So I have week off work ostensibly to celebrate my birthday (more on that later). Now work is very busy and it’s been hard to take leave but when my original plans fell through I offered to cancel my leave and do some hard office time. My manager however insisted that I go and refused to revoke my parole. Initially I thought this was a reflection of how hard I’ve been working and her intense desire to maintain my well-being. On further reflection though it occurred to me that it may have been due to any or all of the following incidents:
The NHS love a bit of mandatory training but don’t differentiate between different types of clinical staff. Apparently on manual handling courses it is not considered the done thing to point out that if you work in mental health ‘manual handling’ basically constitutes inappropriate touching and they probably shouldn’t be encouraging me to do that.
Also when being trained to use the new data storing system and being awarded ‘superuser’ status, they really don’t like it when you refuse to attend the extra training unless they give you a cape.
When encouraging attendance for the anaphylaxis training which basically is not catchy on account of no-one can spell it; the suggestion that they use the tagline “stab ’em or bag ’em” to promote epi pen awareness did not go down as well as I would have expected. Not even when I drew them pictures complete with body bag wielding undertakers looking all sad and shaking their heads in a ‘oh, if only more people knew about epi pens’ kind of way. I guess they thought undertakers would be pleased about more people dying like giant red balloons (but the kind you never give to children, not even with a ribbon attached).
On the same day as this, we also get CPR type training which is run by an organisation called ‘Back to Life’. Now the obvious conclusion when you see this is that you are going to be trained to be either Jesus or some sort of zombie master. Not being sure which made it very hard to plan my wardrobe for the day. Who would have thought that some people think blending the two is blasphemous? If there was no such thing as zombie Jesus we wouldn’t have Easter now would we? I think it’s just that the trainer remembered me from last year’s unpleasantness: https://talesofthemildlydiscombobulating.wordpress.com/2012/12/20/stupid-ankle-sprain
The final straw however was possibly me doing a massive sea of printing on our shiny new printer. I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself until it stopped dead, flashed its lights and refused to go any further until I tended to its needs. I topped up its paper, checked its ink levels and patted it reassuringly while whispering sweet technological nothings into its flappy bits (totally not as dirty as it sounds)
After swearing, pleading, pressing every single button and opening every drawer, flap and orifice (the printers not mine) it finally grudgingly gave up the message ‘JAM’.
At last I knew what the little blighter was after so I hop to it and acquired the finest fruit preserves available on the NHS. Now I’m no IT whizz despite having worked out how to turn it off and on again, so I wasn’t quite sure which of the aforementioned orifi (that’s gotta be a word right?) one would apply jam to. So I guessed and I guessed liberally. It was like a messy but enthusiastic union between a donut and a jammy dodger only with more bees (an unexpected side effect that I probably should have thought through)
Anyway it must have worked as our admin was so tearfully grateful she says I don’t have to do my own printing anymore.
So basically the only logical conclusion is that I’m being given time off to top up my awesome after having so freely and generously flung it about the workplace ( the awesome not the………oh actually sorry, that too)