Day 10 of my Bauble A Day Photo Project, In Case You Were Wondering. Bonus, if you read to the end, I put my Silly Foot in my Silly Mouth Again
Today, at my day job, we had an all-staff meeting with the topic of Workplace Violence.
We watched videos. The first one was about watching your coworkers for signs of them getting violent. Made me feel guilty. I don’t know why. I never intend to harm anyone but after watching the video, I felt like everyone was looking at me. I’m going to assume that everyone else was feeling the same way and I’m not just being paranoid. Seeing as how I am a paranoia carrier, and all.
The second video we watched was about people coming into a healthcare environment, already stressed, getting violent with pounding fists and shooting guns. The video taught us how to use patients beds to block doors that did not lot. I’m assuming we should take the patients out of the beds. It was never clarified for us.
After that video, I felt scared. I am now suspect of anyone who enters our building. I don’t care if it’s the UPS guy or the Fed Ex guy named Tammy (for real. a guy named Tammy.) I’m watching you, Tammy! (no, he doesn’t read my blog, I’m just putting that out there, hoping that the internet works like esp)
So, I was mad at my job because I wanted to go back to my 8-hour days (7 of them per pay period) versus the 7-hour days I’ve been working for a year or so (8 of them per pay period). I made my request and then I stomped my feet (in my head) fussing about how mad I was going to be if I couldn’t have what I wanted.
I got what I wanted. Now I’ll have my Wednesdays off and another day off every other week.
God, I’m so spoiled.
They were probably worried I was going to get all violent on them. Hide all the paper clips. File all of their phones in the invoice file cabinet. (in case you’re new here, I accidentally filed my cell phone in a file cabinet a couple of weeks ago. I blame it on the Tamoxifen.)
In other news, because I haven’t talked about any doctor’s visits in really long time (ahem) I had my two-month follow-up after my breast reconstruction surgery on Halloween. Everything’s where it’s supposed to be.
“Let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you,” my adorable plastic surgeon said.
“I will. But I’m pretty sure that two of these are enough,” I replied. And then kicked myself in the head (in my head) for always having to have the last, silly, word in a conversation. Why couldn’t I just left it at “I will”? Huh? Why I gotta go on and on and on.