How To Tell Someone You Have Herpes, According To Experts

Herpes. For some, just the word alone can result in a rollercoaster of emotions. So to find out you have herpes, can feel really scary. But it shouldn’t be. While herpes may not be cured with an antibiotic, like other STIs, it is treatable. People don’t “suffer” from herpes; people live with it and continue to have great lives — and sex lives too.

But, as is the case with any STI you have, it is something that you need to tell your partner. If you’re going to be a responsible sexually active person in this world, you owe to yourself and everyone you sleep with, to be honest about anything you have that could possibly be transmitted to them.

“Any diagnosis of an STI can be frightening/upsetting/insert-other-not-good-feeling, but it is not the end of the world. I feel like I say that so often, but it really is the case,” Dr. Megan Stubbs, Ed.D, a sex and relationship expert, tells Bustle. When telling your partner, either potential or existing, “honesty and upfront communication is key. Try to find a neutral location for this conversation to happen. Right before bed or when you’re about to be sexual isn’t the ideal setting,” Stubbs says.

According to the Center for Disease Control, “more than one out of every six people aged 14 to 49 years have genital herpes,” also known as HSV-2, in the United States. As for oral herpes, HSV-1, that number is much higher, with the World Health Organization estimating that 3.7 billion people under 50 have it. Because oral herpes, aka cold sores, are so common, many people may not think they need to have a conversation about it with their partner — but because oral herpes can be transferred to the genitals, it’s still a conversation that needs to happen.

“It just takes that skin on skin contact to transmit the virus, so when we think about oral sex, we need to think about our oral herpes,” Dr. Stubbs says. “Again, this may take some time for them to process. Herpes is so common, but some people may still be unaware of the finer details of the virus… it’s something that you should disclose to your partner so that they can make informed decisions regarding their own sexual wellbeing.”

It should also be noted that if you have herpes, genital or otherwise, it’s not as though you will be walking around with sores for the rest of your life, but there is no cure. According to the Mayo Clinic, herpes treatment comes in the forms of prescription antiviral medications like Acyclovir (Zovirax) and Valacyclovir (Valtrex). These medications not only help to heal sores faster than they would without them but also help to prevent future outbreaks, as well as the severity of those outbreaks. While medications also minimize the chance of transmitting the virus to others, there is still no guarantee, and wearing condoms, even if there isn’t a current outbreak, is always necessary.

With that in mind, find a cozy place, get your facts straight, and tell your partner you need to have a chat, start with:

  • I just had a checkup.
  • I have a diagnosis of herpes.
  • This means we need to have to talk bout it.

After that, here’s exactly what to say to a partner if you find out you have herpes.

1. Tell Them Before You Have Sex

Ashley Batz/Bustle

Although telling your current partner you have herpes before you have sex the next time is likely to be a little more difficult than telling a new partner, it still has to be done.

“It’s great to have this conversation before you engage in any sexual activity,” Dr. Stubbs says. “For an existing partner, this can be trickier. Assuming you both were tested before you became sexual partners, this may be a larger conversation than just revealing your status. Was there cheating involved? Was there an exposure during group play? Have you been sexual with your partner since then?”

Let them know as soon as you find out and definitely before you are sexual again. You just need to put it out there and tell them you have herpes — and do it before you get into bed with each other. As Dr. Stubbs points out, a neutral spot is really the best option. The bedroom should be free of all serious talks anyway — that’s a place for dirty talk and sexual fun.

2. Tell Them About The Virus

If you’ve been diagnosed with herpes, not only were you probably sent home with a pamphlet, but you probably got on your computer and did your own research for hours. Dr. Stubbs suggests telling your partner about the virus and giving them the facts. A good place to start is with statistics, so your partner realizes just how common herpes is.

There are two types of herpes: HSV-1 and HSV-2. The World Health Organization estimates that, globally, 3.7 billion people under 50 have HSV-1, while 417 million people between 15 and 49 have HSV-2. The difference between the two strains of herpes is that HSV-1 is contracted and transmitted orally, and the outbreak is a cold sore. HSV-2, on the other hand, is sexually transmitted and shows up as sores around the genitals. However, HSV-1 can cause genital herpes if there’s contact during an oral outbreaksay, if you give your partner head while you have an active cold sore.

