- In-Game Name: Peyton
- Timezone EST
- Age: 20
- Arma 3 Hours (Screenshot): https://gyazo.com/e242cb774f5c617fc43add09caed0f36
- Previous Gangs: Pandemonium, Aphelion, Infamous, Clarity, Vanity
- Why do you want to join Wicked?: Got some buddies in the gang and I would enjoy fighting some cartels with everyone.
- Any members who can vouch for you: Chase, Crunchedd, Moonshine
I won't specify the business, but everyone has heard of it and it doesn't start with a P. I just got home from work about twenty minutes ago (3:30 AM PST), and my shift started at 6:15 pm.
The day started out pretty slow, which sucks. I don't necessarily like the system of tipping, but it's what makes the job worth doing. A slow day means less opportunities for tips.
Anyway, I finish eating my Jimmy John's sandwich (beach club, no mayo, extra hot cherry peppers) and clock in. I don't take my first run till around 6:30 pm. It's two orders of wings,
plain, paying in cash. I already know I'm not getting tipped.
The order is for an apartment complex about 4 miles from the store. A closer run means less gas spent, and because I already knew it was a stiff (pizza guy lingo for an order that
doesn't tip), this is a good thing. Typically, I get a little frustrated when I get stiffed. Despite what some people may think, delivering pizza isn't exactly an easy job. No, it does not
require four years of college and two years of internship with a similar business, but it is dangerous. Driving in the place I live in is a big challenge. Everyone drives like they're
playing Forza. Obviously, thats a bit of an exaggeration. However, driving is, indisputably, the hardest part of the job. One mistake and I could die, or worse, be permanently
disabled/disfigured.
So, I fight my way thru rush hour traffic and make it to the apartment safely. I'm pretty familiar with the complex, so I'm at the correct building in no time. Usually, the customer waits
until I ring the doorbell, but this time, the customer in question was outside, sitting in her wheelchair.
I hop out of my air conditioned car and into the sweltering heat and begin to approach the lady. From about 10 feet away, I can already tell something is a little off about her. Shes
gotta be at least 70 years old. She's wearing a bright pink night gown with no pants and no socks or shoes. She's very overweight. Not morbidly obese, but probably pretty close.
Her legs were very bright red, as if she was badly sunburned, but everything below her knee was pale white. From about 10 feet away, it seems like some kind of ointment.
When I was within talking distance, around two feet away, I can immediately tell this was NOT ointment. She's diabetic. Her legs were in the beginning stages of necrosis. I don't
know all the technical medical details, but for those who don't know, necrosis only occurs in very extreme diabetes. In order to keep your fat, for lack of a better word, alive, your body
needs to create new blood vessels. However, if there are too many blood vessels, your blood becomes to thin, which inhibits your body's ability to keep the rest of your body supplied
with blood.
So your body decides to destroy old blood vessels so it can keep the rest of your body supplied with blood. Obviously, it's not going to destroy a blood vessel in the brain so it can
create a blood vessel in your fat. It starts with your extremities.
This, white cream, that I saw from a distance, was actually pus coming from large open wounds all around her lower legs. Because there wasn't enough blood reaching her lower
legs, the tissue began to die. This created large, bloody wounds that are all but guaranteed to become infected. The skin seemed as if it was melting away. I counted 10 flies ON her
legs, possibly laying eggs on the wounds. . I can only begin to imagine what her apartment looks like. Or smells like.
When I got back in my car, I was kind of in shock. I've seen people, literally, cut in half alive on the internet. Skin flayed off the face, eyes gouged out, cutting off fingers, hands,
arms, legs, people being burned alive; but seeing something as "mild" as this, in person was completely different. It actually stuck with me. None of those things compelled me to rant
about it on some gaming community's forum that maybe 5 people will even care enough to read.
Now, I should say, I've been fat my entire life. I'm not going to soften the blow, as many do, by calling myself "heavy", or "overweight." The literal definition is fat. I've struggled with it
my whole life, and I haven't changed. Not because I've failed, but because I gave up. I'm not morbidly obese, (6'2, 290 lbs), but that is fat. I've heard people say to me "Oh, you can't
call yourself that, that's mean you have to love yourself, you don't need to change", and also say, "Yeah, if you don't change, you could be dead when you're 40". BOTH sides are
right. In order to change, loving yourself is a NECESSITY. If you don't care about YOUR OWN LIFE, it is not wise to assume someone else will. If you don't care, you won't change.
That run bothered me the whole day. I realized if I don't truly set my mind to changing my habits and my diet, my future could turn out like that lady. Slowly wasting away alone, in
immense pain, faced with the choice of amputation or certain death. Being permanently crippled to a chair or couch, unable to even clean yourself. To cook, to drive, to have sex,
breathe normally, hold things with your hands. No. That will not be me. I will not destroy myself because I am too weak to prevent it. I love myself more than that, and I need to prove
to myself that I do.
