Read previous chapters of The Cubicle Chronicles here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. It's been a really long time since I last posted one of these. This isn't a traditional Cubicle Chronicles, but I think it still works. But you can judge for yourself. I give you The Cubicle Chronicles, this time, "The Crazy Moms at Gymnastics" Edition...
Lady 1: Would you look at that child??! Lady 2: Oh. My. God. I can't believe that! L1: I know, right??!! L2: That is so tacky! L1: I mean, seriously, like, who let her out of the house like that? L2: Seriously. I mean, panty lines? Really, there is no excuse for her having panty lines. L1: They should just not have her wear any underwear. That's what we do. L2: Or, I wonder if they make thongs that would fit her? (Now, here's the thing. This is a gymnastics class. For THREE YEAR OLDS!!!!!! Why are these mothers looking at - and commenting on - someone else's 3yo daughter's butt?! Also, just ew. Why isn't your kid wearing underwear to gymnastics? Her butt was just where my kid's face is right now. Ew. And I'm just not even going to address the whole "putting ta thong on a 3yo" because, well, no. Just, no.
Girl 1: (screaming, crying, holding her head) Coach (from across the room): What happened? Everybody else keep practicing!!!!! Girl 2: She, like, fell during the stunt. Coach: You're fine. Keep going, girls! Do not waste my time today! G1: (screaming, crying, holding her head) C: Did you hit your head on the floor? G1 (screaming crying, holding her head) C: Did she hit her head? KEEP GOING!!!!! G2: I mean, like, I don't think so. C: (finally comes over to G1, squats down at her level): What is wrong? G1: (crying hysterically) I (hiccup) lost (sob) my (snort) favorite (crrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy) HAIRBOW !!!!!!!!!!!! (resume hysterical crying) C: Stop! Everybody find the bow. (Why, yes. When she thought the kid was hurt, everyone had to continue cheering. Heaven forbid we stop and act concerned that one of our teammates is hurt. But, when we lost a hairbow, holy crap. The world has ended. We. Must. Find. The. Hairbow. NOW!!!!! Also, this was the high school cheerleading team. Yes.)
Lady: Jane, what are you doing in there? (raps on window into gym, because Jane is actually inside the gym, and mother is in the waiting area) Jane: (looks up at mother, mouths) What? Lady: (gesticulating wildly) You get over there and do what your coach is telling you. Right now!!!! Jane (turns head to side, clearly confused, but then goes about her class) Lady : (talking to herself) I just can't believe her. What is she doing??!!! (Jane's class ends and she comes out) Lady: What did you think you were doing in there? I will not pay all this money for you to not do your best. You will not get anywhere with this attitude, missy. Disgraceful. I am severely disappointed in your lack of effort. You will live up to my expectations. Yes, you will. Now, you go over to your coach and apologize for being so awful today. (Now, here's the thing. Jane is in the 4yo class. That's right. She's 4. And, mama, I'm also positive that your 4yo nose picker ain't gonna make it to the Olympics. For one, she is struggling with a somersault. But, also, well, there's the whole you she has to deal with part of it. I mean, really, how's a girl supposed to concentrate when her mama's banging on the window all the time? S'rsly, it interrupts the booger search.)
Lady: Come on, kid, it's time to go into class. Kid: Noooooooooo!!! Teacher: You can come with him til he's comfortable. Lady: (rolls eyes) Okay. (drags kid into the class) Teacher: Okay, we're going to do some stretches now. Kid: Noooooo!!!!! Lady: Come on, kid, lets do our stretches. Kid: Nooooo!!!!! Lady: You can participate or you can sit in time out. Kid: Noooooo!!!!! Lady: (under her breath) This is a lot of damn money for me to be putting you in time out. I could put you in time out for free at home. How about I just throw you in the trash can instead? Kid: (screams so loud the room becomes silent and everyone stares) Nooooooo!!!! No 'frow me away in uh twash can, mama!!!!! Lady: (grumble, grumble, grumble, bright red face, as she walks the screaming child to the corner of the room for a time out) (I'm not saying that was me and baby E or anything. I'm just saying, that poor lady probably had a really good reason for threatening - under. her. breath., to herself - to throw her 3yo in the garbage. Probably because he wouldn't take a nap all day and this was his first time in this class, with this teacher, and he wouldn't do anything other than scream "noooooo!!!!!", and she was also really tired, and had shit she needed to do, like anything other have to deal with a horribly misbehaving 3yo. Because, you know, she was the only parent in the gym, while all the other parents started at her from the windows. Probably commenting about her own panty line. So, yeah. Cut her some slack, y'all.)
