Let's Take a Walk

.Chronicling my daily life with Plantar Fasciitis

For those of you whom don’t know, I suffer from chronic pain. In April 2023, I developed a rather mild case of plantar fasciitis in my left foot while working at my job site as a Front End Supervisor, aka Responsible Cashier with a Key, aka Headless Chicken. My job involves working on a hard concrete floor, and despite having the ability to wear comfortable shoes, such as sneakers, I’m required to stand all but 30 minutes during my work day, from 09:00 to 18:00. I’m usually moving all along the Front End area, assisting Cashiers with product codes, manual type-in’s, and sometimes performing some heavy lifting because customers for some stupid reason don’t understand that you can’t pile 100 pounds of rice on top of 50 pounds of black beans on top of a case of 12- 48oz cans of chicken broth on top of a piece of beef tenderloin or Canadian bacon! And these customers have been shopping at where I work for years, on a weekly basis… But I digress.

I saw my doctor back in May 2023, and was prescribed some time off of work— off of my feet. But with only a week off of my feet, it wasn’t enough time to fully heal. I also started an entire regimen of stretches, ice, heat, massage, even tennis balls. I was prescribed some medication too, a powerful anti-inflammatory pill that I honestly don’t remember the name of, but one tiny pill lasted all day. I was given some kind of numbing cream or gel too. When the pills ran out, I was advised to take up to 800 mg of Ibuprofen, as needed, meaning for an entire day.

Let’s take a walk.

I have to awaken each morning at 04:30. Thirty minutes of that time is spent massaging both of my feet. (You remember, this problem started in my left foot, yes? I’ll come back to this in a moment.) Then after a healthy massage, while my bladder is screaming from a rooftop to run to the bathroom to find relief, I ultimately hold my urine during this time. Yeah, my feet hurt that badly upon waking. In fact, I’m in the most severe level of pain in the morning after resting. The pain is always there, like a good companion, or maybe more like a nagging wife. A constant reminder. I hobble to the bathroom like a 90-year old woman who refuses to use her assigned walker— because I don’t own one, yet. I’m glad it’s a short distance of 17 normal, adult sized paces. However, since I’m only moving my feet six inches apart at a time, it’s more like 32 to 40 paces. I sit in bliss as I relieve my golden essence that I’ve collected while visiting Dreamland. I hesitate to stand up. While I’m urinating, I turn on the shower to a really hot temperature. As hot as I can tolerate it. I’ve found through trial and error that heat relieves the pain second best, only to staying off my damn feet in the first place.

I spend an obscene amount of time in the shower. This is where I’ve always gotten my best ideas, where I contemplate life, and the why in the hell does the butter always seem to land butter side down? I use this time to meditate, often I end up having full conversations with myself, and I’ve had quite a few arguments. The jury is still out on who wins these silent verbal battles of my wit. Hey, don’t judge. Just because I can meditate under hot steaming water, instead of sitting in my living room in front of a candle — that’s years of conditioning from my incarceration years. Anyway, when I’m sufficiently pruned up, I shut the water off and dry. Delicately. I walk like a semi normal, middle-aged adult back to my bedroom to get dressed and junk.

It’s time for breakfast. I’ll usually make up some eggs. One of the great benefits about where I work is that I can buy 15 dozen eggs really cheap. And those eggs typically last my partner and I a couple of months. I really do enjoy cooking, I just don’t like the standing part of cooking, for obvious reasons. By this time, the clock is well past 07:00, having eaten a decent meal, I ingest my first cocktail of pills. Four 200mg Ibuprofen and two 500mg Acetaminophen. Why the two pills? Because the Ibuprofen numbs my feet so that I can walk like a normal human being. The Tylenol helps alleviate all the other pains that I have, from headaches, knee pain, back pain, leg pain, etc. I always ensure that I’ve eaten something, even if it’s only a handful of peanuts when consuming medications.