3. Give Them Space

When you tell your partner, either current or new, that you have herpes, there’s no way to know how they’ll react. For a current partner, this could open up a whole conversation about fidelity or past partners, while in both cases there might be a bit of a shock. Because of the stigma surrounding herpes, it’s important to give your partner space after you have the talk.

“Let them think about it,” Stubbs. “Don’t pressure them for an answer right away. They may want to do their own research on it.”

Some people buy into the stigma and, even after telling them all the facts, may choose to keep their distance. If that’s the case, let them do that. It’s their loss; not yours.

4. Talk About STI Screening

Rocketclips, Inc/Shutterstock

Let this conversation open the door to STI screening. Anyone who’s sexually active should consider regular STI screening because condoms aren’t foolproof and, honestly, you just never know.

“Often times you can be asymptomatic and not know you have the virus,” Dr. Stubbs says. “So even if your partner isn’t exhibiting any symptoms, it’s best to be tested.”

STI screenings are quick and easy. They’re also something we should all do for ourselves and our partners, no matter if they’re casual, short-term, or long-term.

5. Allow Yourself And Your Partner To Be Emotional

“Herpes can bring up a lot of emotions, especially when it comes to our sexual partners,” Dr. Stubbs says. Since that’s the case, let yourself be emotional! It’s OK! We have emotions for a reason and that reason is to feel them, then express them. But it’s also important to keep things in perspective.

“Being informed, upfront, and honest with your diagnosis is the best thing you can do for yourself and your partnership,” Dr. Stubbs says.

6. Tell Them This Really Isn’t The End Of The World

More than anything, make sure your partner truly realizes this isn’t the end of the world — not for you, not for them, and certainly not for your sex life together. It’s simply an STI that you have, something that you take medication for, and something you both need to be aware of when having sex.

“Genital herpes will not ruin your sex life,” Dr. Sheila Loanzon, a board-certified OB-GYN and author of Yes, I Have Herpes, tells us. “This diagnosis has the opportunity to cause isolation and destroy the possibility of future relationships if you let it. While the virus may seem catastrophic to some, in terms of disclosure to future partners, outbreak management, and cultural stigmatization of the virus, there are numerous HSV positive men and women (who are publicly sharing their virus status on social media), who are in fulfilling and loving sexual relationships.” And Dr. Loanzon says this as both a doctor and a woman with herpes.

“As a single woman dating, I have actually found that after disclosure it has not made a difference to my partners what my positive status was,” Dr. Loanzon says. “They would like to get to know me as a person.”

Definitely not the end of the world at all.

Finding out you have herpes isn’t easy. Nor is telling your partner. But it still has to be done. So take a deep breath, find a neutral place, and just tell them with clarity and honesty. It’s likely to go smoother than you imagined.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

You can check out my books here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

One Slip…

Philadelphia, PA – 1969

I was 7 years old and in 2nd grade at Lawndale school. My teacher was Mrs. Koffler. She was like any other lady. When you’re really young anyone older than 12 years old looks like an adult. But I suspect Mrs. Koffler was in her mid to late twenties. A plain girl. Cat glasses with her straight blonde hair pulled straight back in a ponytail. Neatly dressed in the style of the day. Conservative sweaters and blouses, and always a nice skirt. She preferred patterns to solids. Always wore nude colored pantyhose. Comfortable shoes adorned her feet. Flats on most days. I suppose being on your feet much of the day dealing with a roomful of kids would tire any person out.

I remember Mrs. Koffler would sit at the front of the class and read to us sometimes. I remember she would sit cross-legged. I would be listening to the story with the other students and admire her legs. She was a young lady and I’m paying attention to the story, but her legs were distracting me.

I remember on occasion I would sometimes drop my crayon or pencil on the floor so I could bend down under my desk to pick it up, all the while stealing a glance at her well-turned gams.

Funny how you like certain things even as a young boy. You’re too young to even have any thoughts or actions in regard to sex. I know I didn’t find Mrs. Koffler attractive and didn’t even really like her. But I would still check out her legs. Odd, how things fire in the mind even when you’re very young. It doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still a vision you find pleasing.

I was a bright kid but found school in general an enormous bore. It felt more like a prison to me.

It was the time of day for us to do art. Which meant all sorts of supplies appear and an assignment given. I was always surprised that even art was structured in school. You got assignments. I get it. Draw a nice picture and give it to your parents to hang on the fridge. It’s Thanksgiving. Trace your hand and we’ll make it a turkey.