Today's Lesson: Judge not, lest you become one of the crazy gymnastics mothers.
Showing posts with label The Cubicle Chronicles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Cubicle Chronicles. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Seven
Read previous chapters of The Cubicle Chronicles here,
here,
here,
here,
here, and here. It's
been a long time since I last posted one of these and I thought the last one might be the final chapter. Alas, for better or worse, I was wrong. So, once again, I give you The Cubicle
Chronicles, this time "The Infertile's Head About Explodes" Edition...
Lady 1: I mean, I think I want to be a mom, but, like wait a while. I mean I don't like want to be the old mom. So, I can't have them any later than like 32. But then, you know, you're like high risk and stuff. And who wants to be on bedrest for like 9 months. And you're too old to chase after the kids and everything. Who wants to be the gray haired mom? Lady 2: Yeah, or the one with wrinkles? Lady 1: I know! And I don't want my kids to be in daycare. Because I don't want them to get sick or anything. Like, if you're working and they get sick, you have to take off. And that's just really inconvenient. Also I think if you're like a housewife, like your house has to be spotlessly clean all the time. Because, like, what else do you have to do all day?! I mean, keeping the house clean and your husband and kids happy is your job. It's not like it's hard when you've got all that time. You know, because you're not like actually working or anything. (So, let me give you a little background on these "ladies". They're both pharmacy students/residents. These are educated, young women. And this crap is what they're spouting. I mean I get that they're young and clueless. But damn. They do not make me feel good about our (collective) future. Also, I'm pretty sure I wasn't able to accurately capture all the times the word "like" was used. Probably because I was constantly telling myself to keep my freaking mouth shut.)
Nurse: I need you to come talk to this patient. Me: What's going on? Nurse: Well, he needs help getting home. Me: Okay, do you know where he lives. Nurse: He lives in [names a state that is 1200+ miles from here]. Probably he needs a plane ticket. Me: Hahahahahaha. Nurse: [silence] Me: Oh, you're serious? Nurse: Yes. He needs to get home. He has a half million dollar house there. Me: Yeah. No. Nurse: Can't you just voucher him a plane ticket? Me: Uh, no. But I can get him a bus pass to the homeless shelter. Or, if he has a half million dollar house, I bet he can afford his own bus pass. Nurse: [silence] Me: Why did he come in today? Nurse: Psych - He thinks he's LL Cool J. Me: [silence] Nurse: He probably doesn't have a half million dollar house, does he? Me: Uh, not so much. Nurse: A bus pass should work. Me: Great. (As a public service announcement, the ER will not be handing out plane tickets from this day forward. Also, the man who tells you he's LL Cool J and came in drunk and without pants, well, lets just go ahead and assume he doesn't have a half million dollar house. I've been know to be wrong on occasion. But I'm feeling like this one is a pretty strong bet.)
Lady 1: So, did you hear my news? Lady 2: No, I've been off because I've been sick, and my grandpa died, and then my sister-in-law was in this awful car accident, and-- L1: Yeah, yeah, we're talking about me. L2: Oh. L1: So, I'm pregnant! L2: (somehow manages to do appropriate amount of happy squealing noises) So, when are you due? L1: Yeah, I waited forever to tell anyone because, you know, this is my first pregnancy and I wanted to make sure it was actually there and going to stick around and stuff before I told everyone. Because, you know, it's my first baby and we tried, like, forever. I mean, seriously, forever, like 4 months. I'm due (gives a date). L2: So you're how many weeks? L1: 6 and a half weeks. And I'm at that point where my regular clothes don't fit anymore so I had to buy maternity clothes. Ugh, this thing is going to make me so fat and ugly. (So, so many things to say here. First, 6.5mon would probably be a long time to wait. 6.5wks, well, not so much. Actually, seems like it often takes her longer than that to realize there's work to be done, so I gotta say I'm surprised she noticed she's pregnant this early. Second, 4 months is "forever"- really? She seems to have a different sense of time than I do. Or anyone else I know, for that matter. Third, having never been pregnant myself - and yes, thank you so much for unknowingly throwing that back up in my face - I don't know for sure. BUT, I'm willing to guess that if you're getting "fat" at this point, it's not the baby's fault. Pretty sure it's the 3 doughnuts I saw you eating for breakfast, followed by the 4 cupcakes for "snack" - which was about 17min after "breakfast". Lastly, poor, poor doughnut and cupcake-filled baby.)
