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Michaels versus Not Michaels

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Outdated

High Function ASD2
V.I.P Member
Just a little story from one of the happiest periods of my life. I just got lucky moving down to Melbourne, I’d lived there once before and hated it but this time I was a man on a mission, I was chasing high paid work.

At the time the airlines were being ridiculous with the cost of air fares, I refused to pay on principal. I caught a bus instead. Three bloody days, I’ll never do that again. This was back in the early 90s, no internet, no mobile phones. I had a few Melbourne newspapers and a Melbourne street directory with me on the bus and I spent the trip researching.

I was an Offset Printer and pretty confidant in my abilities so I wanted work at the higher end of the market. I worked out that most of the graphic designers and marketing companies were in South Melbourne and so that’s where I wanted to live.

It was one of those really upmarket areas in close to the CBD, one of those places where women get dressed up in their best clothes and sit at a side walk cafe so they can be seen. Who they wanted to be seen by and why this mattered to them always baffled me.

I just got lucky. It was such a wonderful little area. During the day it was all business and suits and painted on smiles, but as the sun went down all those people disappeared and it was just us locals left with the place to ourselves. In some ways it was almost like living in a little country town, lost in the middle of a big city.

The local pub used to get pretty crowded but it was a friendly crowd, a well educated crowd, and an incredibly eclectic mix of so many different professions. Yet so many things about us all were exactly the same. Some of these similarities were in character, or in philosophy, but some were a little more mundane.

Someone made a comment one night that there were enough Michaels in the house at that moment to field a cricket team. A few of us did a quick head count and he was right, 13 Michaels all under the roof at the same time. We all had a bit of a laugh about that but then serious discussion started.

Then all of a sudden it was on! Saturday down at the corner park, a cricket match between the Michaels and the Not Michaels. We tipped a few beers into the bar manager and got him onside, he came down to the park with a keg of beer and a temprite on a sack truck. One of the marketing people got us all free printed T-shirts, one of the Michaels owned a few butcher shops and supplied the chops and sausages.

No one knows who won in the end but we all had a fat time. :)
 
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I have 12 Michaels in my phone contacts, two of which are family members.

Obviously my name is Luca, and I have friends named Luke, Lukasz, and Luciano.
That’s not a joke! :)

I also have two aunts named Karen, one on each side of the family.

I have three clients who have dogs named Tucker.

It’s weird how many people have the same names. Like if you think about it, it would make sense if every name was unique, but most of us probably know 12 Michaels and 3 dogs named Tucker :tearsofjoy:
 
I love these stories!

It reminds me of an commercial for the lottery that was running here for a while. A guy at a football match wanted to choose a random number for his lottery ticket. So he stood up and shouted "Yiorgos!" (a very common name here) and counted how many heads turned.
 
Michael Murder:

An unfortunate nickname for an incredibly nice man. He was obviously gay, one of those who tends to fluoresce as they call it. He had a lovely personality but he was also a bit of a bimbo and was easily flustered by things sometimes.

He was a nurse in the intensive care unit of one of the hospitals in Melbourne. An old woman in the ward was dying, she had declared that she didn’t want to be revived again and had them cut all her medications. Her husband sat the death watch with her.

During his rounds Michael noticed that the old woman had died, he gave condolences to the old man and reported the event at the nurses station then continued his rounds. An hour later he came past again and the poor old man was still sitting there holding a cold stiff hand and crying. He said “I’m terribly sorry. The doctors are all very busy at the moment. Is there anything I can do for you?” and the old man said “Yes, can you please stop that horrible noise?”. The alarm on the life support was still screaming.

Michael was a sweetheart, always desperate to please everyone. He had a quick look at the machine, couldn’t find anywhere to turn off the alarm, so he said “Bugger this!” and pulled the power plug out of the wall.

He had just shut down life support before a death certificate was signed. He was charged with murder and spent 9 months in jail waiting for his court case to come up. He was acquitted of course, but he also lost his nurse’s registration.

We all employed him as a cleaner while he fought to get reinstated as a nurse. He was fantastic too, over a dozen of us employed him, me too, and we all kept him in full time work. He eventually won back his nursing registration but by then he’d decided that he really liked doing the cleaning for all his friends. When you take in to account that we were all paying him cash it was much more financially rewarding than being a nurse too. He never went back to nursing.
 
