Ok, we’ve both been out of commission for a couple of weeks. Our Miss Jean Hill, bright future of the nursing profession and co-blogger extraordinaire, has a computer which has suffered last week the CPU equivalent of a massive cerebral bleed and maybe ethanol withdrawal too; the computer has since recovered, but Jean Hill’s nerves have been so shattered by the experience that it has left her tongue-tied, even catatonic. Which if you know Jean Hill, is a somewhat singular experience. At any rate, once she collects herself, she will be back. As for me, the schedule from hell and a lack of prewritten posts is my excuse. . . don’t you hate it when life gets in the way of what’s really important?
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The other day I was touring home from one of those interminable staff meetings about nothing at all, and I decided to stop in at an interesting-looking shop near Acme Regional. Since I live a little distance from my employment, my usual pattern is to race to the TorontoEmerg Lair and NurseCave on the nearest 400-series highway so I might more speedily savour the delights of Stately Doe Manor.
So I was innocently perusing the merchandise — mostly crap, alas — when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked around.
“Do you live around here?” a woman asked. She looked vaguely familiar.
“Uh, no.”
I need more vowels to spell crazy.
“You work at the hospital, don’t you.”
Goddamnit all to hell, I thought, except I inserted the f-bomb at least twice. Caught.
“Um, yes.”
And then she looked at me expectantly.She had the sort of blotchy complexion and body shape that suggested cholecystitis before 40. She seemed a little crazed, which made me a little, well, anxious. She clearly wanted me to comment on her mother’s/child’s/lover’s/nephew’s (or her) condition/prognosis/diagnosis/lab results/medications. Which, equally clearly, I couldn’t have done, even if I did remember her.
Then my phone buzzed.
“Excuse me,” I said. I stared intently at the phone and pretended the message was of such urgency and import as to leave me befuddled. I tapped the screen viciously.
She went away. I let out my breath.
There was no emergency. Of course it was nothing of the sort. It was my turn to play Words with Friends. Thank God for time-wasting aps.
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So I went to a second interview for a managerial position which in fact involves little actual management but is more administrative and actually fairly bomb-proof in an era of flat-lined hospital budgets. I actually really really want this position. I would feel fairly positive except the manager interviewing made what I have come to think of as the kiss of death statement: “It has been a real pleasure having the opportunity to get to know you.” Translation: Buh-bye, we will see you no more. Or am I parsing too much?
