In order to go from point A (super phat) to point B (wannabe whatever), I underwent a little procedure called Roux en-Y Gastric Bypass. You’ve probably heard of it. It’s where they cut your stomach down to the size of your thumb so that you never actually have to learn self control.
There are a few side effects though. We won’t get into most of them like general bodily decomposition while you’re still alive. The one I want to discuss is called Dumping Syndrome and how that can affect you on the job (yeah, I do actually have a full-time career).
I’ll be honest. I really have no clue what Dumping Syndrome is. As far as I understand it’s similar to a diabetic reaction. It happens when your body gets too many carbs too fast (since they cut out the part of you that used to absorb those carbs), and your heart starts pounding, you start sweating immensely, you can’t see straight, and all in all you wish the hands of hell would reach up and take you down because it would be a drastic improvement over what you’re currently feeling.
About two years after the surgery, I had flown down to Phoenix to do follow-up interviews with some potential managers at a few of our retail stores. I hadn’t eaten in a few hours (which in my time is an eternity since I could only eat two tablespoons at a time), so I stopped at a gas station and bought a box of crackers. I hurried and pounded as many as I could cram in, and went in for the interview.
The guy was sharp, well dressed, well spoken, and well qualified. He had a resume perfect in every area, including the Stetson aftershave he sprayed on for added effect. It was guys like this we dream of… where I, as the employer, get super nervous that I’m not good enough, at which point it suddenly becomes a game of pretending that I don’t want to chain him to the desk until he relents and signs a contract that binds him to us for life.
But I never got to take it to those extremes, because the Dumping Syndrome hit me. And it hit me hard. First my vision went blurry. I started blinking furiously to try and get it under control. Then my heart started pounding. Oh no, I thought as I grabbed my necktie and tried to discreetly loosen it. And then the sweat started.
This was no ordinary dampening of the brow. This was full on “just ate a bucket of raw habañeros” sweating. Within seconds my hair gel lost it’s grip and my scalp began to sag with wet heaviness. My shirt started to darken, first at the pits, and then… everywhere. I tried to continue as if he wouldn’t notice. “So, tell me what interests you about, ummm… tell me… ummm…” Are you okay? he cut in, his voice unable to hide his suddenly large amount of concern? Should I call someone to help? “No!” I screeched, panicking because I didn’t want to botch it with the first perfect hiring potential I’d seen that day. “It’s just a diabetic reaction type thing, I’ll be fine!” I found that easier than explaining Dumping. Anything is easier than explaining Dumping.
He stared at me as sweat started dripping from my pant cuffs. I attempted to fake a few more questions but failed miserably. “Listen, this will pass in about twenty minutes. I’m sorry. Can we reschedule for this afternoon?” Yeah, sure, but I really think you might need some assistance. You’re not looking too good. “No, I’m fine. Can we meet at four pm?” Yeah, I guess so… are you sure you are… “I’m fine, I promise. See you at four!” I hurried him out the door and went and laid down in a closet until it was over.
Four pm rolled around. But Mr. Perfect never did. I’m not really sure why.
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing
PS, I’m a little sensitive about this one, so please only share it with everybody you know.