Today's Lesson: Too often in life, the crazy just finds you. You can choose to ignore it. Which is probably the most personally healthy option. Or you can blog about it, pissing yourself off again, but allowing others to hopefully get a laugh in at the same time. You're welcome, friends.
Lady 1: I mean, I think I want to be a mom, but, like wait a while. I mean I don't like want to be the old mom. So, I can't have them any later than like 32. But then, you know, you're like high risk and stuff. And who wants to be on bedrest for like 9 months. And you're too old to chase after the kids and everything. Who wants to be the gray haired mom? Lady 2: Yeah, or the one with wrinkles? Lady 1: I know! And I don't want my kids to be in daycare. Because I don't want them to get sick or anything. Like, if you're working and they get sick, you have to take off. And that's just really inconvenient. Also I think if you're like a housewife, like your house has to be spotlessly clean all the time. Because, like, what else do you have to do all day?! I mean, keeping the house clean and your husband and kids happy is your job. It's not like it's hard when you've got all that time. You know, because you're not like actually working or anything. (So, let me give you a little background on these "ladies". They're both pharmacy students/residents. These are educated, young women. And this crap is what they're spouting. I mean I get that they're young and clueless. But damn. They do not make me feel good about our (collective) future. Also, I'm pretty sure I wasn't able to accurately capture all the times the word "like" was used. Probably because I was constantly telling myself to keep my freaking mouth shut.)
Nurse: I need you to come talk to this patient. Me: What's going on? Nurse: Well, he needs help getting home. Me: Okay, do you know where he lives. Nurse: He lives in [names a state that is 1200+ miles from here]. Probably he needs a plane ticket. Me: Hahahahahaha. Nurse: [silence] Me: Oh, you're serious? Nurse: Yes. He needs to get home. He has a half million dollar house there. Me: Yeah. No. Nurse: Can't you just voucher him a plane ticket? Me: Uh, no. But I can get him a bus pass to the homeless shelter. Or, if he has a half million dollar house, I bet he can afford his own bus pass. Nurse: [silence] Me: Why did he come in today? Nurse: Psych - He thinks he's LL Cool J. Me: [silence] Nurse: He probably doesn't have a half million dollar house, does he? Me: Uh, not so much. Nurse: A bus pass should work. Me: Great. (As a public service announcement, the ER will not be handing out plane tickets from this day forward. Also, the man who tells you he's LL Cool J and came in drunk and without pants, well, lets just go ahead and assume he doesn't have a half million dollar house. I've been know to be wrong on occasion. But I'm feeling like this one is a pretty strong bet.)
Lady 1: So, did you hear my news? Lady 2: No, I've been off because I've been sick, and my grandpa died, and then my sister-in-law was in this awful car accident, and-- L1: Yeah, yeah, we're talking about me. L2: Oh. L1: So, I'm pregnant! L2: (somehow manages to do appropriate amount of happy squealing noises) So, when are you due? L1: Yeah, I waited forever to tell anyone because, you know, this is my first pregnancy and I wanted to make sure it was actually there and going to stick around and stuff before I told everyone. Because, you know, it's my first baby and we tried, like, forever. I mean, seriously, forever, like 4 months. I'm due (gives a date). L2: So you're how many weeks? L1: 6 and a half weeks. And I'm at that point where my regular clothes don't fit anymore so I had to buy maternity clothes. Ugh, this thing is going to make me so fat and ugly. (So, so many things to say here. First, 6.5mon would probably be a long time to wait. 6.5wks, well, not so much. Actually, seems like it often takes her longer than that to realize there's work to be done, so I gotta say I'm surprised she noticed she's pregnant this early. Second, 4 months is "forever"- really? She seems to have a different sense of time than I do. Or anyone else I know, for that matter. Third, having never been pregnant myself - and yes, thank you so much for unknowingly throwing that back up in my face - I don't know for sure. BUT, I'm willing to guess that if you're getting "fat" at this point, it's not the baby's fault. Pretty sure it's the 3 doughnuts I saw you eating for breakfast, followed by the 4 cupcakes for "snack" - which was about 17min after "breakfast". Lastly, poor, poor doughnut and cupcake-filled baby.)