The one thing they never teach in school is creativity. Because they can’t. They can only give you exercises to develop it. Because they can’t do it and don’t even know what it really is. They’re just the hired help. You either have creativity or you don’t.

So, we’re all making something at our little desks with cloth felt and construction paper and Elmers glue. I always like Elmer’s glue. My favorite thing to do with it was to pour a small amount into my hand and spread it out across my palm. I would wait for it to dry and it became like an extra epidermis on my palm. I would slowly peel it off, and I felt like a snake molting its skin. I noticed that the glue made a beautiful impression on my tiny hand. I could see every detail of my palm on the sheet of dried glue. It even felt like skin when dry. I could see the fingerprints and everything perfectly. I used to wonder if this type of glue would ever have any practical applications for law enforcement or forensics. But what did I know? I was just playing with something I should have been slathering on the back of a piece of colored paper so I could affix it to something else. It was non-toxic so no one would die if they ate it. (Which I have done. It’s quite good and not nearly as salty a delicacy as Play-Doh)

I was nearly finished with my little mandatory art project and got up from my desk to throw away some scraps of paper. Maybe I was distracted by the ethereal beauty of my classmate, the lovely Donna McHugh with her blonde wavy hair and ice-blue eyes. But somehow as I rounded a desk I slipped on a piece of felt that had fallen to the floor along with other artistic detritus.

My head struck the edge of one of the desks, just between the suborbital foramen and the margin. (My left eyebrow)

I don’t remember actually striking the desk or any pain. I just remember someone getting me to my feet and walking me out of the class. (I think it was room 6) I was with this person, (Maybe Mrs. Koffler?) and I saw something I never saw before. As we walked down the hallway along the polished light hardwood floor, I watched as drops of bright red blood dripped away from my face and struck the floor. Big drops. Just every few feet as we quickly moved along. Drip….drip….drip.

We got to the school nurse’s office and whoever brought me in left. I simply obeyed the nurse’s orders. I wasn’t frightened. I wasn’t in any pain really. I just laid down on the little cot. I felt the white butcher paper crunch under me. I just wondered why would someone put paper on a bed.

She went to work on me with bandages and compression. My brow was apparently split open in a nasty gash. I never saw it and I suppose that’s a good thing. I’ve seen blood before. No big deal. Boys are always getting banged up in everyday life. It’s part of having wild fun. I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t see it because maybe that’s when the fear may have crept in.

I’m assuming they called my mother first. She didn’t drive so I’m sure she then called my father who worked at the Provident National Bank over on Cottman street.

I remember lying on the little cot when my father walked into the nurse’s office. He was wearing his overcoat and of course his hat. My father always wore a hat. He wore a hat beyond when it was no longer fashionable. He stayed right in the late sixties with his style. He told me that if he wore his style long enough it would come back again. (It later did!)

It was weird to see my father at school. Only moms haunted the school. Not dads. They were all at work every day.

The nurse had stopped the bleeding and had me bandaged up pretty good. My father lifted me up into his arms and carried me out of the school. I liked being carried by my dad. You feel safe in your dad’s arms. His cold coat. His rough face. His aftershave. All safe and familiar. Strong. He’s going to take care of this.

He carried me outside and put me in the back seat of the VW minibus. He asked that I lie down and be still, but hold on. I don’t know how long the ride was. Everything seems long when you’re little. Time is a crazy thing when you’re young. But time is relative. If you’re 50 years old and something’s going to happen in 6 months, that’s no time at all based on how long you’ve been on Earth. But if you were 5 years old and someone told you that Christmas was 6 months away, that’s 1/10 of your entire life. That feels like forever!

Anyway, we get to the hospital. I don’t remember going in or anything about the place. Just that everything was bright white. They laid me down on a bigger bed. (More butcher paper) The doctor came in and looked at my head. I remember him saying he was going to give me a few stitches. I’d never seen stitches except on the Frankenstein monster in the movies. Would it be a long black line, with shorter lines going across it like in a cartoon? Is that what they really looked like?

I know my dad stayed in the room the whole time. I remember looking up while the doctor went to work on me. He had a curved needle and thread. I guess my head had been hurting and the tiny little pricks really didn’t bother me at all for some reason. You’d think with my anxiety I’d have been freaking out, but anxiety is the fear of what might happen. This already happened. The doctor was just patching me up. I felt totally calm.

