Mr. Arrogant, M.D Speaking

 

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Everything you’ve ever heard and haven’t heard about Nursing homes is real.

Today was my first day and I must say this company has done such an outstanding, marvelous, stunning job of making me lose all respect for them. Enough for me to decide to terminate my employment after 7 .5 hours. On my lunch I applied for the same position at a crisis behavioral health unit, where I fucking belong.

Lets start off with me getting three hours of sleep last night in order to be at this shit hole at 7 a.m.

I stared around the empty halls looking for the woman the administrator told me to meet up with. I happened to run into a different woman in the housekeeping department who stared at me with wide eyes and said she was told I was coming on Monday. I was told to come in on Saturday.

Great job, fucking pill-popper. First you lose my fucking resume in your pile of donkey shit papers on your desk, then you slur your words through my interview, and now you told the entire department I was showing up on Monday rather then Saturday.

Turns out the woman whose name I couldn’t remember? She didn’t work today. The fucking administrator asked her Twice in Spanish if she was going to be in today. So does she not speak Spanish either? No English, no Spanish, how the fuck do you survive?

.The kitchen staff, the laundry staff, and the housekeeping staff only speak Spanish. No English, only Spanish. And they’re all related. It became relatively apparent to me that I was hired because I look Hispanic. All he had to do was look at my paper where I marked my ethnicity:

“Two or more races (Not Hispanic or Latino)”.

Oh how foolish of me. I forgot, he probably lost that in his dog shit pile desk too.

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Imagine this x10, and you have his office desk.

Is it really that hard to ask “do you speak Spanish?” or “Are you Bilingual?” Fuck it, on the next interview I’m going to walk up to them, shake their hand, say my name and immediately repeat “I do not speak Spanish.”

So while I was following around this one housekeeper who can’t explain the rules, or where the carts are, or what rooms we’re supposed to do, or the schedule or anything to me, she suddenly disappeared. I came out of a room I was dusting and she was gone.

I stood by the cart and waited because what the fuck else am I going to fucking do? I waited for five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.

A CNA came up to me and told me she had taken her break.

Twenty minutes passed.

A RN in red scrubs asked me if it was my first day. I said yes. He asked where the woman had gone and I said “her fucking break, I guess” and shrugged with an exaggeration.

Thirty minutes passed.

Keep in mine, I’m still standing by this fucking cart with no instruction and no one to give me any instruction.

The RN informed me the CNA who had informed me the woman I was working with took a break, was her cousin. In fact, they’re all related in the department. He told me it isn’t right what they’re doing to me and it’s ridiculous and they should have got someone else to orientate. I said I know. He said he’s been working here for ten years and “boy has this place changed”.

31x1esbjuol-_sx331_bo1204203200_A man strolled down the hallway in a navy blue button up shirt and navy blue slacks and he went into a room next to me and the RN who was giving everyone their morning medication and taking note of it in the giant record book. The man was an M.D, I saw it on his name tag, and all he did was wander into a room, crack some jokes, and walk out.

He waited in the wall in front of me, and I was an inch or so taller than him. He asked me if I was new, I said yes. He nodded and took a glance at the medical records the RN was writing in. Then he took off back down the hall.

A woman in a wheelchair was reaching towards the phone but she had spinal issues and couldn’t reach it, nor could she dial. She asked the M.D who walked past if he could dial a number for her.

Keep in mind this guy was just chilling and entertaining patients with his lame ass jokes a few seconds earlier. Now all of a sudden he’s too good to interact with them. He pawned her off on the laundry man. He says “let me get someone to help you” and goes for the fucking laundry man. Not the CNA, not a RN, not the receptionist:

The laundry man who SPEAKS NO ENGLISH.

So what does the laundry man do? He pawns the phone call off on me and says “help” and points to the woman. I have no idea how to dial out of the place and there’s no one around to ask, not even a CNA. The number won’t go through for some reason and the RN had to come help me, barking at the air that someone should have got a nurse for her.