Today's Lesson: Too often in life, the crazy just finds you. You can choose to ignore it. Which is probably the most personally healthy option. Or you can blog about it, pissing yourself off again, but allowing others to hopefully get a laugh in at the same time. You're welcome, friends.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Six
Read previous chapters of The Cubicle Chronicles here, here, here, here, and here. It's been a long time since I last posted one of these. I'm no longer at the work location where the majority of the, uh, conversations were overheard. Thus, this may be the last. So, for now, I give you perhaps the final The Cubicle Chronicles...
Lady:Yeah, we had secret service in here the other night. Man: Why? Lady: Because some dumbass threatened to kill President Obama. Man: What?! Seriously?! (hahahaha) Lady: I mean, do you know how often people say they're going to kill the president? I don't like him, I didn't vote for him last time and I won't this time. But I'd vote for him over some woman. Because the last thing we need is some bleeding heart as a president. Now, you get some woman like me in there, well that'd be perfect. I'd blow them bastards right up. I like blowin' shit up, y'all. Yeah, I'd make a good president all right. (um, wtf. and, if I hadn't been working for 15 hours at that point, I'd have had to interject. Seriously, so much to respond to.)
Lady 1: Girl, I think she's COD. I mean all she does is clean. Lady 2: You mean DOC. L1: What? L2: You know "Disorder of the Cleaners", where all they like to do is clean. L1: Yeah, that. I mean, she is obsessive about it. (Sigh. If they were trying to be funny, well, it would be funny. But they weren't. I should be grateful they got the letters correct, right? No? I didn't think so either.)
And then, I walked in to the bathroom. You know, one where there are multiple stalls. In this case only 2 of them, but they both have doors. You know, that LOCK. Well, not only was the stall door not locked, it also wasn't closed. At all. It was wiiiiiiiide open. And, not only was she, uh, doing her business (yes, with the stall door all the freaking way open), also she was discussing her business as loudly as ever. Me = traumatized.
Lady1: Did you vote today? Lady 2: Uh, no. L1: Why not? L2: Girl, I don't have time for that. I got way more important things to do! L1: Like what? I mean you had all day, like 12 hours. L2: Girl, I got a wedding to plan and it is coming up soon!!!! L1: Oh yeah? When is it? L2: It's only 9 months from now! Can you believe it's going to be so soon???!!! (Oh, and here's the best part of this whole thing - Lady #2 from this conversation, she's also the Lady from the first conversation. Oh, yes. She is.)
Today's Lesson: All good things, apparently, must really come to an end. Fortunately, so do the awful ones. Boo for you = yay for me. Funny how that works, huh?
Lady:Yeah, we had secret service in here the other night. Man: Why? Lady: Because some dumbass threatened to kill President Obama. Man: What?! Seriously?! (hahahaha) Lady: I mean, do you know how often people say they're going to kill the president? I don't like him, I didn't vote for him last time and I won't this time. But I'd vote for him over some woman. Because the last thing we need is some bleeding heart as a president. Now, you get some woman like me in there, well that'd be perfect. I'd blow them bastards right up. I like blowin' shit up, y'all. Yeah, I'd make a good president all right. (um, wtf. and, if I hadn't been working for 15 hours at that point, I'd have had to interject. Seriously, so much to respond to.)
Lady 1: Girl, I think she's COD. I mean all she does is clean. Lady 2: You mean DOC. L1: What? L2: You know "Disorder of the Cleaners", where all they like to do is clean. L1: Yeah, that. I mean, she is obsessive about it. (Sigh. If they were trying to be funny, well, it would be funny. But they weren't. I should be grateful they got the letters correct, right? No? I didn't think so either.)
And then, I walked in to the bathroom. You know, one where there are multiple stalls. In this case only 2 of them, but they both have doors. You know, that LOCK. Well, not only was the stall door not locked, it also wasn't closed. At all. It was wiiiiiiiide open. And, not only was she, uh, doing her business (yes, with the stall door all the freaking way open), also she was discussing her business as loudly as ever. Me = traumatized.
