Killer heads for the door.
I have a serious case of short-timer syndrome. This is a critical condition that is common among people who only have a few days left at a job. It is characterised by a severe lackadaisical attitude and frequent mutterings of, "I'll quit this shit-hole right now!" or "I'll burn this place to the ground."
It is not an uncommon disease, but I, being a person who can change hospitals several times a year, have it more often than others. Since I am usually very upbeat and humor laden, it disturbs my soon-to-be-ex coworkers very much.
I already want to be gone so bad my mind starts to play tricks on me. Tonight a lovely Filipina nurse approached me and innocently asked, "Would like to try one of my Filipino crackers?" My brain heard, "Shove these up your ass, Cracker!"
I immediately became enraged and picked up the small lady and flung her across the room, knocking over a gaggle of Hmong people who were there to visit their Grandfather. I did not really do that, but man, I wanted to.
I realized a Filipina would not know that she could refer to me as "cracker" and calmed down. I calmly accepted the Filipino cracker; it was delicious.
This condition is usually worse in the first few hours of my shift. I am freshly removed from my comfortable chair at home, where I was enjoying the back log of "Dirty Jobs" on my Tivo, so I really did not want to come to work. The fact that I only have three shifts left heightens any feelings of unhappiness and despair.
I arrive at work and they immediately tell me that I am going to have to work on a Medical floor tonight. I am an ICU nurse. I prefer my patients comatose and near death. It makes for a pleasant work environment when I can put on the Cartoon Network as I scramble around to keep someone alive. On a Medical floor a lot of the patients should be at home, and they don't want to be there any more than I do. Both patient and nurse have a palpable level of animosity towards each other; both feel it is the other's fault they are still there.
I enter the room. The patient, a very healthy appearing 68 year old man, is laying in bed watching an infomercial for the Ionic Breeze. I look at him. He looks at me. We both quickly surmise that the other does not want to be here. I check his vitals as he quietly stares at the television. "You know there is a "Futurama" marathon on the Cartoon Network." I inform him; to which her blandly responds, "I hate cartoons. Can you get me some fresh water?" I pick up his jug and walk out of the room muttering to myself, "I should just quit this place right now." I am pretty sure I heard him mutter to himself, "I should just leave this place right now."
It is ironic that we should be enemies. We actually have a lot in common. Neither of us wants to be here, and could leave if we really wanted to. I should just go back in there and tell him, "Get dressed were blowing this joint." I could give him a ride home.
If someone does not let me watch the Cartoon Network soon, I am going to quit this shit-hole.