It’s Not A Resident Problem

, , , , , | Healthy | September 24, 2018

(Our nursing home has a group of volunteers that often help the nurses during meals and do most of the activities with the residents. This sometimes causes visitors to try to get the volunteers to do things they aren’t allowed to, or things even nurses aren’t allowed to do, such as giving medication at inappropriate times or giving extra medication when residents go on holidays with the family. I exit the elevator and hear an argument.)

Visitor: “I don’t see what the problem is. I want to take my mother to [Local Restaurant], but I need her medication. Now go get them.”

Volunteer: “Ma’am, I’d love to, but I can’t. I don’t know which medication your mother needs nor the exact dosage; you’ll have to speak to a nurse about that.”

Visitor: “You are a nurse. You work here. Stop being lazy and go get my mother’s pills!”

Volunteer: *notices me and points at me* “I’m not a nurse, but [My Name] is. If you ask her, she can check which medication your mother needs and give it to you.”

Visitor: “If you’re not a nurse then why are you in my mother’s room?”

Volunteer: “I was picking her up to go to the dining room; neither of us were aware you were going to come and pick her up. Since [My Name] is here, she can help you with the medication. I’ll go and take other residents to the dining room.”

(At this point the resident opens her door.)

Visitor: “You stop right there. I demand you do your job and get me those pills, and then go get your manager or whatever so I can complain about you!”

(Before anyone can say or do a thing, the mother speaks up:)

Resident: “G**d*** it, can you not embarrass me for once? First off, I don’t need medication during lunch! Second of all, we agreed to go out for lunch tomorrow. And third of all, if you don’t apologize to [Volunteer] right now, I’ll go out for lunch with her instead of you!”

(The visitor just mumbles and checks her phone, then runs away after yelling, “I’m sorry.”)

Resident: *to the volunteer* “You’re free tomorrow?”

Volunteer: “I am.”

Resident: “Good. If you want, pick me up at 11:00 and we’ll go to [Local Restaurant].”

Fragile Masculinity On Speakerphone

, , , , | Working | September 17, 2018

(A coworker and I are checking inventory in the aisles. A few other coworkers are working in the stockroom.)

Coworker: *in stockroom, over headset* “Which one of you guys has a small one?”

(There is stunned silence, while a coworker near me and I look at each other funny.)

Coworker: *near me* “[Stockroom Coworker], I don’t think anyone is going to answer that.”

(Apparently, she wanted to ask who was using one of our small pallet jacks.)

Looks Like IMF Are In The Building!

, , , , | Right | September 16, 2018

(I work as on-call tech support for a company. I receive a call from work that the Internet is down, so I go to check it. To make a long story short, the ISP is down. I go to inform the guard we have at the company. It is around 9:30 pm.)

Me: “Do you have any Internet?”

Guard: “No, not at the moment.”

Me: “Yeah, the whole region is down due to a failure at the Internet Service Provider.”

Guard: “Yeah, everything is down… except for the camera security footage at [Different Site].”

(I know the footage comes via the Internet.)

Me: “Okay, that is strange.”

Guard: “Wait a second. This footage is stuck at 7:30 am!”

(I was wondering why there were still so many cars parked at the factory.)

Mini-Cooper Versus 35-Ton Truck

, , , , , , | Working | September 14, 2018

I manage the stock of a mid-sized downtown hospital. The delivery entrance was built long before healthcare products were delivered with 35-ton trucks. Entering this narrow path from the street is not easy; to get out in reverse is a challenge. Since we have another hospital, a stadium, the justice hall, and three schools within a 200-meter radius, all streets in the vicinity are filled with cars parked along the boardwalk… which complicates delivery trucks’ manoeuvres.

One day, we find a Mini-Cooper parked along the delivery quay, right in front of the 8000-liter air-liquid tank. It is not only explicitly prohibited, but it is plain stupid. No one want to see a manoeuvring truck crush a giant air-liquid tank; the explosion could snuff the whole neighbourhood.

Supposing it is a hospital visitor who didn’t find a parking place in the streets around, we ask the front desk to make a general announcement, but no one came to move the Mini. It stays until after six pm, well after visiting time is over. By sheer luck, only lorries with low loads have come this day. The case seems closed.

The day after, the Mini-Cooper is back in an even more dangerous position. Several general announcements give no result. Towing companies cannot take out the car without a police commission, and the police cannot give the commission since it’s a private area.

A coworker crosses the delivery quay on a forklift loaded with a full pallet of plaster bags. It hits us all at the same time: there is no way the Mini-Cooper could be heavier than this stack of plaster.

Our coworker puts an empty pallet on the forks, delicately lifts the Mini-Cooper and loads it out onto the public street. It takes less than ten minutes for the local precinct to commission the towing of the car.

The day after, we are informed that the car belonged to the General Manager’s wife!

It Is An Ex-Diner, Bereft Of Life!

, , , , , , | Working | September 14, 2018

(I just got out of an examination center where I have done fine on a badly-organized test for a down-and-dirty month-long tax law training. I have to mark the end of this nightmare. The sun is shining; I am free. Today, nothing is important. There are some establishments around, but I choose my old crash-place, a national chain diner in a big station. From the entrance, I can tell something is wrong. The diner is empty, but tables are dirty and there are wrapping papers on the floor. Behind the till is a waitress — a youngster I have never seen before. None of the pastries I came for are on display. But I see a promotion: “CHOUQUETTE. FIVE FOR [tiny price]!”)

Waitress: “Hi! What can I bring for you?”

Me: “I’ll take a coffee.”

Waitress: “To take away?”

Me: “I’ll drink it here. Could you tell me what a chouquette is?

(The waitress freezes with a blank stare.)

Me: “Let’s start with a coffee.”

Waitress: “To take away?”

Me: “I’ll drink it here.”

(Another unknown youngster wearing the manager attire comes out of the kitchen. The waitress jumps at this providential life belt.)

Waitress: “What is a chouquette?”

Manager: *not paying attention* “It’s [tiny price].”

Me: “This is the ‘how much.’ I want to know the ‘what.’”

(The manager freezes as if a statue has just asked him the sphinx enigma, and walks away without a word.)

Me: *to the waitress* “Never mind. What is this tart?”

Waitress: *fighting to not freeze again* “I don’t know. Banana, maybe.”

Me: *with a friendly smile* “You don’t know your products, do you? Are you sure you work here?”

Waitress: “I am new. Customers don’t ask, usually.”

Me: “New, like… today?”

Waitress: “Three days.”

Manager: *getting out of the kitchen* “It is a cookie with sugar pearls!”

Me: “The chouquette? I’ll pass. What is in this tart?”

Waitress: “Banana!”

Manager: *unsure* “Rice cream?”

Me: *to relieve their pain* “I’ll take this.”

Waitress: “I’ll prepare your coffee.”

Manager: “To take away?”

Me: “No.”

(Stunned, the manager went away silently again. I paid with a smile, took my tray to the only clean table I could find, and started to meditate on this comedy show. Monty Python’s Flying Circus would have a sketch like this one. Another waitress — without a uniform — came out of the kitchen. She crossed the room, stepping on the paper wraps, searching in vain for a clean table, and sat with her drink on the least dirty table, texting on her mobile. They didn’t start to clean the room before midday, when customers rushed. That is when they started another comedy show, involving a key and a till cabinet containing one of their cash drawers. As far as I know, the key is still stuck in the cabinet door, on the customer side of the till. When I left, the wrapping papers were still littering the floor. Warning, diner workers: not all customers are exhilarated Monty Python fans.)

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