Between 07:30 and 08:30. I’ll leave my apartment, walk the normally three minute walk to the Subway station, which takes me a good ten minutes, and then I’ll ride the Subway fro 45 minutes, then switch to a bus for an additional 30 minute ride. Sometimes, if I manage to make all my connections just right, I don’t have to stand waiting for the next piece of my commute for up to 20 minutes. So my typical travel time is between a hour and a half to two hours. Then I have to walk half a mile from the bus stop to my employer’s location. Google says this should only take 11 minutes. It takes me 25.

It’s now 10:00 (assuming it’s not a Saturday or Sunday, in which case it’s 09:00). As soon as I put my stuff in my tiny locker, down goes six more pills. This allows me to do my job without being distracted by the constant notification of a nail going through my heels and arches with each step, and while standing idly, the sensation of a hammer slamming the top of my foot just before where my toes begin. Don’t get me wrong, the pain is still there, but instead of it being a Six through Eight on a pain scale, it’s between a Four and Seven. Most days, because of my superb memory, I’m running the floor. See paragraph number one. Other times, I’m at the door, performing quality assurance, counting all the contents on the carts as they come, and ensuring the Unit count is correct. (For example a case of Lettuce typically has 24 units inside of it, unless it’s Romaine Hearts, then there’s seven units, and if it’s either Red Leaf or Green Leaf lettuce, then it only counts as one unit. Luckily I’m also pretty good at my 36 times tables in the event of somebody purchasing a shitload of butter. However, on really busy days, I’ll be assigned to the cash register. Those are bittersweet, because I get an anti-fatigue mat to stand on, but that also means that I have to interact with all the stupidity and idiocies of the customers.

Fast forward to about 13:00. Lunch time. First thing’s first, six more pills and then to quickly spend the remaining time of about 20 minutes scarfing down what constitutes as my lunch. Today it was some cheese, pepperoni, and four homemade pretzels— oh, and lots of water. At least now, the constant nagging pain is only simply reminding me of its existence, and I’m able to walk from Point A to Point B faster. This is a tell tale sign that you have plantar fasciitis, the pain starts off wickedly horrible in the morning, and gradually dissipates— but not completely by the end of the day. After lunch, typically I’ll switch roles from what I was doing in the morning, unless of course, it’s a Saturday, and all the crazy, ignorant home shoppers come in to buy their 300 pounds of white rice, Cream of Coconut, and the assortment of bagged produce, all smooshed under the aforementioned bag of rice. Oh, and the chaos of the multiple separate orders. Three items for this woman, five items for him, two items for that person, 15 for her, and the rest for him. And they all want to pay with cash, and want their exact change back, and they all want to pay with $100 for a $9.17 order— and it’s the first cash transaction of the day, and the cash drawer only begins with $50 in random change. Go figure, and there I go again, getting distracted on a tangent. SQUIRREL!

Anyway, as I was saying, if I was running the floor during the morning, I’ll be at the door doing QA in the afternoon. This is both a blessing and a curse. Because the physical activity helps to loosen up my aching feet, which helps to alleviate the pain, but at the same time, each footstep causes painful sensations of nails, hammers, and the occasional dull throbbing ache. But standing in the relatively the same position without the aide of an anti-fatigue mat is also torture. Why we don’t get floor mats? Because they are an obvious tripping hazard for unaware customers— especially on Saturdays when they bring their children in the warehouse to run around like zombies that have the zoomies and have consumed too much sugar, caffeine and methylphenidate. These are the same people who insist on shopping while wearing open-toe sandals, high-heeled shoes, and crocs. And yes, I saw this just earlier today, while working in Boston. I don’t care if the temperature is 58°F on December 30th!

By the time 17:00 comes around, we’re supposed to be closed. Yet there’s always that pesky customer who sneaks in at 16:58, and shops around loading up three carts full of random stuff. I’m actually impressed that they have the ability to grab so much stuff within only 15 minutes. Like, I think they’re preparing to win one of those Shopping Sprees that I don’t think are a thing anymore, at least, not in this economy. The problem is that I can’t start the nightly paperwork until all the customers have been checked out, and depending on how many discounts, returns, and voids were performed during the day, I could be there a while. The entire time standing at the front desk— but at least I get a floor mat to stand on! While I’m doing that, I hoping that we have enough closing staff ([male] cashiers) to put away all the returns. I say male, because despite this being the 21st century, some gender stereotypes still persist, and most of the female cashiers can’t lift the 90 pound boxes of frozen lamb or 50 pound bags of rice over waist height.

