So tonight I'm stuck working with Alison Wonderland. Thankfully she went to take her break and hopefully I'll have a few minutes before anyone needs something. Usually I'm a pretty sedate person, live and let live, but Alison tends to make me wonder how she survived this long without a brain, and why a hospital, where people's lives depend on our actions, would ever hire her!
Alison isn't new to patient care. She's been doing it for eight years. I've been stuck working with her for the last five. Fortunately I don't have to work with her all the time or I might have killed her by now.
Alison's main focus throughout the night is touching up her makeup, of which she wears about an entire department store counter worth. Apparently she was talked to about her smelly hair spray and gallon of perfume because she's started wearing unscented hair spray. But hello Barbie, it's the night shift in a hospital! We are taking care of sick people. They don't give a crap if your makeup is perfect or even if you're wearing makeup. They're sick, they're hurting, they're scared. They want us to tell the nurse if they need pain meds. They want us to bring them water. They want us to reassure them. They are not looking at you and thinking how amazing you look. They're wishing they were anywhere but here.
Also, you have to explain everything to Alison, step by step. Even the simplest stuff. As I said, she's been doing this sort of work for eight years. I don't know whose dick she's sucking, but I can't imagine how else she keeps her job.
Sorry...bitter bitch.
I probably wouldn't be so down on Alison even though I'm afraid my eyes are going to get stuck in the rolled-upward position every time I work with her because they end up their so much. I was already in a foul mood when I arrived because of having to deal with my brother in law, Lars Freelöder. It's hard for me to believe that he and my husband came from the same womb. Actually its hard for me to believe that my husband came from that family at all. He's hardworking and warm-hearted. Lars actually has a good heart but to be honest, he's a SHIFTLESS BUM! Every time he has a good job he gets bored with it and quits. Now he's 51 years old and nobody wants to hire him.
If it weren't for my being here, N would probably take pity on his big brother and let him live in his house and sponge off him--he's done it before. But he doesn't want our relationship turning into "You, Me, and Dupree" any more than I do! He's "loaned" his brother money (full well knowing he'll never get a cent of it back) and told him he needs to find a job and get his own place. Lars doesn't technically live with us but he's here a lot more of the time than I'd like. He's going to try to go sponge off his eldest son for a while. Poor kid--good luck ever getting rid of him! Imagine having to kick your own dad to the curb. I told him not to let Lars in the door in the first place. People like him are vampires. They can only come in if you let them, and then they bleed you dry. I know this sounds harsh but Lars made his own bed. He refuses to grow up. He keeps wanting to "party hardy." His immaturity ruined his marriage. If it weren't for little brother having some ambition (and wanting to get away from his cold ass relatives) Lars would still be back in Norway, living in his parents' basement. It was N that insisted they immigrate to the U.S. He was just 19 at the time, Lars was 30 and going nowhere. Which is where it seems he's determined to keep going.
I could get on about how today's immigrants want something for nothing, but I don't really have time to go there. My husband and his brother worked hard to get their citizenship. They took classes. Both of them are very strong English speakers. One of them is also industrious.
I'll put a wrap on this as I see Alison returning to her post, freshly made up and doing her pageant walk. Here go my eyes, rolling upward again.
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