Lady1: Did you vote today? Lady 2: Uh, no. L1: Why not? L2: Girl, I don't have time for that. I got way more important things to do! L1: Like what? I mean you had all day, like 12 hours. L2: Girl, I got a wedding to plan and it is coming up soon!!!! L1: Oh yeah? When is it? L2: It's only 9 months from now! Can you believe it's going to be so soon???!!! (Oh, and here's the best part of this whole thing - Lady #2 from this conversation, she's also the Lady from the first conversation. Oh, yes. She is.)
Today's Lesson: All good things, apparently, must really come to an end. Fortunately, so do the awful ones. Boo for you = yay for me. Funny how that works, huh?
Saturday, November 10, 2012
The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Five
Read previous chapters of the Cubicle Chronicles here, here, here, and here. I keep thinking, any time now people will stop saying stupid things. But I must be wrong. So wrong. So we continue...
Also, today's NHBPM prompt is to write about something funny. This will, hopefully, suffice.
Nurse: What's your reason for coming in [to the Emergency Department] today? Patient: I have acne. Nurse: (waiting...) Um, okay, acne, and what else is going on? Patient: I have acne. Nurse: Okay, so what brought you in today? Patient: Did you hear me? I have acne. Nurse: So...oh. Okay then. Acne.
Lady: Hello, Rebecca? Me: Me? Becky. I mean, can I help you? Lady: Do you know how to french braid? Me: Um... yes? Lady: Great. My hair's kind of damp and I can go get it a little wetter. Can you try to braid my hair? Me: Um, huh? Lady: My son has a show tonight and I want my hair to have the nice wavy thing going on and I never learned how to french braid. So, do you care to do it? Me (looks at her and determines that she appears clean): Um. Ok... (And then I actually did it. Yup, I sure did. But hell, I didn't have anything else to do. Which she could clearly see. And, yes, it was a particular kind of awkward. Not a good call on my part. At all.)
Lady 1: What the hell is that??!!! Lady 2: Oh my...!! L1: Is that really happening??! L2: Apparently it is. L1: No, really? It can't be. L2: It is. Lady 3: Is that...??!!! L1: It is. L3: You're telling me that tow truck, just pulled that ambulance here. With a patient in it?? L2: Apparently yes. L3: So, the tow truck was pulling the ambulance that had a patient in the back. L1: Yeah. Patient care at its best. L3: Well, I'll be damned. (That echos my thoughts exactly. I mean, can you imagine. You're in an ambulance. Because, you know, you, like, need to be in an ambulance to get to the hospital. And then it breaks down. But, instead of, you know, calling a new one, they call a tow truck. And, that is how you get to the hospital. I wonder how insurance will read the bill on that one...)
Lady1: What you doin'? Lady 2: I was doin' nothin'. L1: Don't you lie to me! Was you tryin' to take my cigarettes? (switched to the creepiest, most threatening, yet baby-ish voice) Don't you steal my ciggies. I will kill you. I will cut you. Into tiny, little pieces. I will take you out. Don't you touch them. L2:Um, I didn't go near them. L2 (in a completely normal - for her - voice): Okay, will you go get me a drink from the cafeteria now? (Dude, I can not adequately describe the creepiness of that voice. And then it went all sickly sweet. I am fairly certain she's crazy. Like, totally, off her rocker, effin' crazy. One of us needs meds - her to be less crazy, or me to continue to listen to her non-medicated crazy.)
Today's Lesson: Always look busy at work. Otherwise you could get stuck braiding a stranger's hair. Which is total awkwardness. And makes you feel the need to repeatedly wash your hands.
Also, today's NHBPM prompt is to write about something funny. This will, hopefully, suffice.
Nurse: What's your reason for coming in [to the Emergency Department] today? Patient: I have acne. Nurse: (waiting...) Um, okay, acne, and what else is going on? Patient: I have acne. Nurse: Okay, so what brought you in today? Patient: Did you hear me? I have acne. Nurse: So...oh. Okay then. Acne.
Lady: Hello, Rebecca? Me: Me? Becky. I mean, can I help you? Lady: Do you know how to french braid? Me: Um... yes? Lady: Great. My hair's kind of damp and I can go get it a little wetter. Can you try to braid my hair? Me: Um, huh? Lady: My son has a show tonight and I want my hair to have the nice wavy thing going on and I never learned how to french braid. So, do you care to do it? Me (looks at her and determines that she appears clean): Um. Ok... (And then I actually did it. Yup, I sure did. But hell, I didn't have anything else to do. Which she could clearly see. And, yes, it was a particular kind of awkward. Not a good call on my part. At all.)