Outdated said:
Michael Murder:

An unfortunate nickname for an incredibly nice man. He was obviously gay, one of those who tends to fluoresce as they call it. He had a lovely personality but he was also a bit of a bimbo and was easily flustered by things sometimes.

He was a nurse in the intensive care unit of one of the hospitals in Melbourne. An old woman in the ward was dying, she had declared that she didn’t want to be revived again and had them cut all her medications. Her husband sat the death watch with her.

During his rounds Michael noticed that the old woman had died, he gave condolences to the old man and reported the event at the nurses station then continued his rounds. An hour later he came past again and the poor old man was still sitting there holding a cold stiff hand and crying. He said “I’m terribly sorry. The doctors are all very busy at the moment. Is there anything I can do for you?” and the old man said “Yes, can you please stop that horrible noise?”. The alarm on the life support was still screaming.

Michael was a sweetheart, always desperate to please everyone. He had a quick look at the machine, couldn’t find anywhere to turn off the alarm, so he said “Bugger this!” and pulled the power plug out of the wall.

He had just shut down life support before a death certificate was signed. He was charged with murder and spent 9 months in jail waiting for his court case to come up. He was acquitted of course, but he also lost his nurse’s registration.

We all employed him as a cleaner while he fought to get reinstated as a nurse. He was fantastic too, over a dozen of us employed him, me too, and we all kept him in full time work. He eventually won back his nursing registration but by then he’d decided that he really liked doing the cleaning for all his friends. When you take in to account that we were all paying him cash it was much more financially rewarding than being a nurse too. He never went back to nursing.
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It's awful what they did to Michael! Honestly I'm lost for words!

I'm glad that he had friends who supported him through his darkest hour. But wow, 9 months!?

I keep on getting reminded of a quote from a movie today for some reason. It goes...

"The world is either great or wretched, isn't it? So many people are just... finished."

The story just seemed like an example of the world being great and wretched. I'm glad there was a happy ending in Michael's case. It doesn't sound like the medical profession deserved him!
 
I didn't understand what was going on at the time, but when I started burning out I started having fits where I'd pass out. The very first time was just a pleasant Sunday morning, I had been teaching myself C++ and got up to go to the toilet.

I woke up kneeling on the floor staring at a huge smear of blood and grease and hair on the wall tiles where my head had hit. One arm was down the toilet bowl and two of my ribs were broken. I crawled back in to my bedroom but was unable to get up on the bed, I just went to sleep on the floor.

I slept through until Monday morning, I woke up just in time to go to work. I was the Production Manager, for me work came before any other consideration. So I went to work feeling sorry for myself, and within half an hour I felt something inside my chest tear. Then all of a sudden I could move a lot more freely and I was in nowhere near as much pain.

When my boss came in I told him that I'd broken a couple of ribs and he had to go easy on me for the day. He said "Rubbish! You wouldn't be doing this job if you had broken ribs.". I grabbed his hand and shoved his fingers on to where the ends of the ribs were overlapping each other. "!!!!" he said, "Two of them."

So I worked for about 10 hours then went to the pub feeling sorry for myself. It was Michael Murder that fixed me. He got me to put my hands above my head and keep breathing in and in as much as I could. When my chest was expanded enough he realigned the ends of the ribs for me. A week later I was near good as gold.
 
Outdated said:
I didn't understand what was going on at the time, but when I started burning out I started having fits where I'd pass out. The very first time was just a pleasant Sunday morning, I had been teaching myself C++ and got up to go to the toilet.

I woke up kneeling on the floor staring at a huge smear of blood and grease and hair on the wall tiles where my head had hit. One arm was down the toilet bowl and two of my ribs were broken. I crawled back in to my bedroom but was unable to get up on the bed, I just went to sleep on the floor.

I slept through until Monday morning, I woke up just in time to go to work. I was the Production Manager, for me work came before any other consideration. So I went to work feeling sorry for myself, and within half an hour I felt something inside my chest tear. Then all of a sudden I could move a lot more freely and I was in nowhere near as much pain.

