Cathy Comic got Canned!

Well they’ve really done it now. They went and fired Cathy Comic. And while I wish I could say Cathy went out in a blaze of glory acceptable to her fire-cracker personality, the truth to how it really went down was quite pitiful. She didn’t even get to destroy anything…or anyone for that matter. 

It was actually Mr. Pig who was sent to do Dennis the Menace‘s dirty work this time (what a shocker), and it was this filthy man who was lurking by the front entrance, on a Friday morning, awaiting Cathy’s arrival to work. Poor Cathy had just arrived to work on the bus that she had to catch at the off-site bus lot where us measly employees have to park and be bused in each day. No sooner did she utter “Good Morning” and open the locked office door for Mr. Pig till he started his whole “you-are-being-terminated-and-here’s-why” spiel.  He then proceeded to hand her a termination letter  (a.k.a. Bull s#*% letter) informing her that her termination was “effective immediately” and that she needed to gather her belongings and “vacate the premises”.

This is the part in the story where one would almost hope for Cathy to “go out with a bang” or in the very least to cause a scene; ruffle Mr. Pig’s feathers a little, heck give him a good earned, overdue sucker punch to the face. But Cathy, still awestruck from the shocking news, just yelled “that’s Bull-s*^t and you know it!!” while she quickly gathered her belongings and threw her company keys across the room as she stormed out to go wait for the bus that she had just arrived on to take her back to her car.  And that was that. 

It has been two weeks now since the unfortunate and unforeseen termination and it still sucks just as bad as the day when I found out about the ridiculous (and uncalled for) decision. Actually the office seems quite sad, every one has been so quiet and what fun there was in our workplace has now been zapped away with the termination of Cathy. Ironic how management got this ludicrous idea that the “low morale” of our office was all Cathy-Comic’s fault (of course, they are never at fault, so it’s best to try and find a scapegoat to blame and for whatever reason they used Cathy as such), and yet Cathy is now gone and the morale is none the better for it.

I hate my workplace without my sidekick Cathy. I come to work with a heavy heart and a feeling like something is missing. Since it is questionable as to whom had a part in Cathy’s termination I trust no one (but blame Switch)– I come to work, keep my head down, my mouth shut and do my job. But secretly I am awaiting the day when they realize just how much Cathy did for this place and how good she was at her job. I am hedging my bets on a month- give it about a month until the baskets overflow with piled-up work that is overdue and the admin cannot get caught up (much less keep up) and THEN they just might realize the error of their ways…Serves them right, they deserve whatever grief that comes their way. 

Canning Cathy, I mean what were they thinking ?!?!

 

It’s a Beautiful Thing

Karma is a beautiful thing. Especially when you witness it happening to someone you really don’t like.

Today I experienced the pleasure of being the innocent witness to Karma’s sting as I watched  Mr. Pig (hated by most & loathed by all) get stung in the behind by the ever-faithful Karma, as he walked out of the office to leave and the bottom of the sky literally fell out- on top of his head!

Rain was no where in site, but literally as soon as Mr. Pig’s foot stepped out our door the bottom fell out and he got soaked as he had to walk to his car.

…And no one helped him- no offer for a ride, no umbrella handed his way.

You see it pays to be nice, because what goes around, comes around.

And in our defense Mr. Pig has stressed the importance of being professional above all- “we are not to be warm and fuzzy”. So here’s to eating your words buddy, because we chose to practice your version professionalism! 

Switch’s Bitch

I can’t tell if I really enjoy challenging myself to become better or if I have adopted a masochistic personality disorder. The lines are becoming extremely blurry at this point.

After receiving my newly obtained credentials, I am already thinking of the next step I need to take to get my next certification. Nothing wrong with that, aim high right? 

There is just a tiny problem. In order to get my next certification I have to train under Switch. Yep, what little sanity I have managed to hold on to up until this point will quickly vanish, because I am no longer my own- I will now be known as Switch‘s Bitch (pardon the French) for the foreseeable future.

Yeah…I’m really leaning towards the masochistic personality disorder thing.

Before it’s all over I may have to be committed.

Check back with me in about 18 months.

No Cell Phones

I am convinced that cellphones are a tool of the devil and the cellphone epidemic his way to conquer the world through the conquest of rudeness!

Certainly, it is no coincidence that with the increase of cellphone use there has been a decrease in manners. (Not to mention there is a correlation between parent-to-children rudeness). 

I can totally relate to those “No Cellphone use beyond this point” signs that are posted in places of business. One would think that would be a “no-brainer” or a common courtesy, but it seems as if most of the public lacks both these days. Manners are no longer a normal standard but have become a nice rarity that only a select few seem to possess. Let’s face it, the world is going to hell in a hand-basket. 

I had the “privilege” assisting one of these ill-mannered patients along with his rude mother. (Like parent, like child). And let me tell you it took every ounce of patience and self-control I had not to stand up and yell “RUDE” Bon Qui-Qui style and slap the cell phone out of the 18 year-old patient’s rude little hand.

From the moment of the patient’s arrival, the Mother was rude to the front office staff, she couldn’t answer any questions without attitude or fill out the needed paperwork without grumbling. Then, once back in the exam room when I began evaluating the patient, the mother sat there with a bad attitude written all over her and the patient just kept playing on his cellphone, neither listening to my questions, nor forthcoming with answers. All I could manage to squeeze out of the patient were half-listening one-worded answers. All the while, the Mother just sat there silent with her look of disgust, not helping to answer any questions nor making her child put away his cellphone to pay attention and show a little respect. It literally took every ounce of patience that I possess to keep a calm, collected and professional demeanor in midst of such blatant rudeness.

