Oh Fairy Godmother, Where Art Thou?

If the office is the world in miniature (a group of people thrown together with no regard for how well they fit together, trying to keep the place going as best they can), then the world is a strange, stupid place.

Three of the doctors have just left, vanished without trace. Three more are on annual leave. And one of the consultants is at the Royal College this week. Which basically means that things are very, very slow. See, there's always backlog, but it shifts; some days it's in our cupboard, other days it's in reporting, still other days it's in check and sort. One way or another, we're always behind. Today it's in reporting because there aren't enough doctors to report things and the ones who are on shift this morning are the laziest buggers ever to grace the department.

So you'd think -- easy day. Right? Wrong. Because the division of labour is never equal in this hole. And when there's little bits of work sitting around, there's two ways of thinking about them:

"Hmm; we can breeze through these no problem! It'll take three minutes and then it'll be all clear; what a relief!"

"Oh, those can sit awhile; we'll work real slow and not worry about it until it gets kind of full-looking in the cupboard..."

The latter one's the philosophy of the rest of my team. The former one's mine. So despite there being little work to do around here, only one person's workload hasn't changed -- mine. I've just heard one of the secs turn their nose up at the one tape that's in the cupboard at the moment because they don't like typing for that particular doctor, so guess who's going to wind up doing that one too?

You know, at least Cinderella got a nice new outfit and a huge party out of the deal. Well, at least the handsome prince part turned out right...

Thess

Hazards in the Workplace

Typing scrotal ultrasounds is disturbing at the best of times, but when talking about random thickening of the scrotal wall, the word "extratesticular" is the bane of the overactive imagination.

See, years of reading Something Positive" and general faffing about with the young at heart and sick at head have got my muse batting at the most bizarre things, as if they were so many balls of yarn and she was a kitten on crystal meth.

Which is where I got "ET: The Extra-Testicular".

Can I sue this place for childhood-memory abuse?

Thess

Didn't I do this one already?

Spotted this on the journals of both nadriel and nocturne_uk Well, answers change, I suppose...

( I'm no angel; here's the sins )

So incredibly bored and achy... Want out of here now...

Thess