Lady 1: What the hell is that??!!! Lady 2: Oh my...!! L1: Is that really happening??! L2: Apparently it is. L1: No, really? It can't be. L2: It is. Lady 3: Is that...??!!! L1: It is. L3: You're telling me that tow truck, just pulled that ambulance here. With a patient in it?? L2: Apparently yes. L3: So, the tow truck was pulling the ambulance that had a patient in the back. L1: Yeah. Patient care at its best. L3: Well, I'll be damned. (That echos my thoughts exactly. I mean, can you imagine. You're in an ambulance. Because, you know, you, like, need to be in an ambulance to get to the hospital. And then it breaks down. But, instead of, you know, calling a new one, they call a tow truck. And, that is how you get to the hospital. I wonder how insurance will read the bill on that one...)
Lady1: What you doin'? Lady 2: I was doin' nothin'. L1: Don't you lie to me! Was you tryin' to take my cigarettes? (switched to the creepiest, most threatening, yet baby-ish voice) Don't you steal my ciggies. I will kill you. I will cut you. Into tiny, little pieces. I will take you out. Don't you touch them. L2:Um, I didn't go near them. L2 (in a completely normal - for her - voice): Okay, will you go get me a drink from the cafeteria now? (Dude, I can not adequately describe the creepiness of that voice. And then it went all sickly sweet. I am fairly certain she's crazy. Like, totally, off her rocker, effin' crazy. One of us needs meds - her to be less crazy, or me to continue to listen to her non-medicated crazy.)
Today's Lesson: Always look busy at work. Otherwise you could get stuck braiding a stranger's hair. Which is total awkwardness. And makes you feel the need to repeatedly wash your hands.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Four
Read previous chapters of the Cubicle Chronicles here, here, and here. I keep thinking, surely the fodder for these must come to an end at some point. I have yet to find that point though. So we continue...
(Conversation in process regarding how everyone @ this location always seems to be passing around awful sinus gunk.) Lady 1: I keep expecting to walk in here one morning and see mushrooms sprouting out of the carpet. Lady 2: Oh no, sister. We are the mushrooms. They keep us in the dark and dump shit on us all the time. They cultivate us. We are the mushrooms. (That seems like possibly a valid point.)
Ma'am, do you have any STD's? (pause) Well, yes, ma'am, I did ask if you have any STD's. (pause) Yes, ma'am, I do realize that you're 94 years old. (pause) Is that right, ma'am, you got married when you were 14? (pause) No, ma'am. Pregnancy is not considered an STD. (pause) Yes, even if it happened 18 times. (Um, 18 times?! As much as I'd love to be pregnant, I might be with the old lady on this one.)
Lady 1: Apparently the patient was making passes at the staff at his previous nursing home. Lady 2: Isn't he here for a UTI? Lady 1: Yes. Lady 2 (sarcastically): I've heard UTI's can make you do that. Lady 1: So, they're refusing to take him back there. Lady - loose use of that word - 3 (yells across the room): What room is that man in? I'm a-goin' up there now to get me some action! Then I might just take 'em home with me! (So, really? I mean, I can't actually think of a response to this. Apparently neither could anyone else as the whole office sat in dead silence for several minutes. Total awkwardness.)
Lady: My kid apparently joined the academic team. I mean, I know my kid. I know all of my kids and it's safe to assume that none of my kids is going to make an academic team based on smarts. They must of just needed bodies in them seats. That and the team must just suck. Bad. Really, I do love my kids, but, and I'm just bein' honest here, they're pretty stupid. (So, do you think that was nature or nurture responsible for that one? Just asking because your use of poor grammar doesn't help me answer that question really.)
