[Note: Just over three years ago, Michelle wrote a guest post for this blog "celebrating" National Athletic Trainer Month. Since then, that post has accumulated an array of bizarre, frequently grammatically-incorrect comments from disgruntled athletic trainers. Today, on the last day of National Athletic Trainer Month 2009, Michelle responds.]
Three years ago I helped LMNOP celebrate various professional awareness months with a lot of snark, some godawful poetry, and a very little bit of knowledge. Initially, these posts flew under the radar. It would seem, however, that some very half-assed googling led a few people to read one particular post about athletic trainers. A slow trickle of athletic training wrath has since spilled forth all over my post. This post was so infuriating, that it was literally required reading for an Oklahoma State University introductory course about athletic trainers.
Over the past 33 months I have been accused of being fat, ignorant and, worst of all, a dog walker. The average athletic trainer hates me. I assume that this is because they are naturally a miserable lot. However, it’s also possible that my interpretation of their job description (a college athlete’s less-educated physical therapist) was insulting. I also gather that athletic trainers do not enjoy being confused for personal trainers, as I originally made the mistake of doing.
At the urging of several commenters, including the actual professional organization (NATA) that sponsors athletic trainers awareness month, I decided to learn more about these angry, sad people. It turns out that a majority of athletic trainers hold a master’s degree, despite a median salary of only $36,590 in May 2006. This explains a lot. My low-paying job also requires a degree and it’s made me pretty spiteful. I can easily imagine how "uphalled" I would be if I read some flippant mockery of my job, after a long day of scurrying to the side of every college athlete with a muscle strain.
Though I can no longer say that an athletic trainer has never called me fat, I would like to extend an olive branch to all of my athletic trainer friends. Behold, two new cinquains! [For you cinquain sticklers, note that I have once again ignored the requirement of holding the first and last lines to only two syllables, because, as should be evident by now I do what I want.]
Sarcasm will be met
With furious and poorly spelled
work pretty hard
helping injured people
just to be confused with
Here’s hoping that small press owners never learn how to use the internet, because I don’t think I could handle a multi-front war.