I’ve said before that I lead a charmed life, and indeed I do.
I work in a lab in a rather large hospital. I love it. I log specimens into the computer, plate them on agar, and run all kinds of tests. It's wonderful and gross and fantastic.
On the weekends there are only two of us. A MT (Medical Technologist) and myself. Usually this is sufficient for the work load. Usually.
One weekend was especially horrendous. Specimens just kept coming, the pneumatic tube system kept getting jammed because the processing lab kept sending one urine specimen per tube, and there were twelve thousand of those, positive bloods kept going off...(I get heart palpitations/have an anxiety attack all over again just by reading that)
Needless to say, when I went home, I wanted to relax/unwind. A Bahama Mama sounded delicious beyond reason. There was only one problem. I get off work on Sunday nights at 11:30 pm; I go to a pretty conservative school; and most of my friends are under 21 and the rest are already asleep.
So I’m left with two options:
1. Suck it up and just watch my “stories” before I go to bed.
2. Watch my “stories” AND have a Bahama Mama by myself and then go to bed.
Obviously, I opt for option #2. Not always, but tonight, yes.
A few days later I’m at work and Mrs. West, a (very sweet, very conservative) MT, asks me how my weekend was.
Me: Hectic, kinda crazy (bloods, specimens, phone ringing off the hook, etc)
West: Well what did you do after work? Did you ever relax?
Me: Yeah, Sunday after work I went home and had a drink.
West: Oh, who did you go drinking with?
Me: No one. Do you know anyone that would go out with me at midnight on a Sunday night?
West: So...you drank alone?
Me: Yeah. By the time I got home everyone was asleep, so I just had a drink and watched some movies.
West: Do you do this often? Drink alone, I mean?
Me: I guess. Most of my friends are under 21, and the ones that are of age don’t really drink. I guess i drink a few times a week.
West: Alanna, I’m concerned about you.
Me: What? Why?
West: I’m afraid you’re becoming an alcoholic.
Me: What? No. I don’t make a habit of drinking alone. I don’t drink a lot or often either.
West: Well, okay. I guess not, and at least you aren’t hiding the fact that you drink.
Me: What? Are you kidding? Of course I hide it! If I get caught with it in my apartment on campus, I would get in so much trouble. Fines, a meeting with the dean, etc. [FACEPALM as that didn’t really help my case at all]
I finally convince West that I am fine and do not need an intervention, and from this point on I make it a point to keep my “alcoholic” habits to myself when West is around.
***Fast forward a couple of weeks***
I give blood at work and after an hour or so, I take my lab coat off to remove the bandage that is cutting off circulation to my arm. I can’t say that I wasn’t expecting anyone to notice the hot pick wrap I was removing, but I CAN say that I was NOT expecting the following conversation:
West: OMG, Alanna!! Are you okay?
Me: Yes...I just gave blood today. It’s no big deal.
West: That explains the bandage, but what about those BRUISES?
[I look at my forearm and realize I have pretty noticeable bruises—two of them, each about 2-3 inches in diameter. ]
Me: Oh, hmm...I hadn’t noticed those. They’re probably from when I ran into the door the other day (Have you ever heard that line before? I’m pretty sure I sound like a battered woman. “No, I’m just clumsy, I ran into the door/I fell down the stairs/it’s all my fault, really.”)
West [furrowed brow; motherly, concerned look]: Alanna, is someone hitting you? You can tell me. This is a safe place.
Me [wide-eyed, just staring at West trying not to laugh since she is legitimately concerned for my wellbeing]: West, I promise you that no one is hitting/beating me. I am not even dating anyone right now, you know that.
West: Alanna, you don’t have to be dating someone for them to beat you.
Me: That is true, but I promise I’m fine. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going the other day, and I ran into the door.
West: Alanna, you can tell me. You can even stay at my place if you need to. We have an extra room.
Me: West, I know this is a safe place, and I trust you. I promise that if I ever am in that situation, I will tell you.
West throws a couple of concerned glances my way as she walks to another part of the lab, and I am left to my own devices. As I sit there, I just wonder what she must think of me. I am an alcoholic. I’m probably an alcoholic because I’m being beaten by a guy that won’t even let me call him my boyfriend.
Sigh. I don’t even know how this happened or how to get myself out of this perceived predicament.
***A couple of days later***
Douglas, MT: So are you bored yet? [Classes have been out for one week]
Me: No, not yet.
Doug: Well that’s good because when you get bored is when the drinking starts.
Me: I already drink, Doug.
Doug: Oh, well then it only gets worse from here. Pretty soon you’ll be an alcoholic.
Me [smirk]: Yeah, and I’ll prove West right.
Doug: ???
Me: Have I not told you how West thinks I’m an alcoholic?
Doug: No...
Me: [See the whole first part of this post]
At this point, Doug is laughing so hard that it is attracting the attention of others. What is so funny? What can they be talking about? I want to know!!
In the end, I end up telling all of 2nd Shift my tale of woe.
It is important to note that most of 2nd Shift are guys, and even though they initially laughed (hysterically) at my story, they were just as concerned as West.
“Alanna, if a guy was to ever hit you, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that we would physically hurt him, but we would yell mean things at him and then run away.”
[I am holding back tears, my voice is cracking] That is so sweet, guys.
After everyone has realized I am not an alcoholic in actuality, and I am in no physical danger, the guys start to try and figure out who it would be that was “beating” me.
Doug: What about the guy from Purchasing?
Me: Steve? No. No. The only time I see him is when he comes into our lab and I am forced to interact with him (Steve is a whole other story entirely).
Brian: Oh, I know. Is it Popcorn Guy?
Me: ...
I am stunned, and I don’t even care that it is written all over my face. Why, you ask? I mean, I tell enough stories that people in my lab know the names of the Roommates, Sable, and a few others. However. Brian is from a different lab. Did you catch that? Well let me say it again: Brian is from a DIFFERENT LAB. He works on the OTHER SIDE of the basement. Through the seven layers of the candy cane forest, through the sea of swirly twirly gum drops, and then you have to walk through the morgue tunnel.
Granted our departments work together and we talk on the phone/go to the other department a couple of times per shift, but he is here, in person, and made that comment.
Me: H-how did you know that story, the popcorn one, I mean?
Brian: You’ve told it before, and 1st Shift told it to me. It’s a good story.
Me: Uh-huh.
I am now not only concerned with what West things of me, but now also what the other labs think of me.
Oh goodness. Well, even if they don't know what to think of me, at least they know that I tell good stories. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment