Order Form

When I was in business, if I saw ‘McDonald’s’ on a resume, my interest piqued.During the interview, I’d ask what stations they worked at, and did they ever make it to Manager Trainee…The reason is simple… McDonald’s managers are trained to know how to work every station. Back when I was with McDonald’s, the first two weeks were spent scrubbing trays, mopping floors, walking a one-block perimeter in my little ‘trainee’ cap picking up trash, going in at 4 AM and scrubbing floors and equipment.A good manager will mop floors, clean tables, fill machines, cook burgers… the emphasis in McD’s is ‘team work’ and ‘no person is too good to do something that needs to be done.’McD’s may serve crappy food, but they put out people who understand teamwork and work ethic and getting their hands dirty.If a person can survive a year at McD’s, I’d hire him in a heartbeat.

Don't do what I did! Or rather, what was done to me. The first gun I ever shot was a .45acp 1911 that looked similar to this:Source: Cheaper than dirtI was 9 years old and super excited I was going to go shooting for the first time. My uncle took me to a range, and I guess he thought he'd have a laugh at my expense. With only a simple instruction on how to hold the heavy pistol, he told me not to aim, just point down the range and pull the trigger. BAM!! It both thrilled and frightened me at the same time. I barely held onto the pistol which recoiled something fierce, nearly smashing my nose. I only fired the one round and practically threw the gun down onto the table.When he stopped laughing he took the pistol away and somehow convinced me to try another. It looked kinda like this:Source: Vintage PistolsA 9mm revolver. Again, it was a bit heavy, but the bullets looked smaller, and my 10 year old cousin was there watching me. I wasn't going to chicken out in front of him. Same basic instructions. I remember how awkward the revolver felt to hold. BAM!! This time the gun almost flipped out of my little hands. My uncle and my cousin had another round of laughter. I was done. I didn't want to shoot anymore. I hated it.I stepped back from the shooting lane and just watched for awhile, hoping we wouldn't stay long. My uncle shot several rounds through the guns he'd had me try, occasionally pausing to gently tease me. However, my cousin never touched them. Instead he was shooting something that looked kinda goofy and had much smaller bullets. It looked like this:Source: PicQueryThat's a Ruger 22/45 Pistol. It shoots .22 long rifle rounds. I noticed how the gun barely moved in his hands as he fired, unlike the two I'd shot that almost flew back to hit me in the face. Knowing this was my only shot (pun intended) to ever shoot guns again—my parents had never shot before and were anti-gun. As I assumed was everyone else I knew, to the best of my 9 year old knowledge—I decided maybe the third time was the charm.I asked if I could give it a try. Same basic instructions. Gun felt a little lighter in my hands. I pointed down range, closed my eyes, started pulling the trigger, flinched very dramatically when I thought it was going to fire, but didn't, then BAM!! It surprised me and I threw the gun down. Then I realized it hadn't been that bad.I shot a few more “clips” (what my uncle called them) then we wrapped up and left.When we got back to his house, my uncle gave a speech about how you always clean your guns after you shoot. We went into the garage, he field stripped the firearms and laid the components on his work table, handed us some old toothbrushes, a few rags, and an old metal coffee tin half filled with gasoline!! He told us to dunk the parts into the gas, wait a few seconds, take em out, scrub em up real good, dunk them again to rinse, then wipe them off. Then he left!It was 11 years before I shot another firearm. I still hate revolvers, though I've only shot a few. I dislike 1911's mostly, though I do own one that I rarely shoot and don't shoot particularly well. I prefer semi-auto pistols in .22lr and 9mm, shotguns, and AR15s. All of which I paid a professional to teach me correctly, before I fired them myself.Yes my uncle was, and still is, an ass. Yes it turned me off of firearms for a long while.Go to a range that rents firearms. Pick one out that fires .22lr. Preferably a rifle, but if you're really wanting a handgun that's ok. Just tell the guy at the counter that you've never shot a gun before. He'll offer suggestions, then he'll have a staff member, a professional, show you how to use it safely. He'll teach you how to use it so you don't develop bad habits. If they don't offer to do this, ask. If you ask and they still don't, leave. The range is unsafe. Go to another that will train you. Most will give this basic training for free. They want you to be safe, and they want to earn your repeat business.If you find that you really enjoy shooting, pay to take some advanced training courses. It doesn't cost much, and it will take the fun to the next level; it's very much worth it. Even if you only shoot for fun, not for defense reasons, it's still worth it.Lastly, don't buy a gun until you've rented and shot several. The good ones aren't generally cheap, and the resale value isn't great on used guns. Make sure you know you already love the gun you're buying. The first gun you buy will be pretty basic (no frills) and will be readily available for rent, so try before you buy.TL;DR: Rent a .22lr rifle (Ruger 10/22 is nice) or .22lr pistol (Ruger 22/45 is also nice) at a gun range, inform the staff you've never shot before, have them train you to do so safely.Have fun!

(I am answering this anonymously due to complaints I made to the state about this workplace which have not yet been resolved.)I told my manager I was not the only person taking federally-mandated 10 minute breaks.I was working at a busy soup/salad/sandwich place in a UC college town in CA. I won't say what city, but this place had been known for its enormous salads since the 1970s prior to a fire which burnt it to the ground.I was hired the 2nd week of their reopening after rebuilding. I worked my ASS off, never took a sick day (since it wasn't allowed) took any shift that was needed and as many extra responsibilities as possible to show management that I took the job seriously and was in it for the long haul.This was the first job I had been offered in the 5 years after having my child, so I was desperate to not only get back into the working world but to also show my employers they did right hiring me: an overweight unknown with a 5 year gap in their resume.I worked. And worked. And WORKED. I was one of the few employees available for the school holidays. I would be able to come in with 10min notice. I would stay after hours after I finished cleaning the salad area to make sure the bread loaves in the kitchen were plastic wrapped and put aside for the morning breakfast rush.All 42 loaves of bread. Off the clock.I would fill in for the dishwasher when they would be fired/not show up in addition to my regular duties.I made friends with the kitchen staff and the bar staff next door (same owner) so I could inform our customers what every ingredient was in their meals.I made sure to bleach and scrub the 4 cutting boards at least once per month; I tried to do it every week, but was told by management "it wasn't necessary", even when I saw mold actively growing on the boards.So I did it off the clock, cause that shit was DISGUSTING!I informed the head chef when I found a baby cockroach frozen in an ice cube I had just scooped from the ice machine.I told management about the full-sized German Cockroaches we saw running wild underneath the register area, which is less than 2 inches from the food storage and service area. One long lunch counter and a clan of roaches underneath…I kept my mouth shut when the Bar Manager (the Owners best friend) propositioned me, screaming at me accusing me of stealing when I started eating the rest of my lunch after I clocked out, and I stayed on after half the bar staff quit after he cornered and sexually assaulted a lone female bartender the day before.Nothing was done about his behavior and the restrictions put upon him were repeatedly violated. When I was told to text the manager of he came into the bar after 10pm, and he did so at 11:30pm 2 nights afterward, I was told I was hanging out at the bar too much (I had JUST finished cleaning and had clocked out 10min prior), why am I there afterhours (the bar closes at 2am that night) and that I am NOT the {name redacted} enforcer and to mind my own business.The thing which got me fired happened on a Saturday shift. I was working from Noon to 8pm, with a 1 hour lunch break between 4–5pm. I was working as a floater, which meant my entire job was making sure the food line was being stocked with ingredients faster than they could run out. In a place where we were so busy we would help 20 customers in 2 minutes (the management timed us via camera), this meant a LOT of running around and a LOT of heavy lifting.The salad dressing came in 10Gal buckets which had to be brought 100ft from the walk-in to the food line, then lifted to fill the large ramekins on the counter. Four different dressings. Plus the salad mix needed to be replenished every 10min or so…I also need to to refill the to-go boxes, napkins, mustard, mayonnaise, horseradish, roast beef, turkey, ham, marinated tofu, tuna salad, chicken salad, salami, peanut butter, bananas, avocados, bacon, tomatoes, lettuce, jalapeños, banana peppers, onions, sprouts, cherry tomatoes, beans, boiled eggs, and croutons.I had to pay attention to the levels of the 3 soups we had available and inform the kitchen of we needed more heated up. I was more often than not also the person heating them.I had to hand cut the bread loaves, but could only fit 6 cut loaves at a time on the back board, so I was cutting loaves every 10–15 minutes.In short, I was exhausted that day.At 6:30pm I noticed we had a lull in customers and decided this would be a good time to take my 1st 10min break of the shift. My coworkers all agreed they'd be fine and that I should go on my break. The moment I clocked out my manager decided that I shouldn't be going on a break right then. She kept repeating that I had gone "on AN HOUR BREAK" just 1 1/2 hours earlier. She said that phrase 5 times. I only had another hour and a half until I was off of work and this would be the only