Thursday, December 09, 2004
You Have Been Vodooed?
Ward B6 saw me hurtling along the corridor this morning. My scruffy black bag slinged across with the main weight of it flip flapping against my still half asleep bum. This bag was not really a bum bag but, whenever I attempted positioning it to the side, it kept slacking to the back. At times causing me to waddle a bit. (For a while now my dad believes that I have duck genes for my legs anyway)
My hair, still damp with some premature, nearly naturally drying strands doing rebellious act of getting themselves in an early frizz fiasco. They were the least I worry about, for then, I had 20 minutes to see 4 patients before the surgeon started to give 'special of the day' tuttings and sighings.
I was greeted by Dave who was already in his bluescrubs. Ah yesss...Dave. Decided to come to work today have we? My nonplussed expression forced him to say something.
"Hey Naj, you look like you've been through a wind tunnel."
I became conscious of my frizz and ran my palm with a bit of pressure as to flatten it.
"Yes, G' morning to you too."
I didn't have any wit at my disposal to say anything remotely jovial, let alone funny.
For some reason, he still sounded like an atonement gesture is still awaiting off him. This is the guy who, upon not his, but other people's lack of ability to carry out their job properly resulted in me doing a 24 hr on call. Good one Dave.
I mean if you say you are ill, then you are, there's not much you can do about it, but whose resposibility is it that people who matter, know that you are not coming to work? Although I still think that, death and insanity are the only two things that are permissable to stop you from coming to work. Any work.
It turned out that he's turned up much earlier and seen all the patients. Nice one. I was very pleased I even flashed a smile (at 08:50 in the morning).
I thought I'd ask him if he was feeling any better, without giving away signs that I was genuinely intrigued to know what he really came down with.
He scurried me along into a corner and and on a serious note asked me,
"You are a wicked witch, aren'tchu Naj", looking rather serious at me.
"And I like fat arms and fat legs to make my wicked magic potions?", tacitly I replied at the same time, looking at his watch.
'No really, you know when you called that night? Literally, minutes before you called, I was feeling a bit guilty because I was already feeling better, but then they kept saying I couldn't come in. There I was with my beer , me feet up and watching telly. No, honestly I felt reaaalllyy guilty'.
He could probably pass for a santa with that belly. Honestly, does he know that H2O still exists?
I just blinked, tongue in the cheek, not an inch fazed.
"Uh-huh", I managed to say, still attempting to flattened my hair , which by then had already grown into a great whopping mulberry bush. My agreement to his statement I thought was not very affable.
"And, about 5 minutes after you hung up, I was voilently sick and ended up throwing up the whoooolllee night."
"Oh noo", I said naturally, on cue. I sounded so British at the time, you can't be more British than that. So British I felt sick myself.
"You were sticking needles in my belly on a voodoo doll weren't you?" he buffooningly asked me.
Muppett!
So the whole morning I spent explaining that I am not a witch, none of my family members are, we are not from Thailand or Indonesia for that matter, and we don't do voodoo even if we think a vodoo is something somebody quite rightly deserves. I mean where did he get the word santau from anyway?
My hair, still damp with some premature, nearly naturally drying strands doing rebellious act of getting themselves in an early frizz fiasco. They were the least I worry about, for then, I had 20 minutes to see 4 patients before the surgeon started to give 'special of the day' tuttings and sighings.
I was greeted by Dave who was already in his bluescrubs. Ah yesss...Dave. Decided to come to work today have we? My nonplussed expression forced him to say something.
"Hey Naj, you look like you've been through a wind tunnel."
I became conscious of my frizz and ran my palm with a bit of pressure as to flatten it.
"Yes, G' morning to you too."
I didn't have any wit at my disposal to say anything remotely jovial, let alone funny.
For some reason, he still sounded like an atonement gesture is still awaiting off him. This is the guy who, upon not his, but other people's lack of ability to carry out their job properly resulted in me doing a 24 hr on call. Good one Dave.
I mean if you say you are ill, then you are, there's not much you can do about it, but whose resposibility is it that people who matter, know that you are not coming to work? Although I still think that, death and insanity are the only two things that are permissable to stop you from coming to work. Any work.
It turned out that he's turned up much earlier and seen all the patients. Nice one. I was very pleased I even flashed a smile (at 08:50 in the morning).
I thought I'd ask him if he was feeling any better, without giving away signs that I was genuinely intrigued to know what he really came down with.
He scurried me along into a corner and and on a serious note asked me,
"You are a wicked witch, aren'tchu Naj", looking rather serious at me.
"And I like fat arms and fat legs to make my wicked magic potions?", tacitly I replied at the same time, looking at his watch.
'No really, you know when you called that night? Literally, minutes before you called, I was feeling a bit guilty because I was already feeling better, but then they kept saying I couldn't come in. There I was with my beer , me feet up and watching telly. No, honestly I felt reaaalllyy guilty'.
He could probably pass for a santa with that belly. Honestly, does he know that H2O still exists?
I just blinked, tongue in the cheek, not an inch fazed.
"Uh-huh", I managed to say, still attempting to flattened my hair , which by then had already grown into a great whopping mulberry bush. My agreement to his statement I thought was not very affable.
"And, about 5 minutes after you hung up, I was voilently sick and ended up throwing up the whoooolllee night."
"Oh noo", I said naturally, on cue. I sounded so British at the time, you can't be more British than that. So British I felt sick myself.
"You were sticking needles in my belly on a voodoo doll weren't you?" he buffooningly asked me.
Muppett!
So the whole morning I spent explaining that I am not a witch, none of my family members are, we are not from Thailand or Indonesia for that matter, and we don't do voodoo even if we think a vodoo is something somebody quite rightly deserves. I mean where did he get the word santau from anyway?