(Thanks to speaker phone technology, I was blessed enough to hear both sides of this delightful convo) Lady 1: Amanda, why did you skip school??! A: I didn't! L: I know you did! Why are you lying to me? A: Because I can. L1: Who else is in my house? I don't want nobody in my house! A: Eff you, mother! L1: You think you're so effing bad@ss, but you don't know anything. A: (hang up) (there were 3 more similar rants, then the most fun part started.) L1: Won't nobody help me with her? Lady 2: Have you called the police, or the court? L1: No, I can't do that to my baby. L2: What about one of them psychiatrists? L1: She went 2 times and it didn't do no good! L2: Well, then you gotta call the po-po. L1: But then she'll be mad at me. (several minutes later) L1: It's almost Amanda's birthday. What do you think I should get her? I was thinking an iPhone 5. She has the 4 but says she wants the new one. Also, she lost her iPad. I mean, I think she sold it for drug money. Though she could have gotten that money from doing who knows what with those boys who are always around. But at any rate it's gone so now she needs a new one. (There was so much that is wrong in this convo that I don't know where to start. So let me try to hit the highlights - call the police. Don't buy your kid any new stuff. Drug test her. That seems like a good place to start.)
Today's Lesson: Let's see, here are a few. Pregnancy doesn't officially count as an STD. Don't hit on patients. Don't call your kids stupid. Don't buy your drug-abusing child expensive toys for her to sell for drugs. Oh, and sometimes we apparently are the mushrooms.
(Conversation in process regarding how everyone @ this location always seems to be passing around awful sinus gunk.) Lady 1: I keep expecting to walk in here one morning and see mushrooms sprouting out of the carpet. Lady 2: Oh no, sister. We are the mushrooms. They keep us in the dark and dump shit on us all the time. They cultivate us. We are the mushrooms. (That seems like possibly a valid point.)
Ma'am, do you have any STD's? (pause) Well, yes, ma'am, I did ask if you have any STD's. (pause) Yes, ma'am, I do realize that you're 94 years old. (pause) Is that right, ma'am, you got married when you were 14? (pause) No, ma'am. Pregnancy is not considered an STD. (pause) Yes, even if it happened 18 times. (Um, 18 times?! As much as I'd love to be pregnant, I might be with the old lady on this one.)
Lady 1: Apparently the patient was making passes at the staff at his previous nursing home. Lady 2: Isn't he here for a UTI? Lady 1: Yes. Lady 2 (sarcastically): I've heard UTI's can make you do that. Lady 1: So, they're refusing to take him back there. Lady - loose use of that word - 3 (yells across the room): What room is that man in? I'm a-goin' up there now to get me some action! Then I might just take 'em home with me! (So, really? I mean, I can't actually think of a response to this. Apparently neither could anyone else as the whole office sat in dead silence for several minutes. Total awkwardness.)
Lady: My kid apparently joined the academic team. I mean, I know my kid. I know all of my kids and it's safe to assume that none of my kids is going to make an academic team based on smarts. They must of just needed bodies in them seats. That and the team must just suck. Bad. Really, I do love my kids, but, and I'm just bein' honest here, they're pretty stupid. (So, do you think that was nature or nurture responsible for that one? Just asking because your use of poor grammar doesn't help me answer that question really.)
(Thanks to speaker phone technology, I was blessed enough to hear both sides of this delightful convo) Lady 1: Amanda, why did you skip school??! A: I didn't! L: I know you did! Why are you lying to me? A: Because I can. L1: Who else is in my house? I don't want nobody in my house! A: Eff you, mother! L1: You think you're so effing bad@ss, but you don't know anything. A: (hang up) (there were 3 more similar rants, then the most fun part started.) L1: Won't nobody help me with her? Lady 2: Have you called the police, or the court? L1: No, I can't do that to my baby. L2: What about one of them psychiatrists? L1: She went 2 times and it didn't do no good! L2: Well, then you gotta call the po-po. L1: But then she'll be mad at me. (several minutes later) L1: It's almost Amanda's birthday. What do you think I should get her? I was thinking an iPhone 5. She has the 4 but says she wants the new one. Also, she lost her iPad. I mean, I think she sold it for drug money. Though she could have gotten that money from doing who knows what with those boys who are always around. But at any rate it's gone so now she needs a new one. (There was so much that is wrong in this convo that I don't know where to start. So let me try to hit the highlights - call the police. Don't buy your kid any new stuff. Drug test her. That seems like a good place to start.)
Today's Lesson: Let's see, here are a few. Pregnancy doesn't officially count as an STD. Don't hit on patients. Don't call your kids stupid. Don't buy your drug-abusing child expensive toys for her to sell for drugs. Oh, and sometimes we apparently are the mushrooms.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
The Cubicle Chronicles: Chapter Three
Read previous chapters of the Cubicle Chronicles here and here.