chance I get to take a break before the dinner rush started.I had been working there 30–40 hours/week for the previous 10 months, so I KNEW when the rush would start.She asked me "How do your coworkers feel about you being the only person taking cigarette breaks?!""I'm not the only person taking 10 minute breaks."She became so incensed that if it weren't for my coworker standing behind me to ask her a question I know she would have started screaming at me right there and then. She then told me to finish my break (I now had 3 minutes remaining), and the rest of the shift passed without incident.That was Saturday. I had Sunday off and the place was closed for a holiday on Monday.On Tuesday, 2 hours before my scheduled shift I got a text message from the owner telling me that I was being let go and ALSO banned from the premises. The security crew were informed of the ban and I shouldn't embarrass anyone by making them enforce it.He refused to give me a reason, either through text or in person later that day when I went in to pick up my final paycheck.I finally got a reason when I was forced to fill out a reason to file for unemployment benefits.The reason? Given by the same manager who argued with me about taking a break:"So go ahead and choose Discharged (fired) for the drop down menu.For the explanation, just say that your employer no longer felt that you represented the company in a manner that the company felt was appropriate or a reflection of our practices and standards."Yeah. I was fired for taking my first 10min break 6 1/2 hours into my shift.Even the unemployment representative was dubious saying over the phone "Well, that says a lot of nothing."I got my UI benefits, but I still reported them for denying proper breaks, not allowing us to use or accruing sick leave, and for retaliatory termination.

Oh God !I had the habit of sleeping while studying. I tried my level best to not to sleep but all in vain. I used to sleep during my morning as well as night study time.Seeing this, my mom was ultra pissed. She, sometime used to hit me, though softly, on my head from back whenever she saw me dizzying. One day she told me that if next time she caught me sleeping while studying, she was going to punish me hard. I was scared, obviously.I was in class 9. So, one evening, say at 7:30 pm, I was caught sleeping while studying. And the most horrible part was that she was also angry at my dad. So, you all must be aware as to what would have happened with me next that time.Luckily, I wasn't beaten up. She scolded me very hard. And then after scolding, she told me to do sit-ups and that too for 100 times. That moment, I was like yes I can do because my main motto was to make my mom normal.And I started. Doing 25 sit-ups, as I was counting, I became tired. And next more sit-ups was now being difficult for me to do and now it was mission impossible. My mom was sitting infront of me at dinning table.I guess by that time she became normal. But she didn't stop me from doing sit ups. She was in a view that I would be benefiting for two things. First the punishment for sleeping and the second that I would also be doing sort of exercise for my health.But she didn't knew that something painful was waiting for me. So, finally after 50 sit ups, I was in an extremely painful condition. My mom stopped me too and told me to proceed to my study table as she was unaware of my pain that time.I walked like as if someone had hit me badly on my legs. It was shaking badly. My mom asked me what happened. I said it is paining very badly. She thought that the pain would go soon as I have done sit ups after a very long time. She was correct though.But you know what, the pain grew. Now the time was 10 pm but condition became worse. My thighs were burning. Now, my mom became a little bit worried. To be frank, I was not able to go to the washroom by myself.At 11, my mom was massaging my legs. I guess it was tit for tat for her. Lol. Anyways, while massaging, she was sarcastically commenting on me I was laughing though not loudly.Next day in school, I barely walked. At the lunch time, I denied going down. When I was returning home, my mom was watching from the terrace. She was now very upset as she was totally unaware that this would happen.I, myself, didn't think that I would go through this painful event. I,then, missed my classes for 3 days. Then after proper care and a week, I got well.And my mom in return got scolding from her dad as to why she did this to me. I was happy then.But at the same time, I could see that my mom was guilty enough at her harshness towards me. I told her sorry and that I'll not repeat my mistake . She just hugged me. After that she never told me to do any kind of 'exercise' as punishment.And the most interesting part, I didn't sleep while studying anymore.Peace !