Yeah, someone fucking should have. That piece of shit cocky son of a bitch M.D. I can’t wait until I’m his educational equal. His type are going to hate me.

After thirty five minutes the woman i’m working with comes back from her fifteen minute break. We start cleaning again, in fucking silence, and the laundry guy is trying to get some blankets off the bed of an elderly woman. Once he gets her in her wheelchair, he brings her into the hall and fucking shoves the wheelchair off to the side while he goes into another room for whatever fucking reason. I jumped in front of her before her chair slammed into the wall.

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I straightened her out and glared at the laundry guy’s back. Fucking punk.

By this point I’m beyond pissed off. I was thankful that I got to walk around and break a sweat because it helped whisk away the adrenaline.

Walking towards the Soiled Laundry room to toss in some bags, I see another woman in a wheelchair at the base of a small ramp. The small ramp goes up towards station 2 where the nurses are and where the smoking area door is.

Two feet away stood a RN in grey scrubs. He was just leaning on the counter. Doing nothing. Chilling out. The woman is staring at him and calling for him to help her up the ramp. She’s shouting it very loudly. Not in a aggressive manner, not in a rude manner, she’s just saying “excuse me, can you help me up? Can you help me? Hello? Can you help me?”

So I push her up the ramp and she says thank you and I made her fucking day with that one little act of kindness.

blown-head-gasket-www-deaven-netMy gasket blew. I slam-dunked the laundry bag in the bin and went back to the fucking housekeeper cart and I noticed the woman who I’d said hi to early in the morning and the woman whose chair I stopped from slamming into the wall were following me around the unit. They went where I went. And they always smiled at me.

The woman I worked with was scared of the man with severe Tourettes–I’m assuming that’s what it was. He could have been prone to seizures or something else, I don’t know. They lay fat mats by the side of his bed and he has a pink helmet, so I’m assuming the worst. She gets scared and confused when his tics go off because they are major and a little hard to watch. It’s hard for him to talk during them with his body jerking all over the place.

But abruptly it stopped. And when I saw the floor was dry I went back in to place his mats by his bed and asked him how he was and what his name was. He asked me if I was new and I said yes and he frowned and smiled at the same time, I don’t know if that was on purpose or another kind of tic. But he was nice.

The fact that the woman I was with never took a moment out of her time to at least say “hi” to the people, disturbed me.

Because the people in these departments are all related, they each do each others work. The housekeepers pick up after the kitchen staff, the laundry staff help the housekeepers, e.t.c. The RN saw this and stared at me, angry at them, and told me “don’t do what they do, that’s not your job”.

I saluted him.

They sit in their clique and speak Spanish in the halls, even though they know English is the only language that’s supposed to be spoken on the floor because there are residents suffering mentally who get paranoid and violent and angry when people are speaking other languages–they think they’re being targeted.

The CNA cousin kept talking to one of the residents until she told her five times in a row to leave her alone. The CNA wasn’t doing anything productive, she was just trying to have a conversation and the woman didn’t feel like having a conversation or laughing at your fucking awful jokes. So leave her the fuck alone.

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One thing is for certain, they were talking about me. Smiling in my face and stabbing me in the back. But it’s fine. Because fuck that place.

On my lunch I went home and applied for the same position for the crisis behavioral health unit.

Because here’s the thing. I could report that laundry man for neglect. I could inform an Ombudsman. I could tell the administrator that he’s unprofessional and so is his pathetic staff.

And if I see the same thing at the Crisis unit, you better believe my mouth is going to go off. I pretty much had an elderly army behind me today. Imagine me with an army of mental health patients.

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Yeah, think about that for a moment. I’m already mental. We could take over the world.

My loyal friends, my mental health minions, also threw their fucks on my fuck-curb. They threw them there a long time ago, that’s why they’re in a crisis center. And I’m sure they’re going to love me. I’m a comedian. I make people laugh without really meaning to. I make old people like me without really meaning to. I make them follow me up and down the halls without really meaning to.

