Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


It burns! It burns!

90% of the time I love the people I deal with at the GigantoMegaHospital. However, today? Was one of those 10% days when I really wanted a goddamned tazer, electric fence, and some mace.

Lets recap, shall we?

Ferret Trimmin' Girl's boss (who is also technically my boss, sort of)has a big presentation to do. Oh yeah. And it's due tomorrow. And part of the presentation involves a copy of the nursing bylaws for the gigantomegahospital. This is great, but we had a problem with the document which required that it be recreated.

Y'know. From scratch.

Which is fine, because I have demon fingers, and could wail through the 42 pages of text, if Ferret Trimmin' Girl used her mad skillz to recreate the appendices with their tables/graphs etc. Not a big deal, but it needed to be done by the end the day today. And we needed to burn 5 copies, so really it needed to be done no later than 5:30, because the guy who'd do the CDs for us was leaving at 6:00. (We don't have burners on our PCs)

So we're knuckling down, I'm typing like the wind, FTG's makin' like an evil genius in the back, and we're, y'know, busy.

So of COURSE this means that every twit, nitwit, halfwit, yahoo, douchebag, moron, and jerkoff from seventeen counties around has to either call or stop in with some inane question (invariably regarding payroll- So lets just get this one out of the way. If you can't be bothered to get your paycheck from my office by 5:00 Friday afternoon, and are too lazy to call me and say "please hold my check for me, or please place it in my department's mailbox" I cannot be bothered to give a shit when it's Wednesday and you amble on down asking for your money. Direct Deposit exists for a reason, people. That reason? Is so that you stop bugging the shit out of me. 'k?),or some stupidly ridiculous "support" request (I need 742 copies of this document, in color, on foil paper, laminated, and cleansed in the blood of freshly slaughtered Howler monkeys. Can you do that?) or decide they needed to stand at my desk and yammer for days on end.

Oh. And the operators were in rare form today. I got some of the most wack-assed calls ever. We're talking beyond the pale- like an insurance company trying to confirm if a patient was staying at our hospital. For the love of pretty shiny things, people, we are godesses in our department, but "psychic powers" isn't on my list of fabulous attributes. Yet. I'm asking for them for Christmukkwanzaka, Ok? So in the meantime? Lets go over it again. Nursing Administration. I don't deal with the outside world, unless it's someone looking for one of my bosses and the boss is mentioned by name. Otherwise, chances are that if it's an outside call, and it's not someone calling in sick, I? Am not who they want.

Jesus. I got so wrapped up in the rant I forgot where I was.

Oh yeah. Crazy-assed day. I should have known, because how did I start my morning? With an email from Crazy-Ex-Bosslady. And she spelled my name wrong. (Yes, C, I finally read it- because with Gmail? Deleted doesn't mean gone.) Meh.

I am, however, happy to report that I got a cupcake from the Second Most Awesome Unit Clerk Ever (C's the first), and we finished the project on time, I got to pantomime pulling someone's paycheck out of my ass, and my wrists don't hurt too badly. So I guess all's well that ends well.


And I invited P over for Thanksgiblet. Odie, the official younger brother of Special Sauce, is coming over- most likely with his girlfriend, and Papa Sauce will already be trussed up like Hannibal Lecter, so he doesn't say anything obnoxious/asinine/douche-y, so I figured why waste the trussing on just one person?
Plus P's supposed to work that night, and won't get to do dinner with his grandparents. We just happen to always do lunch anyway, and I'm a fervent believer that people shouldn't do T-giving alone. And I stressed it's not the creepy "Come to my house for the holidays. Meet my parents. Good. Now we're getting married!" kind of invitation. (C, you can stop hyperventilating now.) And if he says he'd rather not, I'm not going to collapse into a weeping ball of stupid.



Blogger parcequilfaut said...

The Discordian pagans...ok, me...have improved on it: Krismahaunnakwanzayule. Hee!

Sorry about the assiness of the hospital. Happy about the T-giblet plans! I go to Mom's and then go visiting in the afternoon, like usual.

Cool Mom story: last year, when The Amazing Philtar had to work at Jack in the Box on Thanksgiving, sent plates for him and the four roommates with me. Never met him, just thought it was "wrong" that he wouldn't see his family that day or get a "real meal".

Glad you're well! Check my comments for the amazing new word count.

1:58 PM  

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