There are a lot of tactics and strategies you can do to get a leg up in the Fantasy Hockey Competition.One of the best paths to take in any fantasy league is to first understand the rules and basics. Exploit the roster makeup, scoring and any other minutiae and other things you can take advantage of.One of the other popular strategies out there is the “stars and scrubs” approach where people pick high variance options costing only one salary point and then load up on known high salaried options. Another option is to fill out your roster with mid-tier options.There is no bad or good approach to this. Your best teacher would be experiences and also also your mistakes. Observe how pros win, and try to imitate how they strategize. You can also join fantasy hockey forums to ask for the help of other foreign members.

Q: How do nuclear submarines provide oxygen to the crew?By,,,ingesting and filtering sea water,desalinating that seawater by evaporation (easy since they have a nuclear reactor and are surrounded by cold water) or by reverse osmosis,cracking the resultant clean fresh water into hydrogen and oxygen by means of electrolysis, again using the ample energy supplied by the reactor. The hydrogen is dumped overboard.But producing oxygen is the easy part.Subs also must scrub CO2 out of the air or it would quickly become toxic. They do this using monoethanolamine, which when saturated can be heated and forced to give up the CO2 which can then be dumped overboard. This is no different from spacecraft, except different scrubber material is used in space to meet weight and operational requirements.The air in a submarine also can accumulate countless toxins, smoke, lubricant fumes, flatus, leaked refrigerant, offgased solvents, etc. Some of this is toxic. Some of it becomes toxic when exposed to a lit cigarette, an electric spark, or other chemicals in the air. Not only can this poison the crew, it can create a fire or explosion hazard, or make the air acidic, shortening the life of equipment.Charcoal filters and other equipment help clean the air. Complex instrumentation packages monitor its constituents.Like many things in our modern world, it’s a vastly more complex topic that most people have any inkling of, and it’s a problem that could only be solved by the application of science.If you like science, you might enjoy my free award-winning scifi sampler.

I was one year into practice. A 14 year old girl was transferred to my hospital. She had been in a motor vehicle accident and been to two hospitals before mine. Her parents had been told she was permanently paralyzed waist down, twice. I was the orthopedic surgeon on call and had spinal privileges and the ability and privileges to implant hardware. So I was the surgeon they called.I arrived and did a thorough spinal trauma exam. Yes she was paralyzed. The confounding factor was that one test (her anal wink) where I poke the anus with a needle and see if it contracts was still working. That told me she was not completely paralyzed or in spinal shock as the nerve that controls this is the last one out of the spinal cord.I told her parents that I needed to operate immediately. I discussed with her parents she might be the same, slightly better or signNowly better. I made no promises.I decompressed her spinal cord, implanted hardware and fused several levels. As I wrote my post operative orders in the recovery room after 4 hours of surgery I saw her thrashing her legs about. I tested her motor strength and it seemed normal. I went out to talk to her parents to tell them that she was better but I couldn’t predict how much better. She might have sensation deficits or coordination deficits and we would see but that it was a very good sign that she was moving her legs.Amber made a full recovery after being declared fully paralyzed by 2 hospitals and at least one neurosurgeon. She walked out of the hospital in a brace and 6 months later was released from my care to full activities. I am sorry, Amber, if your back hurts later in life. I did my best.I received Christmas cards and gifts for 15 years from her family.Her case was actually part of my oral board exam. It was quite funny to hear questions from these examiners who didn’t even do spine surgery as to why I chose to do surgery and how I chose the operation and what levels to fuse.The moral of the story here is that a physician who learns a thorough spinal examination found a patient that did not have a complete spinal injury and fixed it. Being a physician is being a master of your profession, not just reading reports and listening to others.

