on hold with poison control and watching my dog for signs of issues. I was worried about her, but thankfully, she seemed to be fine. All of my focus was on the dog as I remained on hold.
Twenty minutes.
Thirty.
Then I smelled smoke.
Oh, crap.
My lunch was on fire. The smoke alarm went off. My dog panicked and peed on the couch again.
After I put out the fire, I just sat in my kitchen staring into space. Poison Control’s hold music played cheerfully in the background. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Was this really my life right now?
Then, I did the only thing I could do.
I screamed.
I’m going to lose it.
Just as I finished screaming, Poison Control picked up after placing me on hold for 45 minutes. Perfect timing.
They informed me that I needed to take my dog to the ER. That advice cost me $110.
So now, after all of this, I needed to drive my dog an hour and a half to the ER to make sure she was ok.
The whole drive, I alternated between worry for my dog and trying not to lose it over my circumstances. After all, how much could one man take in one day? Had I suffered enough?
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We arrived at the ER and my dog was promptly treated. She never showed any signs of Vitamin D poisoning. I asked the doctor on call,
“Do you think there’s any chance my dog didn’t eat any pills?”
“Yeah, it’s likely she didn’t eat any.”
My fear vanished. In its place came pure defeat.
But life wasn’t done kicking me in the crotch for one day. After a six hour ER stint, I was handed my bill for $1,900. And I had to come back the next three days for blood tests for the dog.
I walked out to my car like an NFL kicker who just missed the game winning field goal and sat there, trying to wrap my head around my life at the moment.
- Unemployed and running low on money
- Barely sleeping
- Neighbor broke into my house
- Fake interview invitation
- Gym ruined
- Extra grocery trip
- House destroyed
- Lunch burned
- $2,010 in dog expenses
It was now 9 PM and I hadn’t consumed any food in about 14 hours. I was flat out defeated. The only thing I could think to do is to pick up some food, go home, and just try again tomorrow.
Taco Bell: closed.
McDonald’s: twenty-car line.
Chick-fil-A: closed.
Sonic: lights on. No line.
Finally, something went right.
I pull up to the drive through at 9:55 PM. I am excited to order myself anything to eat. Shakes, apps, burgers, my mind wandered to all the options I could drown my sorrows in.
After patiently waiting, a voice came over the intercom.
“Sorry, we’re closed.”
Closed?
CLOSED???
I drove to the pick up window.
I stared at the sign.
HOURS: OPEN UNTIL 11 PM.
I looked at the clock.
9:58 PM.
I looked back at the employees.
Five people were standing behind the counter laughing and talking.
I wanted to knock on the window. I wanted to demand an explanation. I wanted to explain that I had not eaten in fourteen hours, that my dog had just cost me $2,010, that my lunch was currently a charcoal briquette sitting in my oven, that I had slept twelve hours in a week, and that somebody had mistakenly offered me employment for approximately seven minutes that morning.
Instead, I started laughing.
Not normal laughing.
The kind of laughing where your body has apparently decided crying requires too much paperwork.
I laughed until tears ran down my face.
My dog stared at me from the passenger seat.
“Don’t you look at me,” I said.
She wagged her tail.
That somehow made me laugh harder.
Sam Martin had officially lost it.
I eventually found a gas station and bought the saddest dinner of my adult life: a protein bar, a bag of chips, and a bottle of Gatorade.
My dog and I drove home in silence.
The house was still destroyed. My lunch was still cremated in the oven. I was still unemployed. I still had to bring my dog back to the vet the next morning.
Nothing had changed.
But when I finally climbed into bed, my dog jumped up beside me, circled twice, and dropped her head on my chest.
I looked down at her.
“You cost me two grand today.”
Her tail thumped against the mattress.
I started laughing again.
Maybe I hadn’t completely lost it.
Or maybe losing it was exactly what I needed.
Either way, tomorrow was Saturday.