Naw, girl. I got my candy stashed in my bible at home. That way I know nobody gonna be botherin' it. It's safe there, no doubt. (Now, that's just funny. Funny ironic, more than funny haha. But funny still. Also? I believe you.)
Yeah, whore. You get yo ass in here. 'Cause you know that's why you gotta have surgery done, 'cause you a whore. I mean, I didn't say that to her, but that's what I was athinkin'. All I did say to her was' quit bein' dirty then you wouldn't have to have this kinda surgery no more". (Holymotheryoudidnot saythattoapatient??!!!!!)
Hey! You all got many dead people over there? Can I come see 'em? I like the dead people. They can't be talkin' back to ya. I like it when things are quiet. (Yeah. Me, too.)
You know what my favorite position is? Any one where I can take my shoes off. (an interlude where I intentionally tuned out because I thought I was going to gouge my ears and cause permanent hearing loss. Then, I accidentally started listening again much MUCH too soon.) But sometimes, he wants to get in to one where I can't breathe. It's one where his belly rolls up and gets in the way. But he likes to look at me. I mean who don't?! (Me. I do not like to look at you. Or hear you. I am willing to bet, also, that I'm not the only one. And please refrain from talking about yourself being naked at work.)
If you ain't lookin' nappy at least some days, you ain't livin' life right. (I'm not even sure what this means.)
Why the hell is e'rebody here always trying to get in my bid-ness and make comments. (Um, well, I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's because you're talking about your "bid-ness" really damn loud. All.The.Damn.Time. But, like I said, that's just a silly little guess.)
And then he asked me if he needed to shave. I told him he could if he wanted to. He said he didn't want to shave if he didn't have to. And then I realized that he meant down there. I assured him we'd shave him down there if he needed it. He said he didn't want nobody down there with a razor. So I had to remind him that we were going to be down there with a scalpel. That shut him up quick. I don't think he'll shave though. (The conversations people have are sometimes simply unique to a medical setting. At least I hope they are.)
Today's Lesson is brought to you by the (original) author of most of this post: If you're in a relationship where you feel like you're ugly everyday and you just cry all the time, it ain't the right one for you. (So, some of the things that come out of her mouth do make sense/aren't offensive.)
Naw, girl. I got my candy stashed in my bible at home. That way I know nobody gonna be botherin' it. It's safe there, no doubt. (Now, that's just funny. Funny ironic, more than funny haha. But funny still. Also? I believe you.)
Yeah, whore. You get yo ass in here. 'Cause you know that's why you gotta have surgery done, 'cause you a whore. I mean, I didn't say that to her, but that's what I was athinkin'. All I did say to her was' quit bein' dirty then you wouldn't have to have this kinda surgery no more". (Holymotheryoudidnot saythattoapatient??!!!!!)
Hey! You all got many dead people over there? Can I come see 'em? I like the dead people. They can't be talkin' back to ya. I like it when things are quiet. (Yeah. Me, too.)
You know what my favorite position is? Any one where I can take my shoes off. (an interlude where I intentionally tuned out because I thought I was going to gouge my ears and cause permanent hearing loss. Then, I accidentally started listening again much MUCH too soon.) But sometimes, he wants to get in to one where I can't breathe. It's one where his belly rolls up and gets in the way. But he likes to look at me. I mean who don't?! (Me. I do not like to look at you. Or hear you. I am willing to bet, also, that I'm not the only one. And please refrain from talking about yourself being naked at work.)
If you ain't lookin' nappy at least some days, you ain't livin' life right. (I'm not even sure what this means.)
Why the hell is e'rebody here always trying to get in my bid-ness and make comments. (Um, well, I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's because you're talking about your "bid-ness" really damn loud. All.The.Damn.Time. But, like I said, that's just a silly little guess.)
And then he asked me if he needed to shave. I told him he could if he wanted to. He said he didn't want to shave if he didn't have to. And then I realized that he meant down there. I assured him we'd shave him down there if he needed it. He said he didn't want nobody down there with a razor. So I had to remind him that we were going to be down there with a scalpel. That shut him up quick. I don't think he'll shave though. (The conversations people have are sometimes simply unique to a medical setting. At least I hope they are.)
Today's Lesson is brought to you by the (original) author of most of this post: If you're in a relationship where you feel like you're ugly everyday and you just cry all the time, it ain't the right one for you. (So, some of the things that come out of her mouth do make sense/aren't offensive.)
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