But at the same time I’m doing the paperwork, I have to keep one eye on the cashiers assigned to do the cleaning and morning preparation work. You would think that adults could be responsible enough to ensure the very same tasks that get done last night, get done tonight, and tomorrow night. Typically I believe this is called a routine? I could be wrong. Let’s ensure everybody knows how to push a broom around on the floor, and how to mop concrete properly. Each register station is wiped down with cleaning solution, an ink pen, a red marker, eight register rolls of thermal transfer paper under each station, no paperclips, scraps of paper, all the scan guns are firmly seated in their charging stations. And then, if there’s time, to ensure the candy along the front wall is presentable. Oh, and lets not forget about having to chase the same cashiers down night after night to sign their errors in the log. These people are working adults, they graduated from High School, yes? Sometimes, I feel like I’m dealing with children who are still five years old. Would you like a cookie with your carton of milk?

By the time 18:30 rolls around, I should have left half an hour ago. After all the paperwork is completed, I do a final walk around to ensure all the register trays are open and ready for cash drawers in the morning. All stations are satisfactorily clean and sanitized. There are no random returns that need to be put away, and all the Front End logs are initialed for the day. Then I get to use the bathroom for the third time that day before I depart for my two hour commute home. And some days, I have to pop another six pills.

You’re keeping track of the dosage, right? I’ve now consumed four dosages of 800mg Ibuprofen and 1000mg of Tylenol just so I can do my job. That’s 3,200mg of Ibuprofen daily, and 4,0000mg of Tylenol daily (although, some days I don’t need to take as much Tylenol). But then there are nights like tonight, when upon boarding the Subway home, I get to stand the entire way home. All 45 minutes because there’s no seats. This is by far the worst torture, because I have a need to remain as stationary as humanly possible while in a moving vehicle. That involves using my legs and feet in ways that I’m not accustomed to. By the time I got home at 20:30, I was in really bad shape. But now I gotta cook dinner. So as I’m writing this article, I’m frying some hamburgers, topped with freshly shredded Gouda cheese and sauteed red onions. Just before bed, I have to take a small dose of Ibuprofen just so I can doze off to sleep. It’s now about 22:00, and I’m only taking 400mg, just enough to take the extreme edge of pain off my feet.

That was quite a journey through a briar patch, wasn’t it?

I’ve been dealing with this pain everyday for over a year and a half. I still get up to go to work, knowing that I will intensify the pain I’m causing myself. But, what’s a convicted felon supposed to do? Run for President? That’s not my cup of tea. I’ve searched for other jobs, but the problem I’m finding is that if you’ve got any kind of black mark on your record, the typical office jobs are simply unavailable to you. I have years of technical and problem solving experience, but unless I can pass a stupid background check, I won’t get the job, despite “Nobody wants to work anymore". Bullshit.

Anyway, this post has become more about my bitter anger at an oppressive system, than what I originally intended on writing about, which is what plantar fasciitis feels like. Because I know most people don’t know about this silent pain in the ass (well, foot, but, who’s really watching?) And yes, my feet do hurt, but also everything from my hips down hurt, constantly. A dull ache, that I carry with silence, because I don’t think there’s any real cure beyond rest. But I live in Dystopia. And all that matters there is the bottom line. Keep that cash flowing toward the top. Today was a really bad day, and I don’t doubt that tomorrow will be brutal because of my standing commute. But at least I only have one more day of work to make it through, and thank God for a holiday. I think there’s a bottle of Screwball with my name on. All 1.75 liters. I just want the pain to stop. Someday, my dream will become a reality, and the pain will stop, along with my heart.