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Well, today was weird.
I was chatting with Laura the Other Temp in the office this morning; talking about the recent trend in recycling comic book superheroes for the big screen. The fact that I write came up and she asked if there was anything of mine she could read. I carry a disc everywhere with me these days just in case, and this one had that short story I wrote awhile back. You know, the one waiting for the cover letter before it gets sent to The Third Alternative or somewhere. Well, I figured, "What's the harm? She's leaving at the end of the week anyway", and I gave her the disc. This wasn't a big deal until the end of the workday, when Laura the Other Temp asked Ros if she could print the thing out. (Ros's computer is the one that prints out anything that isn't an X-ray report.) Ros asked what she was printing, and when she found out it was my story, she requested a copy for herself. Upshot -- two of my co-workers took my short story home. And tomorrow morning, I have to come in to whatever reaction they give. I don't know which I dread more; "I loved it", "I hated it" or "I didn't read it".
Apart from that, the weirdness involved the lawyer. Medical Records rang up and said they'd been asked to send these lawyers an X-ray report. I don't know why they referred it to us -- Medical Records can print out X-ray reports same as we can and are supposed to deal with the legal stuff -- but I figured that, okay, they rang up and asked for this thing and that isn't right. We don't deal with anyone but GPs over the phone. So I rang up the lawyers, suggesting that it might take less time to ring the GP and get them to request the results (a bit roundabout, but shorter timewise than any other method). And got a rant about how I was breaking the Data Protection Act by not giving out patient information to someone I had no conclusive proof had any right to that information. After standing my ground, having my name taken and getting bitched at several more times, I managed to get off the phone with this weenie. Then I talked to Bill, the Superintendant, who said I'd done the right thing. So I'm supposed to direct the weenie's whingeing at Bill or Alan if he comes back to bug me some more. Shakespeare had it right about the first thing we do -- let's kill all the lawyers.
The workload ... meh. It's sure as hell proving who does the work around here. Julie turned around to me today and said, "First of all, sorry for being a pain. But would you mind sorting out my verified reports -- you know, dividing the Nuclear Medicine ones from the other ones?" So basically, she's asking me to do a part of her job because she can't be bothered going through her own minuscule stack of verified reports, even though I have a good few hundred reports of my own to sort and split on any given day. She should count herself lucky I don't make them dig their own damn reports out of the pile after I've pulled my own, and she wants me to do more? And what choice have I got? I would have loved to say, "Oh, so not content to stick me with the majority of the work, you're suggesting I do a part of your job too?" But who has time for that kind of thing? I did start by saying that this would be a hardship and an imposition, given the sheer volume I go through daily, but she just stood her gound with that simpering damn expression on her face and I had to give in. Well, what I said was, "If I can remember, but I can't promise". Watch me do a lot of selective memory exercises until the silly bitch gets the hell out of her job -- she hates it here anyway.
Then again, she's not the only one. But you don't see me shirking responsibility.
Speaking of which, there's a stack of A&E reports screaming to be typed.
Thess
I was chatting with Laura the Other Temp in the office this morning; talking about the recent trend in recycling comic book superheroes for the big screen. The fact that I write came up and she asked if there was anything of mine she could read. I carry a disc everywhere with me these days just in case, and this one had that short story I wrote awhile back. You know, the one waiting for the cover letter before it gets sent to The Third Alternative or somewhere. Well, I figured, "What's the harm? She's leaving at the end of the week anyway", and I gave her the disc. This wasn't a big deal until the end of the workday, when Laura the Other Temp asked Ros if she could print the thing out. (Ros's computer is the one that prints out anything that isn't an X-ray report.) Ros asked what she was printing, and when she found out it was my story, she requested a copy for herself. Upshot -- two of my co-workers took my short story home. And tomorrow morning, I have to come in to whatever reaction they give. I don't know which I dread more; "I loved it", "I hated it" or "I didn't read it".
Apart from that, the weirdness involved the lawyer. Medical Records rang up and said they'd been asked to send these lawyers an X-ray report. I don't know why they referred it to us -- Medical Records can print out X-ray reports same as we can and are supposed to deal with the legal stuff -- but I figured that, okay, they rang up and asked for this thing and that isn't right. We don't deal with anyone but GPs over the phone. So I rang up the lawyers, suggesting that it might take less time to ring the GP and get them to request the results (a bit roundabout, but shorter timewise than any other method). And got a rant about how I was breaking the Data Protection Act by not giving out patient information to someone I had no conclusive proof had any right to that information. After standing my ground, having my name taken and getting bitched at several more times, I managed to get off the phone with this weenie. Then I talked to Bill, the Superintendant, who said I'd done the right thing. So I'm supposed to direct the weenie's whingeing at Bill or Alan if he comes back to bug me some more. Shakespeare had it right about the first thing we do -- let's kill all the lawyers.
The workload ... meh. It's sure as hell proving who does the work around here. Julie turned around to me today and said, "First of all, sorry for being a pain. But would you mind sorting out my verified reports -- you know, dividing the Nuclear Medicine ones from the other ones?" So basically, she's asking me to do a part of her job because she can't be bothered going through her own minuscule stack of verified reports, even though I have a good few hundred reports of my own to sort and split on any given day. She should count herself lucky I don't make them dig their own damn reports out of the pile after I've pulled my own, and she wants me to do more? And what choice have I got? I would have loved to say, "Oh, so not content to stick me with the majority of the work, you're suggesting I do a part of your job too?" But who has time for that kind of thing? I did start by saying that this would be a hardship and an imposition, given the sheer volume I go through daily, but she just stood her gound with that simpering damn expression on her face and I had to give in. Well, what I said was, "If I can remember, but I can't promise". Watch me do a lot of selective memory exercises until the silly bitch gets the hell out of her job -- she hates it here anyway.
Then again, she's not the only one. But you don't see me shirking responsibility.
Speaking of which, there's a stack of A&E reports screaming to be typed.
Thess
