My Triumphant Return

So there I was...

...Anxiously awaiting my triumphant return to the streets.  After three months of
being injured, followed by three weeks of vacation (I had a lot of "use or lose"
time amassed) it was finally time to go back.

I put on the smurf suit for the first time in a long while, and it felt good.  As I
walked into the substation parking lot I found my cruiser, parked exactly where I
had left it almost four months ago.  I love not sharing a cruiser.  Of course, after
sitting that long the battery was dead, so I had a chore getting it started.  Once
started, though, I left it running in the parking lot to charge it up while I caught
up on three weeks worth of emails.

That finished, I was finally able to hit the street again.  Right off the bat I went
back into my old predator mode, looking for bad guys who desperately needed my
attention.  I stopped a guy for weaving and discovered it was an old
minister...nothing there.  I didn't even write him the ticket, although he probably
shouldn't have a license anyway.  

I stopped a second guy for passing in a turn lane and found out his license was
suspended.  Whamo, here is a stack of tickets for you.  Press hard, you're making
four copies.  Still no big fish, though.  That's ok, on some nights I catch the big
fish on every stop.  On others I need to make four or five stops to catch one.

As soon as I was done with him it was time for my shift line-up (I arrive two hours
before the rest of my shift).  As I was heading in to the substation for line-up, I
started feeling sick.  By the time I got there, the feeling was so bad I could
barely stand up.  Folks, realize it has been over NINE YEARS since I took a sick day
from work.  You all know I take work very seriously, whether I'm a cop, a soldier,
or the high school kid making pizza for a gas station (yes, I did that in high
school, and I was the best).  

This was too much, though, and I decided to break my perfect record.  I went home,
and before I could even get the smurf suit off I started vomiting.  I vaguely recall
my mad sprint down the hallway to get to the bathroom in time, and fortunately I
did.  It was still before 10 pm.

The rest of the night was the second-worst night of my life.  I alternated between
bouts of diarrhea and vomiting every twenty minutes or so until 6 am.  Between the
rapid expulsion of various fluids and solids from both ends of my body, I laid on
the bed writhing in pain.  I had heard about this year's stomach bug, and I even
know a few people who called an ambulance because of it.  I have to admit, had I not
heard their stories I would have called an ambulance too.  I'd rather break another
bone than go through that again (which, if my count is correct, would be broken bone
number seven).

So, my so-called "triumphant return" was relegated to a few measly traffic tickets.  

Doom on me.