same job, new office, same chaos

Shorter Monday: Doop doop doop, shoo-be-do-doop, la-la-la, typey-type-type, ring ring, argh. AUGH. ARGH! AIEEEEEEEE!

Feh.

And everyone said it was my own fault for being in a good mood on a Monday morning and what the hell did I expect?

And now: Longer Monday. Well hell, I suffered through it – now you can too!

The new building… is rather like a camping holiday, I’ve decided. Everything you take for granted in your own home is suddenly further away and takes more effort to get hold of. Granted, this feeling might be somewhat down to the fact that I have to drink coffee from a Flask. Also granted, it might be the fact that, though I now have a Flask, I am not lugging the damn thing in full of hot water – not along with a rucksack full of muffins, sarnies, fruit, trainers, deodorant, fighting gloves, those batteries I haven’t recycled yet, approximately thirty-seven keys (the Boss has a habit of going through people’s drawers, ooh-er. I may yet have to purchase a chastity belt also) me brolly and the teabag recycling pot. This going about on foot, eh? So I get in at eight and the clinic base, where the kettle lives, is unlocked at around half past – except on Fridays, ahahaha, so I get to sit caffeine-less for the first half hour of the day. Then I have to walk half the length of the building for hot water. It gives you are real feeling of achievement, just getting your first fix of the day!

Actually getting anything printed also feels like a major achievement. In the old building, to print something, I hit print and the faithful old machine at my elbow obligingly whirred to life, jammed and had to be beaten with a stick. But here, we have New machines! So to print anything, you have to go on a reccy mission with Both sorts of paper clutched in your grubby mitts – plus the ever-present ‘warden‘-style keys – and wander from one to the other to see if any are free and actually working. One is already out of toner; another is running out, a third is in the room where everyone holds meetings, therefore I suspect its toner supplies are safe for now because you can never get near it, and the one at clinic base sees you coming and pretends to shut down.

There is, however, a helpful sign on the wall above the one that is out of toner, explaining who to call and what number to quote for the machine and what the code is for ordering the right toner. Brill! I thought. I shall Do That Thing!

However. Among the updates graffiti’d under it, someone has scrawled, Called on [recent date], this is not the right toner code. There follows a rather fascinating argument that I am steering well clear of.

Given all that, once you’ve actually Acquired something, you feel pretty damn red-hot!

Problem is, by the time you return to your desk, triumphant, with both coffee and print-outs, an hour has passed to do something that would have taken three minutes if we weren’t on a camping holiday. Or, put it another way, it takes me half an hour to walk into town, from my desk. Yet it takes me ten minutes just to get from one end of the building to the other, there is so much looping back on yourself!

God I hope the Boss never finds this, she’ll probably say it’s really negative. I’m trying to enjoy camping out, I really am, but I suspect productivity is gonna take a nosedive.

Oh well, onward and downward. I was, actually doing pretty well, until I got a call from a patient with a malignant melanoma, saying – not unreasonably – what is going on and why has he heard nothing? Why indeed – I have feck-all on the system – nothing I’ve typed from that clinic at all. Odd. Wait! Was he the one I sent the urgent fax off about? And was that not the day that the domain collapsed and we couldn’t save anything? That might explain it! Right, well, I have a copy of that letter in Dr Anonymous’s folder that his junior requested on Thursday, and sure she never came back for it after all that, so I will just get it and…

The folder is gone. No really, it has vanished from the clinic base and nobody knows where it went. Her stuff came back (unsigned). Oh shit, that’s me for the high-jump. And also, this guy is waiting for me to call and tell him what the hell’s going on. Right! Where are the notes, there will be a copy in there!

Nobody bloody knows that either, apparently.

Well I look bloomin’ marvellous now. So there were phonecalls and emails and nobody answered any of em. AUGH.

Right in the middle of this crisis, my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something burst into my room in high dudgeon because apparently she’s been told off for using the kettle in the clinic base and never refilling it. Swearing like a trooper, she was, which was quite unexpected from her, since she appears to regard swearing in others as a Cardinal Sin and sign of low birth. Will my life never be free of hypocrites? Wait, is this not the same woman who got the hump every time the kettle in our old office was empty and expected me to go fill it for her? And she is in here giving out to me about being got at for emptying someone else’s kettle? Words fail me.

Also, I am busy right now.

Also, damn, she must have gotten over her hump with me for ‘walking away from her’ when she jumped out at me from behind that bus-stop last week. She wasn’t speaking to me for two days after that, just pushed all me mail under the door. It was great.

I had just finally managed to get rid of her when the phone rang and I spent half an hour trying to reassure the angrily-bewildered old dear on the other end. This is going to look marvellous on the fifteen-minute incremental time-keeping record the Boss wants.

Tonight, there was unpaid overtime. Yes, it is back. The loose filing that the Boss has managed to offload onto Eyes has returned, not filed, so there is a big box of it sitting in my office. The Boss reckons that, since I did the majority of the last lot, I can do the majority of this lot too! Erm, was going to use precious spare time for doing a Course, thankyou boss! But since I haven’t had a minute to even register for the damn thing, I suppose I will sacrifice my spare time on the altar of Oh Christ I Had Forgotten How Tedious This Is.

Of course, though the overtime is unpaid, we do get time and a half in lieu. Which means, I will have an even busier week coming up as I try to keep up with my workload in a shorter timespan. Also? Ten hour shifts destroy my will to live.

So I was not really in the mood for fightclub at all. However. My flatmate had said this morning that she hasn’t slept for the last three nights, so I sacrificed my lunchbreak buying sleepy pills (no time for both that and a pot noodle, given the queues – my Colleague of Skull Scarves went out later and got me one, good deeds all round!) I also figured, today is not a good day for The Talk either, under the circumstances. Ha, I can just see a domino-effect of increasingly implausible reasons it is Not A Good Time For The Talk, which, if you put em in a sitcom, people would call it ridiculously contrived.

So I went to the fighting. It was quite fun – I fought the biggest guy, hurrah, he likes it when I give it Welly, and then I did flying armbars off the Spoonatic’s neck, and then I had to do grappling with the wee fourteen-year-old lassie whose bouffant comes all the way up to my nipples and I suddenly had a lot more sympathy for the biggest guy when he’s partnered with me. Argh, what if I accidentally hurt her? Augh, what if she kicks the crap out of me, that would be really embarrassing!

We have a fightclub night out at the weekend, I had forgotten about that. Dammit, I am getting rid of social events as fast as I can, for I am really skint and kinda averse to making an idiot of myself in public these days, but they are coming in thicker and faster!

Rice Krispies, for instance, would like to come over and help me hoover up all the rosehips at the weekend too, hurrah!

And lo, there was just time for some urgent laundry and some urgent packing for tomorrow – live-drawing class! Where the feck is my charcoal? I have never used charcoal but I know I had some! I need sandals and cod-liver-oil pills for the office – if we are camping out, I want to Be Prepared – and there are sarnies to prep and other people’s sweat to shower off!

In conclusion: ten-hour shift, eight-mile walk, bugger-all spare time and the same scheduled again till, um, Friday! Is it possible this pace is too much for me?

 

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About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
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