In light of the recent exchange of rudeness, I think our office should adopt the “no cell phone use” policy like most clinics, and our signs should read as follows:

Amputee Awareness Month!

April is finally upon us, which means it’s Limb Loss Awareness Month!!!

That’s right folks! You need to show your local amputees some love- give em’ a hug, or a shoulder to lean on.

Okay, okay was that just a little too far?? My bad. 

For “strictly” awareness purposes (aka: marketing) I am thinking of standing on the street corner with a prosthetic leg in hand, doing one of those dance numbers (like those paid sign-holders on the street corners) where I twirl the prosthetic leg around in my hand like a baton and scream “Come see us for all your prosthetic needs!”  Even prosthetic patients need to know we are here for them and need to know they have options!

 

**Disclaimer- This post was made in good humor. I work with prosthetic patients daily and I love my prosthetic patients. This post is in no way seriously making fun of them, just making light of a mostly serious situation. I write this all with good-hearted humor**

63 Crayons

We are all touched with the ‘special stick’ here at work.

And (for whatever reason) Thursdays seem to bring the crazy out of us the most. Probably because it’s Friday Eve. 

Whatever the reasonings are, one thing is certain: it takes a “special” kind of person to make it in our workplace. Normal just doesn’t make the cut here. Probably because any person in their right mind would take one look at this place and the people working in it and run for the hills. 

Today has been no exception, in fact it has been exceptionally abnormal, so much so that a lovely co-worker of mine pointed out (in a matter-of-fact tone):

“If we were in band together, our band name would be 63 Crayons“

That’s right folks- we are “that” kind- One crayon short for the 64 crayon box.

Not sure what’s worse-that it might actually be true or that I kind of like it; it’s clever and has a good ring to it…

The one-eyed Veteran

God Bless those men who have served our country, those veterans that daily bear the physical and emotional scars of battle.

Here at the brace shop we have the privilege of serving quite a few of our country’s veterans, each with their own stories to tell, with their own battle scars to show. It is quite common for us to see those veterans who have lost limbs in war and serve all their amputation needs.

Personally for me, when I see a patient come in with a missing limb, I don’t bat an eye (Pun intended, you will see why later), I just keep going on with my day. After all this is the prosthetic shop, so seeing amputees are the daily norm. 

But today was the exception.

Today I had a veteran on my schedule, but it wasn’t for any artificial limb, just a neck collar. Simple enough. 

I walked into the room, introducing myself and as I put my hand out to shake his hand he looks up at me and only has one eye.

No eye patch. No scar. No socket. Nothing.

It was as if his left eye was never there at all, for his skin was so smooth and there was no evidence of any eye socket, nor of any past trauma.

The whole thing was creepy. I felt as if I was a character in a movie and he was playing the part of a one-eyed antagonist who was planning to eventually take over the world.

While I am sure he must have had an accident during war, and it is not as if I have never seen a person with one eye missing, it was the fact that there was ZERO evidence to there ever being an eye there at all that made me feel as if we were on the set of a scene out of the Matrix.

The whole thing was quite odd.

TGIF

You know it’s been a doozy of a week when Friday rolls around and everyone is at their wits end (assuming they have wits to begin with).

All the men in the office have collectively decided to go on their Man periods at the same time and all have gone absolutely psycho- displaying a range of extreme PMS symptoms.

All the women are just over it all. There is a pile of work to be done and we have all contracted the I.D.G.A.S. bug.

So how did we decide to deal with today’s epidemic???

1. Conduct a betting pool. And take bets as to what time our most annoying patient who is always late will actually arrive (after his scheduled appointment time).

2. Play a game of rubber band shooter. The last one standing wins.

Thank. God. It’s. Friday.

I’ve gotta grin…

I’ve gotta grind on em’ a bit

“I’ve gotta grind on em’ a bit.”= I will be back in a few minutes, I need to shave your orthotics down some.

Don’t worry I haven’t changed professions to the riskay world or anything, it’s just another one of the stupid things I let come out of my mouth. I seem to have a knack for saying harmless things in the worst possible way. Let’s just say in this instance, taken out of context, this phrase could warrant a reply of “That’s what she said.”

Cheese anyone?

Every now and then you get asked a question that simply stumps you.

You know, the kind that throws you for a loop, that has you speechless and wondering how to form words for an answer-that kind.

Yesterday we ladies got asked one of those mind-slowing questions.

“Would you like some cheese?”

One of our (scary and regular) patients walks up to the front area, digs in his pocket, comes out with a piece of cheese wrapped in saran wrap, with bubbles of sweat on it, holds out his hand and every so politely asks, “Would you like some cheese?”

Our collective faces looked a lot like this:   

As if our plastered smiles weren’t enough of a clue, the poor joker kept at it. In an almost desperate (and creepy) attempt to have us accept his sweaty, re-wrapped, pocket cheese, he continues his pro-cheese sharing argument:

“I mean I know it may look scary, but I promise I would not offer you anything that would be bad for you or harm you in any way. Plus, I wouldn’t offer you anything that I wouldn’t eat myself.”

Yeah creep, because that’s really supposed to make us feel better about your creepy ole’ ways…