When my boss came in I told him that I'd broken a couple of ribs and he had to go easy on me for the day. He said "Rubbish! You wouldn't be doing this job if you had broken ribs.". I grabbed his hand and shoved his fingers on to where the ends of the ribs were overlapping each other. "!!!!" he said, "Two of them."

So I worked for about 10 hours then went to the pub feeling sorry for myself. It was Michael Murder that fixed me. He got me to put my hands above my head and keep breathing in and in as much as I could. When my chest was expanded enough he realigned the ends of the ribs for me. A week later I was near good as gold.
Click to expand...

Should we give him a new name here?
 
Outdated said:
I didn't understand what was going on at the time, but when I started burning out I started having fits where I'd pass out. The very first time was just a pleasant Sunday morning, I had been teaching myself C++ and got up to go to the toilet.

I woke up kneeling on the floor staring at a huge smear of blood and grease and hair on the wall tiles where my head had hit. One arm was down the toilet bowl and two of my ribs were broken. I crawled back in to my bedroom but was unable to get up on the bed, I just went to sleep on the floor.

I slept through until Monday morning, I woke up just in time to go to work. I was the Production Manager, for me work came before any other consideration. So I went to work feeling sorry for myself, and within half an hour I felt something inside my chest tear. Then all of a sudden I could move a lot more freely and I was in nowhere near as much pain.

When my boss came in I told him that I'd broken a couple of ribs and he had to go easy on me for the day. He said "Rubbish! You wouldn't be doing this job if you had broken ribs.". I grabbed his hand and shoved his fingers on to where the ends of the ribs were overlapping each other. "!!!!" he said, "Two of them."

So I worked for about 10 hours then went to the pub feeling sorry for myself. It was Michael Murder that fixed me. He got me to put my hands above my head and keep breathing in and in as much as I could. When my chest was expanded enough he realigned the ends of the ribs for me. A week later I was near good as gold.
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Dear me! That sounds like a pretty awful experience! I'm glad Michael fixed you up! Damn useful person to have around!

I think I either dislocated or cracked a rib in my back. It happened after a particularly awful coughing fit. I felt something go out of place and it was quite sore and prevented me from moving easily.

I tried to get on with things and spent a day doing some welding on my car. Once I had done enough for the day I packed up the tools and pushed my car up the driveway. It wasn't too hard (only 765kg so it feels like pushing a bike). I decided to take 5 minutes and recline in the nicely adjusted bucket drivers seat.

As I relaxed into the seat, there was a cartoonish and very loud cracking sound. Then the fun began. I was in so much pain. I think the rib kinda jumped back into place. I ended up in the hospital due to the pain and shallow breathing due to the pain preventing me from inhaling fully.

It never seemed to heal right and is still painful to this day!

I wish I knew a Michael that could fix it!
 
MildredHubble said:
As I relaxed into the seat, there was a cartoonish and very loud cracking sound. Then the fun began. I was in so much pain. I think the rib kinda jumped back into place. I ended up in the hospital due to the pain and shallow breathing due to the pain preventing me from inhaling fully.
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This is exactly what a Chiropractor is for and nothing else will alleviate the pain. The bones need realigning.

Don't go to one of those quacks that claims to treat people though. You need a real chiropractor, go to a local horse agistement or pony club and ask them who they use for the horses.
 
He certainly did, he was a lovely man. He was out with a bunch of us one night and had a massive heart attack and died. I was just glad he got to spend his last few years with so many good friends.
 
Outdated said:
This is exactly what a Chiropractor is for and nothing else will alleviate the pain. The bones need realigning.

Don't go to one of those quacks that claims to treat people though. You need a real chiropractor, go to a local horse agistement or pony club and ask them who they use for the horses.
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A friend has told me that there is someone who helped her nearby and she said they can at least make an assessment and find out if things are out of alignment. He sounds like he may fit what you describe :-)

It's pretty bad sometimes. My arms get fatigued just trying to solve a Rubik's cube. That's no joke, I decided it was high time learn to solve one! But the pain is making that a slow process!

But it's tragic what happened to Michael :-( Again I'm glad he was with his friends at least. It sounds like he drew the short straw more than once. I'm glad he lives on in your memories and now we all know a bit about him and appreciate him too! :-)
 
Outdated said:
Just a little story from one of the happiest periods of my life. I just got lucky moving down to Melbourne, I’d lived there once before and hated it but this time I was a man on a mission, I was chasing high paid work.