The doctor told me that he had put 12 stitches in my head.

It didn’t take long, and within no time my dad was taking me out of there. I don’t remember if I sat up or laid down on the way home.

Whenever any of the kids in the family had a cold they obviously stayed home from school. Sure you were coughing and sneezing and were just generally uncomfortable. But the cool thing was, we had a convertible sofa in our living room. We never used it for guests. We only used it when the kids were sick. My mom would open it up, prop up the head, and grab some pillows and a blanket. It was right in front of the TV. So getting sick wasn’t really that bad. getting your temperature taken and eating gross medicine was a bit unpleasant, but you got to watch TV all day and not go to school. Oh, and your mom waits on you hand and foot. Brilliant day.

Soup. Toast. All the fixings!

So, dad gets me home and my mom already has the sickbed ready. I got in my pajamas and hopped right in. I had a bandage on my head so my sisters couldn’t see my injury or my stitches. I remember it being described as a little black eyebrow above my real one.

Everyone was making a fuss over me and I was happy to be home. I just relaxed on the bed with my two sisters around me in the room as we watched TV.

I guess my dad had left for a short while because for about a half-hour I didn’t see him. But he soon returned and handed me a big bag. I opened it and inside it was a box full of little plastic spacemen! They were red white and blue and in all different positions. (Just like army men) I was very grateful to receive such a bounty. It wasn’t Christmas. I had simply slipped and busted my head open.

“Charles was so brave today. He never cried and laid perfectly still during the entire process. I’m really proud of him.”

I’ll never forget that.

Physical pain isn’t so bad. It’s mental cruelty and wickedness at the hands of others that make me cry. That’s an enduring pain.

A week or so later they took me to our local doctor. Dr. Alexander removed the stitches once the wound had completely healed. “The other doctor said he gave you 12 stitches, well  I just took out 13,” he said.

Seems like a more appropriate number in regard to what had happened to me that day. The doctor did a terrific job on my injury that day. The scar is so light you’d never know I had one. I’d have to bring up the story and show it to you.

And if we ever meet, I will.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

You can check out my books here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

Tales of Rock – Keith Richards Gets Cockroach Named After Him For 77th Birthday

A museum in Keith Richards’ home state gave him an unusual birthday present: a creepy-crawly cockroach.

A museum in Keith Richards’ home state gave him an unusual birthday present: A creepy-crawly cockroach.

In honor of his 77th birthday on December 18, the Children’s Museum in West Hartford, Connecticut, named a Madagascar hissing cockroach “Keith” to commemorate the Rolling Stones rocker’s special day.

Keith the Cockroach even got his own insect-sized guitar for his enclosure, thanks to Denver classic rock station 103.5 The Fox, which sponsored the adoption.

Keith Richards and Keith the Cockroach

The cockroach will permanently reside in an enclosure at the museum, which is located just 60 miles north of Richards’ home in Weston, and it will be cared for by staff at the museum, noting that “all of his rider demands will be met.”

“It is said the only two things to survive a nuclear war would be cockroaches and Keith Richards,” the museum wrote in a press release. “Chances are the real Keith will outlive the newly named, oval-shaped invertebrate whose life span is two to five years.”

keith richards cockroach children's museum guitar
Keith the Cockroach checks out his mini guitar at the Children’s Museum.

The museum said it was inspired to name the nightcrawler after Richards, who himself has notoriously cheated death on several occasions, including when he fell out of a coconut tree in 2006, and in 1978, when someone laced his dope with strychnine, which landed him in a coma.

 

Happy 77th Keith! We Love You!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

You can check out my books here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

New Car – Part 3

1986

I was working at Midlantic Union Trust Bank in Wildwood. Life was good. I had resigned to the world of the rat race. Short hair, and suit and tie every day. I looked good back then, and was making my way.

That’s me at my sister, Janice’s wedding. (Sup, ladies…)

One Sunday, I was driving out somewhere in the Villas just taking a drive and listening to my cassettes in the stereo. I was traveling north and it had been raining and the road was a little wet.

From the left at an intersection a green sedan pulled out. A Cadillac traveling south that was going to fast, swerved into my lane and struck my Subaru head on. I tried to pull away to the right, to deflect the impact but she slammed right into me. She had lost control and skidded right into the oncoming lane.

It all happened so fast. But then because your mind goes into hyperdrive, everything starts to move in slow motion. I saw as the woman fell sideways down on the seat in her Caddy.

