That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

Incidentally, I'm a total oik. Yesterday was not CSI day. Yesterday was Monday; CSI day is Tuesday. Wishful thinking on my part.

You know, this whole good news/bad news thing has ceased to be funny. When I got home last night, good news is that ParcelForce tried to deliver a package, which means Choo-Choo is finally in the country. The bad news is that a) they want £44 in Customs charges and b) because I have a job and don't while away my days sitting at home waiting for parcels, they did not find me at home and took the parcel back to the head office in bloody Mitcham. So I'll have to wait until Friday to pick up my parcel because then I'll have the time to go out to bloody Mitcham and the discretionary cash to pay the Customs charges.

I'm not sure if I feel better or not. Ask me again when it's not still morning.

Thess

Job Lots

Oh, I never mentioned -- we've got a new girl in the department. A transfer, and so far she seems nice. A little shy, and not quite up to speed yet, but it's only her second day. And it's nice to have someone to stuff the GP requests into envelopes. Or maybe it's not that she's shy, but that she's waiting to see on what level she should approach us before she commits herself. I dunno.

Speaking of people getting work or not, Kate got a bit of a disappointment today. The job that she was supposed to have in Italy completely fell through after all her careful planning for her and her husband to move earlier. I have to admit that I'm disappointed too; without Kate around, there'd be a lot less gossip-chatter-gab-gab-gab on the other side of the room. I mean, it was nice of us as a department to keep her on until she moves with her husband (end of November), but I was sort of counting on her departure to get us back on an even keel, work-wise. No; instead we lost the best part of the day in bitching and commisserations and this is going to go on for another two months. (On the other hand, I was nice to her; when I went out for afternoon break, I brought back a bag of Maltesers, which I know she has a taste for, so we could share. My way of saying, "Tough break".)

Babak is a freak. Babak did this IVU a month ago and was supposed to report on it; didn't report on it. Today, I get repeated pleading phone calls asking for it to get reported. I nag Babak. Babak panics ... until he learns that it has to be done by tomorrow, at which point, he refuses to see a reason to panic. I panicked him specifically to make sure that it got done -- good thing I didn't tell him that the result has to be there by tomorrow afternoon. I nag some more, shoo him out to get it done. He asked me what my last slave died of. Suggestions for a response to that one were "nerves", "exhaustion", "boredom" and "great bleeding holes". My actual response was, "Want to find out?"

And me? I've just started my thousandth tape. (That's not counting the tapes that only have one or two films on it, or the clinico-radiology reviews, or all the ones I've typed in direct.) You've got to admit; for a nine-month stint, that's pretty damn impressive. And also, we're bang up to date on the stuff I've become responsible for (plain films, interventional films, ultrasounds). Well, it's not like there's no work or anything, but there's nothing that's over three days old. As far as the CTs go, I don't know and I don't actually care. I can't do everything.

Now I apparently have to go to this meeting about patient confidentiality. I mean, who would I tell what to? I sometimes talk about what some idiot stuck up his rectum, but I never give names or anything; and we talk amongst ourselves about patients all the time but anything like a name or a hospital number never leaves this office. *sigh* And Babak's now done the reporting and has given it to me to report. This day's gonna be loooooooooong...

Thess