At the time the airlines were being ridiculous with the cost of air fares, I refused to pay on principal. I caught a bus instead. Three bloody days, I’ll never do that again. This was back in the early 90s, no internet, no mobile phones. I had a few Melbourne newspapers and a Melbourne street directory with me on the bus and I spent the trip researching.

I was an Offset Printer and pretty confidant in my abilities so I wanted work at the higher end of the market. I worked out that most of the graphic designers and marketing companies were in South Melbourne and so that’s where I wanted to live.

It was one of those really upmarket areas in close to the CBD, one of those places where women get dressed up in their best clothes and sit at a side walk cafe so they can be seen. Who they wanted to be seen by and why this mattered to them always baffled me.

I just got lucky. It was such a wonderful little area. During the day it was all business and suits and painted on smiles, but as the sun went down all those people disappeared and it was just us locals left with the place to ourselves. In some ways it was almost like living in a little country town, lost in the middle of a big city.

The local pub used to get pretty crowded but it was a friendly crowd, a well educated crowd, and an incredibly eclectic mix of so many different professions. Yet so many things about us all were exactly the same. Some of these similarities were in character, or in philosophy, but some were a little more mundane.

Someone made a comment one night that there were enough Michaels in the house at that moment to field a cricket team. A few of us did a quick head count and he was right, 13 Michaels all under the roof at the same time. We all had a bit of a laugh about that but then serious discussion started.

Then all of a sudden it was on! Saturday down at the corner park, a cricket match between the Michaels and the Not Michaels. We tipped a few beers into the bar manager and got him onside, he came down to the park with a keg of beer and a temprite on a sack truck. One of the marketing people got us all free printed T-shirts, one of the Michaels owned a few butcher shops and supplied the chops and sausages.

No one knows who won in the end but we all had a fat time. :)
Click to expand...

Such a wonderful story, it made me smile. Thank you
 
Outdated said:
He had just shut down life support before a death certificate was signed. He was charged with murder and spent 9 months in jail waiting for his court case to come up. He was acquitted of course, but he also lost his nurse’s registration.
Click to expand...
Well, that would make him the only murderer in history to have murdered an already dead person.
 
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Brian. Not a Michael.

He was born in Australia but his family migrated to England when he was little. He ended up in the British military intelligence division as a communications specialist and spent 15 years living in eastern Europe. He taught me all my computer networking. These days we have standard protocols in place to prevent half of what he taught me.

I was drinking at the bar one night, and when I went to the toilet someone grabbed my phone and changed the language to German. I showed it to Brian and he said “What’s the matter with you, don’t you speak German?” and he reset it back to English for me. A while later they did it again and changed it to Russian, and Brian responded exactly the same. It turned out that he spoke 15 languages, Swahili stumped him though.

I helped Brian move house one weekend and I noticed a crossbow bolt sticking out of a box, I asked him if he hunted. He laughed and said it’s his lucky charm. He was walking home from the pub one afternoon and that bolt shot past his face and buried itself in a tree. He went back there later on with a knife and dug the bolt out of the tree and kept it.

British military pay a pension for each tour of active duty, Brain had done 3 tours so he got 3 pensions. When he first came back to Australia he only got paid 25% of his pension, he queried his bank and they said the Australian Taxation Office had taken the rest. He phoned the taxation office and told them that he’d already paid tax on that money and they said “Not in Australia, you have to pay tax here too.”.

Brian told them the answer to that was easy, he just wouldn’t bring that money in to Australia any more. He had a brother living in Ireland, the brother set up a bank account in his name for the pension to go in to, and every time there was enough money in the account his brother went out and bought him another house which got rented out. That rent money also went in to the Irish bank account.

Then Brian got a letter from the taxation office saying that they had changed the ruling and he could now bring that money in to Australia and it would only be taxed at a reasonable rate, he got me to help him compose a reply. We told them that the underhanded and money-grubbing tactics that they used and had forced him to keep his money offshore had made him a wealthy man, and that he was now advising friends and relatives on how to do the same.
 
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