I looked over at the passenger seat beside me. The cigarette that I was smoking was sitting on the cushion. I quickly snatched it up and put it in the ashtray. (Funny what you do when you’re on auto pilot.)

The cassette in the stereo continued to play as all the lights came on and the motor quit. It was the song, Critical Mass from Aerosmith’s 1978 album, Draw the Line. (Oh, the irony)

I couldn’t get out of my door, because it was jammed shut. I unhooked the seatbelt from across my hips. I then crawled out across the seats to the passenger door which I was able to open. I got out of the car, and felt like the wind was knocked out of me from the impact. I was also in a bit of a daze. I remember spitting out blood, but that was from when my tongue had jammed into my teeth and was cut on either side.

I slowly walked around the front of the car and the entire front end was destroyed. Radiator fluid poured from the wounded vehicle. I uttered the following words:

“Damn… I only had six more payments.”

Some people ran towards me saying they had seen the whole thing and it was all the Cadillac’s fault. Of course it was. I was just cruising along in my own lane when that woman came crashing into me.

Dazed, I walked across the street. (Left the scene of the accident) I went into a gas station and used the payphone. I called my dad and told him what happened, where I was and asked that he come out and get me. I had never been in a car accident before.

I hung up and returned to the scene of the accident. By then the police were there and I told them I was the driver of the Subaru. They interviewed me and the witnesses. An ambulance arrived and took the lady in the Cadillac to the hospital.

A wrecker came and moved the cars off the road. My XT coupe sat in the parking lot of the gas station where I had placed the call to my dad.

My father arrived and was glad I was okay. He said that when I called he had been taking a nap, and stated that when told him I had been in a traffic accident he thought he was dreaming. Odd, but here he was within a half hour. I remember him saying he originally didn’t think the accident had been that bad because I looked fine. But then he walked over to my car and looked at the front of it, he was surprised I wasn’t in worse shape than I was.

Another ambulance arrived, and at the recommendation of the police and my father, I let them take me to the hospital. I remember them affixing a support frame around my head and neck and putting me on a stretcher and placing me in the ambulance.

I was securely strapped in and off we went to Burdett Tomlin Hospital in Cape May Court House. I felt okay, but was having a bit of anxiety strapped to a gurney in the back of a van looking out the back windows as the sky and treetops went by.

When we got there they checked me out. I had been wearing a t-shirt, a flannel button down and a thick black peacoat. That’s three layers of clothing. I had been hit so hard that through all of that I had the beginnings of a yellow bruise on my chest from the impact. The seatbelt that went across my lap, had cut through my jeans and I had lacerations across both of my hips. (Right through my pants!) The cuts on either side of my tongue were minor and no longer bled. They checked all my vitals, and after some chatting and joking with the nurses, I was released to the custody of my dad.

He reiterated that he didn’t think it was that bad of an accident until he saw how badly damaged the front of my car was.

“After seeing that son, I will never drive a car again without wearing a seatbelt. I know now it saved your life.”

No one wore seatbelts back in the sixties and seventies. Some cars didn’t even have them! But after that day I never saw my dad drive without wearing one. So, good things can rise from the bad events in our lives.

The only after effects from the accident were, feeling a little dazed for a couple of days after the event, and a sore neck. I did notice that for a few weeks after the accident when I did drive a car, I was a little nervous and a bit more cautious when approaching an intersection.

The insurance came through after the usual nonsense and they had deemed the car undrivable. They settled, and the car was totaled.

I went back to the dealership, and got another XT just like it. It was identical to my former fallen steed. But you know what? It was never the same. It was simply a replacement to my first love. It was as if someone I loved had passed away and I got a girl that looked just like her, but it just wasn’t her. Make sense?

I drove that XT for many years after that, but eventually traded it in for  a’94 green emerald pearl, Toyota Camry. I was married and it was nice to have a big spacious car with air conditioning.

I’ve owned several cars after that, but I’ll never forget my first New Car.

The days when I was the one with the coolest car in town.

On a final note…

Here’s a shot of the last great car I owned and loved. A Mazda Millenia!

Check out those vanity plates!

