Warpath Woman versus the Avengers

(Not anything like what it says on the tin, probably. Sorry about that. Also, tl;dr, as usual!)

It is amazing how one day of poor performance at works knocks my schedule right on its arse. Or, it is not really amazing, considering the workload is set to ‘impossible’. Still rather discouraging, however. And the excitement of yesterday is all worn off, and the painkillers, while great, are not quite as great as the anaesthetic, so I was in something of a cantankerous mood all Friday.

This was not helped by discovering a grand total of seven screw-ups elsewhere in the chain, all of which came home to roost with me. Casenotes urgently needed at the Rival hospital for an op, and which I had specifically said, by phone and email, should be sent directly there (and gave em the tracking code in bold?) Ended up on my desk. No, I did not notice this yesterday, on account of being doped to the eyeballs, my bad. Etc. I have recently discovered that just about everyone in the whole world thinks that ‘secretary’ is synonymous with ‘sits painting nails all day’, which is simply not true – that’s Reception’s job. Boom boom. I kid, I kid! ‘Secretary’ is synonymous with, ‘the buck stops here and fixing any screw-ups made by anyone at all are your responsibility, however, we are not going to give you any Clout to kick arse with at all, so suit yourself how you get out of that one’.

Receptionist‘ is synonymous with ‘take crap off everyone all day for other people’s screw-ups and you can’t even make faces while trying to sound sincere because they are right in front of you’. Also, you’re two pay-bands down from ‘secretary’, enjoy!

Well at least the Powers That Be are solving that one by downgrading us too. Which is nice and democratic. Or something.

I want Destiny’s job. I never thought I would say that.

Plus, I was frantically calculating my plans for the weekend (set to ‘rushed’). I was supposedly gonna clean the entire flat last night (snort), thus allowing tonight for food shopping and making a big lasagne, but it was a bit unrealistic, so there is Everything Still To Be Done. I should get that on my gravestone.

However! I have a stash of overtime to claw back, and I figured I could start by leaving a bit early and hitting the long weekend running. (‘It’s a Friday!’, as my colleagues said when I ran it past them. ‘And a long weekend! And who phones on a Friday?)

Well. Warpath Woman, is who. And right as I was turning off the computer, ha! Spectacularly irate, she was, and to make things worse, I can sort of see where she was coming from. On the other hand… it wasn’t my screw-up. And here’s where the big slab of bitching above comes into play.

Some months back, one of the juniors saw this woman’s son in clinic and failed to dictate anything. I sent the casenotes back several times, with reminders, but he still didn’t, and in the end they were needed somewhere else. You can lead a doc to paperwork, but you cannot make him sign. Also, I have literally hundreds of cancer patients’ paperwork through here every single week. All I knew about the guy was, he was not one of them. Upshot? Bloke’s not on the waiting list for an op I didn’t even know about. (Although not by any stretch of the imagination for a life-threatening condition, thank god). So this woman called two weeks ago, not unnaturally, to find out why she had heard nothing further, at which point I realised what had happened, hit all sorts of alarm bells, requested the notes back, actually got them for a fecking miracle, and once more stuck them in front of the junior. Once more, he did nothing with them, and is now unavailable for an indefinite period of time. Since he is Dr Anonymous’s junior, and Dr Anonymous is not going to stick his oar in over something someone else did months ago, I managed to find out what he was on the waiting list for, howled in panic at the waiting list coordinator, and she kindly got him a slot at yet another hospital in a few weeks’ time. So all’s well that ends well, right?

Wrong! Hahahaha! Apparently, the guy needs allergy tests before the op. Which I am being held “personally responsible” for sorting out. That’s, more personally responsible than usual, I would assume. I had no idea how this is done because the junior should have organised it through the damn clinic, but I went along and against all odds, the receptionist was still on duty and could tell me how the process worked. She could also tell me there was a snowball’s chance in hell of getting anything before high summer.

Instead of getting away early, I ended up working late, chasing all over the hospital trying to track down the allergy nurse’s secondment so I could fall on my knees and ask her how much of a bung it would take to get this chap a shoe-in so the Formal Complaint this woman is making about me will go away. Since she was away home, I had to phone Warpath Woman and promise that I would go along first thing Tuesday and attempt to sort this all out (no chance in hell) and in return Warpath Woman promised retribution if I did not.

Many people go through this sort of thing all the time, I know, I know, but coming hard on the heels of another workload increase, not to mention me working while technically liable for sick leave, I was most disgruntled. By which I mean, sick to my stomach. And lo, I get to stew over it all the long weekend long!

There is a god. There has to be – the timing on that one was just sitcom-tastic.

So instead of ditching any (illicit) overtime, I ended the week with more overtime and did not even get a chance to apply for that other job where I would not be answering the damn phone to angry people I can’t help, and oh god here we are again I am never going to claw my way out of this rut.

Also, the last time the danger levels on me cracking up were this high, I was in precisely this position re a really angry patient. Tempted I am to go back to my GP, and ask how much of a bung it will take to sign me off forever and ever. Although I think I might regret it once I am Unemployable and foreclosed on. I suppose Warpath Woman could still organise all that herself, however.

I dealt with the situation with aplomb, by going home, blitzing the housework, making two giant lasagnes and getting absolutely wankered on port. And when that was gone, on rum. The Bossman, after a bit of a rocky start (I had not heard my phone, wasn’t even expecting him to phone, and he made a very mild comment chiding me, at which point I lost it bigtime) got wankered on rum as well and we sat up late playing bad music and making stupid plans and having a good time; until my lodger complained that he could hear the bad music and could we stop already. Bah. I did not even think the laptop speakers could go particularly loud! And I test-ran them and everything. Maybe he has very sensitive ears.