I’m a professional poker player and won an event once for $286,000. So not an obscene amount of money, but more than your typical customer probably walks in and deposits in cash. Which, btw, if you ever come across a quarter million in cash, It’s probably not the brightest idea to just walk into your local bank branch, unannounced, and start handing them stacks of hundreds wrapped up in $10,000 bundles.This was also directly following the big 3 U.S. poker sites facing indictment and being shut down in the U.S. So claiming online gambling winnings was not a good idea given the climate.I entered the bank and approached an open teller’s window, unzipped my Columbia House duffle bag—which had been given to me as a free gift for being suckered into joining their movie club almost a decade before. As I started stacking the money I stacked 7 packs of $10,000 and opened one up as they were also denominated in stacks of $1000 and separated in the middle by a $5,000 band. I told the teller that I’d like to wire $75,000 to the Bellagio Hotel and Casino —I was headed to Vegas that weekend to play in some high stakes games which were running—and proceeded to pull out the necessary information to wire the money. I put the $5,000 on top and took the other $5000 and stuck it in my sport coat pocket so I’d have some walking around money for when I first arrived in Vegas, before I was able to get to the cage to collect my wire.I had lived in Vegas for a number of years, and it wasn’t unheard of for someone to win an amount like this and have it paid out in cash. Uncommon? A little. But certainly not unheard of. Except I wasn’t in Vegas, I was in a local branch in the suburbs of Kansas City. Where apparently a sub 30 year old doesn’t walk in very often with near $300,000 in cash bundled up in a old, blue, Columbia House duffel bag for a deposit.She instantly asked, “Where did you get all this money?” And then, “That’s a lot to send to a casino to gamble with.”To which I thought, “That’s none of your f**king business.”She must have been able to read the disdain on my face as she instantly excused herself and apologized. A couple minutes later when I had the cash all stacked up on the ledge of the teller window with the 75K off to the side and a slip filled out with the information for wiring the money to the Bellagio main cage, a man approached in a suit and tie and asked if I’d like a private room. I told him I didn’t really need one, that the money was all there, had already been counted, and was ready for deposit. I looked around now to notice several bank employees and customers staring at me but quickly looking away and going back to their business as they saw me looking around the bank.Apparently they don’t just take your word for it when you tell them how much it is, even when packaged up in nice, neat, 10K stacks and 50K bundles. The man in the suit and tie introduced himself as the branch manager and informed me that the money would have to be ran through the machine to be counted and to verify none of the bills were counterfeit. He asked me if I wouldn’t mind coming back to his office and waiting where they could discuss some deposit options with me and then offered me some coffee or something to drink as he motioned with his arms the direction to his office.He too asked me where I had gotten the money, and I was very careful not to mention anything about gambling or playing poker as I knew what an apprehensive issue it was in the financial industry at the time. The Wire Act didn’t prevent playing poker online, exactly, it prevented financial institutions from processing gambling transactions. And the Big Three poker sites in the U.S. hadn’t been shut down with their owners indicted for offering poker online, they had been shut down with the owners indicted for purchasing a bank in Utah where they processed the illegal transactions fraudulently under phony business names. So I told him I’d obtained it selling drugs with a smirk.He didn’t find it as funny as I did so I quickly told him I was kidding, then vaguely told him that I had gotten the money from a friend I had a business interest with, and if he checked my account history he would see that large wires and cash deposits like this weren’t extremely uncommon. He then asked me why I was wiring 75K to Bellagio, and I again smiled and told him it was none of their business and asked if they wanted to continue to do business together or not. He seemed a bit jolted by my standoffish attitude but also seemed to acknowledge that there wasn’t anything illegal about wiring the money to the Bellagio, in fact, Bank of America (a branch of which we currently resided), had a specific account to account transfer option that allowed money to be transferred internally, instantly between any BoA account holder and MGM property.After a brief bit of silence I broke up his dumbfounded look by saying, “look man, are you going to count the money and verify it or not. I’m kinda busy today.” He informed me that the money had been counted and was actually $900 dollars long of $281,000, which I’d put 5K in my pocket of the original $286,000 and to this day scratch my head wondering where/how that extra 900 found its way in there.He seemed to sense I was perplexed by the previous accounting error and said, “looks like you don’t need to go to Vegas, you’re getting lucky already.”I smiled and he informed me they would have to fill out all the necessary tax and legal compliance paperwork including a suspicious activity report (SAR) with FinCen.That was in 2012 and I’ve never heard anything from FinCen. Though I do pay my taxes as required by law and do claim professional gambler as my form of employment. I suspect they have a stack of SAR’s somewhere at FinCen on me that they’ve investigated a few times before as I’ve used some creative ways to repatriate gambling winnings over the years, everything from foreign bank accounts in Malta, to Bitcoins, to even using large bulk purchases of prepaid phone cards (don’t ask). For a period I was “randomly” selected to be searched at the airport EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I flew anywhere for anything. But that has since stopped, which I can only imagine I owe a “Thanks, Obama,” for having the Department of Homeland Security and the DOJ scrub those lists.