I had a girlfriend named Kate that I was in love with at the time. She was my first muse and inspiration for Angel with a Broken Wing.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

You can check out my books here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

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SUN STORIES – Tales From a Tanning Salon, Now Available on Amazon

Yes. It’s now available on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

I was working at a local media company here in Philadelphia. One of my advertising clients was a tanning salon. I became friendly with the owner. He was always complaining about his staff. I asked if I could start moonlighting there for some extra income.

He immediately hired me. One shift became two, then three, and within a month or so, I became full time. I was tired of working at the media company where I was currently employed. A publication that was no longer relevant in this city. Print was basically dead… but tanning salons were hanging by a thread.

But I enjoyed working there. It was a fun job. I met a lot of great people during my time there. But with every job, there’s always challenges… and temptations.

Sun Stories: Tales from a Tanning Salon, takes you on a sunny, and sometimes dark journey of my time working there. It’s filled with funny, unique, and sometimes cringe worthy tanning stories. But there were other forces at work there. What began as an easy part time gig, slowly evolved into a story filled with love, obsession, sex, and misadventure.

When I was editing Phicklephilly 2, I had a revelation. I realized that Phicklephilly 2 was all about the relationship I was in with my girlfriend, Cherie. The love affair, the passion, and the infidelity of that glorious celebration of two people coming together.

But, I looked at Sun Stories, and saw that it ran parallel to Phicklephilly 2. It was a complete documentation of my work life during that period. Phicklephilly 2 was about my relationship with Cherie, and Sun Stories was my work life.

They’re both happening at the same time. I have to release them together.

That’s my whole life between 2016 and 2018. It’s everything. I have to release them both.

Cherie. I loved her. But after Michelle and Annabelle, I was now armed with how to navigate my future relationships. Secure myself and see what happened. I’d never enter into another relationship without my armor on.

I was working at the media company that was the last cool paper in the city. When I think about going to that publication, I think of Ronnie James Dio. He once said that when he joined Black Sabbath to replace Ozzy Osbourne, he called it, the second coming… or going, of Black Sabbath.

That’s how it felt when I joined this dying publication. I loved all of the people I worked with there, but knew the paper was doomed. It’s greatest days had come and gone. I only did it because I was about to be fired from the start up where I was working. I had such high hopes for what I was going to build with that little start up. The money was great, and I’m forever grateful for that. But they never followed through with the investors to build it out into a national site.

That site is dead now.

It was heartbreaking for me to leave them, but I’m sure the owner was relieved he no longer had to pay me. Why did he never follow through? It makes no sense. I guess I’ll never know. We could have built something wonderful. I jumped to a local free publication and made a go of it. That old publication was in a state of flux, and the changes that unfolded for that sweet paper destroyed the very thing it once was. I worked hard at what I’m good at. Acquiring accounts and building the business.

But the writing was on the wall. They had brought in a fool to run the daily operations. He systematically destroyed the advertising department at the paper. Can you imagine that? The guy gets a job to grow a struggling business and all he knows how to do is ruin it.

He did that. All of the meetings. The Monday morning kickoff meeting. The Wednesday Sales Meeting. The Thursday One on One. He should be horse whipped. He broke the spirit of everybody who worked there.

There are no clients in any of your foolish meetings you silly asshole.

How could he be such a failure as a leader when he seem like such a nice guy?

Detritus.

My father passed away, and I was fed up. I was the only sales guy on the floor. Rocco was a fixture and an account rep. He can’t sell. The new manager brought in a couple of retards, and I could see there was no future there. The place was a rotten husk.

It kind of sucks, because back in the day, I LOVED that publication and the CITY PAPER. They were god to me. If you wanted to see what was up in Philly, they were the papers you grabbed. They were in honor boxes around the city. I would always read them every week. Everything I needed to know was in those sweet papers.

But, here I was working at this anachronism. It was over. My daughter will never touch a newspaper. It’s over. It’s been over since 2008. Print is dead.

Oh, but here we go…

Tanning is dead too.

I had a client who actually spent money with me to advertise his brand. I did my best for him. I believed in his products and services. I gave my all. I came up with creative ideas because I cared. I wrote killer copy for his ads. I did what I’m good at.

I liked it so much, I went to work there to escape the dungeon of selling print advertising in a paper whose epitaph had already been written.

But I had no idea it would open a flower I had never seen before.

This is the most lurid book I’ve ever written.

So let’s begin.

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

My new books, Phicklephilly 2 and Sun Stories, are now for sale on Amazon!

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=charles+wiedenmann&ref=nb_sb_noss_1

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