I may have burned my bridges with the lodger; as well as the music, and attempt at mending fences over the music, by offering him a choice of weapons for personal protection from burglars, there was that point the other day where he came through to get food out the freezer and unfortunately I was listening to this programme on Medieval* attitudes to sex and the pundit happened to be quoting from a list of questions people had to answer about whether they had ever practiced bestiality, and it made me look a lot worse than it should have done, I am just saying.

On the other hand: cactus-killer! And I am cautiously optimistic that I could find another lodger who never takes the bins out or does any housework!** I have had three in a row now, after all!

*(From actual Medieval times, like.)

**(Okay, he did the dishes in the first week and I was over the moon – but then it stopped. I have no poker face at all.)

In conclusion, Friday was not a great day.

Saturday, on the other hand, I pretty much missed, being in bed and all. I bet everyone would love to hear about how I was sick as a dog for having poured all that booze down my throat, and serve me right, but that was not actually what we were up to all day, and I bet nobody at all wants to hear about that, so I will move swiftly on.

To the point where we stopped, and got up and had some tea, and I remembered that I have a Formal Complaint being made about me (perhaps even as I write) and I had to run off and throw up.

Goddamn, something is going to have to give, here.

First things first: get plan together. Will feel so much more in control and not at the mercy of the vagaries of fate and other people’s fuck-ups if I have a plan.

Stage 1 of plan: not seeing family members when feeling like this. No matter how well meaning they are, back-story and uncertainty about when the ‘well-meaning’ part might get suddenly dropped means it is an extra level of stress; and I have come to the conclusion that for the entire time I’ve been going out with the Bossman, I have mainly been insanely stressed, (well, for a life with no actual disasters. Yet), and I need to deal with that.

Stage 2 of plan: de-RSVP for friend’s birthday tonight. This may sound harsh, but I had a partial emotional meltdown at a birthday party last week, and don’t want to repeat that. Or, god forbid, throw up again, only In Public.

Stage 3 of plan: have shower, go out and buy flowerpots.

And here I was stymied, for my lodger suddenly went for the most inordinately long bath (haha, well, if you don’t count the Tweedles, who seem to have been mer-people). By impressive coincidence, it lasted from exactly when I was about to shower, to when the shops closed.

Oh come on, big beard in the sky, you know what, the comedy is greatly increased by not having the obvious joke happen every single damn time. Draw out the suspense a little! Let me get my way some of the time! Keep the audience guessing!

(By audience in this case, I guess I mean, whoever’s sitting on the settee next to God, not blog readers. I have no control over the plot, here, only the characterisation.)

The Bossman, on the other hand, rallied superbly and took me out to a nice little sunlit place for dinner and then to see The Avengers*. Awwww! I am not really aware of the Avengers, and haven’t been to the cinema in years – last time, it was No Country for Old Men and all three of us fell asleep – but I was prepared to do almost anything to take my mind off Tuesday except watch something harrowing. (I don’t need to feel any more guilty about being pissed off about my life at the moment, it will not help.) And this did not sound harrowing.

*(Or whatever it’s called. We nearly saw the 3D one by mistake, exact names are important, but clearly I have learned nothing.)

And if it was rubbish, I would go to sleep and escape my woes that way! Win-win!

Also, there was pick-n-mix. Note to self: having face ripped open, plus, selection of really soor sweeties, do not go well together.

However, I really liked the film. This might be largely because seldom do I find a film in which I find even one of the characters ferociously attractive, and in this film there were several, hurrah! And I am allowed to be shallow, it is the cinema. Most of these people were picked because they look attractive, it’s just nice that this somehow stumbled across my tastes for once. I must be going all mainstream in my old age.

On a slightly related note, recently I stumbled across the journals of fan wank, and have been wasting valuable time out of my short and one-time-only life marveling at the things people on the internet get obsessed with to the point of throwing strops. Of course, my own obsession with an archive where people obsess over the wank merely adds yet another layer to the parfait of Last-Days-Of-Rome irrelevance, but there you go.

Actual relevant part of this: I was shocked to discover that there is Whose Line Is It Anyway fanfiction. Well, not that so much, but I was shocked to discover there is Whose Line Is It Anyway slash. Well, not even that so much, but to discover there is Whose Line Is It Anyway shipping wars is… wow.

I wonder if there is Avengers slash, I said as I made the Bossman a cup of tea.

Go find it! was his reply. I bet it’ll be Banner/Stark cos they went off together in a car at the end!

Oh bless, he has no idea how shipping works. I did go forth and find it, and surprise, there was absolutely nothing about that pairing; but there was rather a lot of Stark/Loki. So there goes my bet that it would be all Thor/Loki, on account of they’re not really brothers, and if they were that wouldn’t stop would actively encourage lots of people, and they actually have backstory together. My bet was also misaimed; there was none. However, surprise outsider: Hawkeye/ Coulson. What? Did I miss an important plot point, or is it all based on looks? Because I can’t actually recall a scene where those two had a conversation. God, if I was independently wealthy I would waste my life on a PhD examining the hows and whys of shipping!

In conclusion: shiny thing distract nicely from horrible impending doom, also the Bossman is awesome and I need to get a nice, non-impossible job so I can give a bit more attention to Things I Actually Want To Do, his needs and so forth, because he deserve it. And life is short, and other people’s lives are more crappy, I know, but I just want a break, dammit.

Four more weeks, and he’s taking me away for a long weekend for my birthday. Awwww.  (See?)


About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
This entry was posted in a horse so high I need a parachute, all the small things, inane theories on society/media etc, karma, please don't fire me. Bookmark the permalink.

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