I’m going to miss a few of the elderly patients and I hate leaving them there. But I’m not stepping foot in that fucking place again.

I can’t compromise my sanity for a job any longer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Fucks Are On The Curb

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Perhaps I forgot to mention I have another job.

Yep, I flip through jobs faster than my moods change.

I’m a housekeeper at a nursing home exactly one minute from my apartment. I walk to work: I’m serious, I can see it from my bedroom window. It’s right there. Right across the street.

Today I had my orientation and . . . and let me tell you. Let me tell you something.

I’ve had my fill of people already. It’s not looking good, folks, I’ll make sure to round up some more applications and you can tune in next blog post to see which other job I hop to.

Fucks sake.

There were two other women doing the orientation with me as first. They were applying for CNA positions. They were mother and daughter. They would not, could not . . .

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

I fucking hate, and I mean HATE, casual chatter. It is human kind’s single most useless skill.

I mean this in the most respectful way possible: they would not shut the fuck up. They kept telling stories about their lives, about their schooling, about how they went for a quick “Two month” program because they’d been working as nursing assistants for a while (the mother for ten years, the daughter who fucking knows, she was 14 in 2008, I was 13 in 2008) but had never been officially “registered”. She worked for a place where her boss got hammered, never showed up for work, and she got stuck working 13 hour shifts at night.

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The guy doing our orientation is a nice guy. I could tell. He was too nice. He let them take over the conversation sometimes and the lot of them had a nurse-threesome while I sat in the corner staring into spacing waiting for this bullshit to end.

I can tell there are cliques. CNA’s stick with CNA’s, RN’s stick with RN’s and the fucking physicians spend two minutes wandering around the facility dressed in their fancy clothes with their stethoscopes and then they take them and their fucks and they leave off to wherever the hell they go.

The kitchen staff? They stare blankly at you like you’re an alien.

A fourth woman, also applying for a CNA position, came an hour and a half late. She was from Kenya.

The orientation guy kept saying the word “Bloodborne” in terms of pathogens, but I kept hearing “Bloodborne” the video game. I kept getting myself confused. Legitimately. I asked myself once, “why is he talking about Bloodborne?”

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The orientation often got interrupted by stories of the mother and daughter duo and their tattoos and piercings. Once again. I don’t give a fuck.

We had to watch training videos. Now, I’m relatively alright around the elderly, they generally like me because I’m quiet and smile a lot (little do they know how utterly fucking annoyed I am inside) and I let them talk. I’m used to short term memory loss because of my father, I’m used to brain damage-type behavior because of my father, I’m generally alright with being around psychosis and mania, because of my father’s reaction to Ativan and a woman I used to talk to who was part of a residential mental health facility. She used to walk around the block sometimes manic, sometimes psychotic, talking about the most random shit and on my way home from high school I’d stop and talk with her until I had to go over the railroad tracks and she had to go back to the facility.

That does not mean I do not get tired after two and a half hours of talking with an elderly woman obviously in the midst of a mental disease. She kept repeating the same questions to me over and over again “are you alright? Alright, that’s good. Are you hungry? No? Are you going to eat? Are you all going to eat?” and once she pointed at me and said, about four times, that Jesus had told her this morning that I would be coming to make her happy today.

Knowing me and my tendency to link everything to everything, that freaked me out a little #Trigger-moment.

Then she pointed at my feet and said “is that yours? Is that yours? You should pick it up. Pick it up and put it in your pocket.”

I thought she was talking about my shoe, so I lifted it and asked “this?”

She pointed at the floor and said “no, that. Is that yours? You should pick it up.”

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A generally accurate representation of what we all saw her pointing at.

One of the new hire CNA’s picked some air up for me and I put it in my pocket.

Then she started singing the star spangled banner. Loudly.

She liked calling me Irene. In fact, she called all four of us Irene. And she liked alluding me to Jesus, calling me beautiful, a prophet, and that I’m the boss around here, that when I walk down the hall people know who I am. Again: freaked me out a little. Had to rub my ears and blink a little to make sure I wasn’t also hallucinating.