In 1988, I flew despite having a head cold. Three days after my return, I took a nice hot shower and felt a searing pain in my ear, followed by a “pop.” I turned on the TV and all theme music (and commercials) sounded like it was played underwater and horrendously out of tune. I got up to call my HMO clinic, and nearly keeled over—the floor seemed to undulate like a ship in very choppy water. I knew instantly I had not only a punctured eardrum (not merely a garden-variety otitis media) but likely an inner-ear infection (vestibulitis) as well. Friend drove me to the HMO, where the “gatekeeper” GP on duty was an older Englishman who’d come out of retirement to be the doc-of-the-day. He looked into my ear, and immediately called every resident, PA and med student in the clinic into the exam room to take a look.Turns out my eardrum looked like cobblestones! (His word). He said he had seen that only once before in his career, when he was a young resident in London. He put me on meclizine (, the prescription strength of Bonine) for the vertigo; and because there was definitely pus (and I’m -allergic), 10 days of a . It took a couple of days for me to “get my sea legs” and a couple more before I could bear to listen to music (and I’m a performing songwriter). Of course, I finished the full 10 days of the abx.One day in 2004, after returning from a plane trip with a very mild cold, I once again awoke to find all music on the TV sounded like watery crap—and the singers & instrumentalists seemed to be singing in different keys. All my high-end acoustic guitars sounded like unplugged Wal-Mart Strat copies. I heard pitches 1/4 tone lower in my L ear than my R. (“Diplacusis”). How I got through a weekend of gigs (including a folk festival and recording session), I’ll never know. On top of that, my right hip seemed to keep painfully popping out of place.The young, green-as-grass ENT I saw shrugged and said there was a little clear fluid behind my eardrums, but it was allergy season and I have hay fever. I asked about the pitch and timbre disturbance and he shrugged “must be something with your cochlea.” (Ya think)? He told me to take Sudafed and ride it out. (Oddly, no nausea or vertigo this time).Went to the orthopedist, who (in front of a gaggle of med students) put my X-ray up on the light-box and gasped “holy shit!” (Two words you don’t want to hear from your doctor). There on the film was my R iliac crest (in lay terms, a hipbone), with a sharp chunk of it broken off and floating above it and off to the side. Because I was too young for osteoporosis to have caused it, he ordered a nuclear bone scan to look for signs of bone cancer.Next day, went to a neurotologist recommended by a musician friend who’d gone through the same hearing disturbance. (My friend’s own neurotologist in Seattle referred me to a colleague here who was also a musician…but he had died suddenly the week before and the guy I saw was his partner, a non-musician). When I mentioned the hip problem and the bone scan, he frowned and ordered an MRI to check for abnormalities. I asked if it might be bone mets from a brain tumor or vice versa, he shrugged and said “let’s wait & see.” He had his audiologist test my hearing, and said my acuity was very good for someone my age, especially someone who as a bassist had spent a couple of years standing next to a drummer every weekend.That weekend, awaiting results of both tests, was the scariest of my life—scarier than my breast cancer diagnosis and its aftermath a decade later. Then the ortho called, saying all he saw on the bone scan was some inflammation at the site of the fracture. “Say, didn’t my partner harvest bone from your hip a few years ago for a bone graft for a tibial plateau repair?” he asked. When I said yes, he said that maybe the partner had dug a bit too deeply, but better to take too much bone than too little. “We can go in now and remove the chip, or see if it resorbs.” I opted for the latter, and my pain went away in about two weeks.Then the neurotologist called and said my MRI was utterly normal. I asked why my hearing disturbance, especially the diplacusis. He replied “You’re a musician—you’re just too picky about pitch.” (!!!!) He said I had Meniere’s, which is a diagnosis of exclusion (i.e., when everything else is ruled out). When I told him I wasn’t dizzy or nauseated, he replied, “Well, atypical Meniere’s, then. Cut out sugar, salt, caffeine, alcohol, any brown drinks.”I asked him for a Rx, as I had done some reading and found in The Lancet that a regimen of , vinpocetine, alpha-lipoic acid, vit. E and manganese could reverse or at least mitigate sudden sensorineural hearing disturbance, so long as it was given w/in 7–21 days of onset. It was already day 20. He grumbled, but phoned in a Dosepak scrip, which I started (along with the supplements) immediately. By day 24, my hearing was back to normal. (I did later go to a musician-specific audiolgist, because the neuro’s audiologist said I should get fitted for custom musicians’ earplugs—and he found that my acuity started falling off at 12kHz; regular audiologists test middle-aged people only up to 8kHz. In other words, I had the hearing acuity of a live rock concert soundperson my age).