She asked the Kenyan woman if “the little one” was hers and pointed. We stared where she was staring. The Kenyan woman tried to reason her out of the hallucination, that she did indeed have ” a little one” but that little one was at home and she was only four years old. It didn’t work very well.

I generally enjoyed this woman. She was from Hawaii, and if you could yell in her ear loud enough for her to hear you, she gave coherent answers sometimes. But the majority of the time it was just babble, hallucinations, and an odd growl she kept exuding. After two and a half hours of simultaneously watching some boring ass 80’s video about HIV while also trying to be kind to the woman spouting nonsense, I had a headache, was thoroughly irritated, and had had enough of the fucking chatter box next to me.

Not the elderly woman, the fucking new CNA’s. The daughter, the one my age, kept trying to fast forward the DVD because they’d “seen it before”, and they almost broke the fucking DVD player and the T.V.

d0f003ca7a05ae5597d501f95c185d4d1d1c75121b843d0899a87d4931ad3696I don’t mean to be cocky, but I was sitting there like bitch, I’ve read more books about your profession than you did in that two month course you took when I was fifteen, stop acting like you’re someone, sit the fuck down, and be professional. You don’t see me spouting all my knowledge about the brain, dementia, Alzheimer’s, hallucinations, ativan, and other things do you? No. So sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up before I do get smart and shove one of those DVD’s up your ass.

At this point I was NOT in the mood for the disorganization of this system. We got a tour of the facility in which the guy giving us the orientation caught six health code violations his employees were doing right under his nose. Within the first two minutes of the tour. Things he said they always did no matter how many times he told them to quit.

I said I could work tomorrow. The guy in the orientation took me to the administrator to ask where I should report in the morning and he spent a few minutes running around looking for the housekeeper. They started speaking Spanish to each other. They stared at me.

I stared him dead in the eye and said, as calmly as I could at this point, “I don’t speak motherfucking Spanish.”

Minus the “motherfucking” part

He, being obviously CONFUSED because he was yet another person to NOT ask me if I fucking spoke Spanish and just assumed because I’m tan, apologized and said I would meet up with this woman (I forgot her fucking name already) in the morning at 7.

Where the fuck am I supposed to find her? I asked twice. He just kept saying to meet with her.

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How do we clock in? We fucking don’t. We grab a piece of paper, write in the time we came in, the times we go out for lunch, the time we leave, fold the paper and slip it in a box until we get employee ID numbers and can use the automated system like normal people.

The problem is, no one told us if we fill it out right when we get in or after our shift. Where do we keep it if we fill it in in the morning? How do we known when to take our lunch? Where the FUCK are the superiors in this fucking place?

They also forgot to mention I needed Scrubs.

Which I handily remembered at 4:20 P.m and called just in time to catch the administrator and ask. This entailed I drive to a Goodwill and pray I could find some last minute without blood stains on them. I did.

I’ve been suffering mini anxiety attacks over this place already and I haven’t even started yet. I assume once I go into the flow of things, once I figure out how to clock in correctly and where to go, I’ll be working on my own like normal and generally keep to myself.

Thank God. This place is letting my inner Schizoid Personality out. I could honestly give two shits. The residents are fine, I’ll say hi, how are you, smile and hopefully make them smile by default. But everyone else I refuse to fake for. I’m done faking.

As for now, since I have no idea where to go tomorrow or what to do, I’ve convinced myself that it’s time to stop giving a fuck. I give out way too many fucks in a day, it makes me anxious.

So I’m emptying out my fucks.

I’m pouring them on the curb right in the red zone so no more SUV’s can park there and block my vision. I’m sure you all remember that rant. I drew pictures. Me. That’s how you know I’m pissed off, when I use my shitty artistic skills to illustrate a point.

I’m going to leave the fucks there. So if some of you feel you need to start giving a fuck more often, there’s a few hundred outside my apartment for free. Take them. They’re no use to me.