I had a dream a couple of nights ago that I was working in a very nice office, with all this beautiful wood paneling. I was sitting at my desk, with a laptop open, playing a podcast, and I was looking through the drawers. Inside were various medical tools, scalpels and the like. I must work in a medical supply company?
I think it's very strange to be dreaming about work. And maybe a sign that I'm overworked, because don't normal people dream about sex or flying or being famous or something mundanely selfish? I always dream about small moments without explanation.
Showing posts with label offices. Show all posts
Showing posts with label offices. Show all posts
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Earlier Part of Work Today
Work today was fine. It dragged a little at the beginning, but at one point I looked at the time and was like "It's 4:30? When did that happen?"
When I got there, I discovered that someone had decorated the lobby for Christmas. It seems too early still for Christmas, though once I'm on break I'll probably get more into the spirit. It always seems as if the spirit hits me just as Christmas is over, which means maybe I need to start right after Halloween if I want to care on time. But after coming home today, I feel like I'm getting into the spirit of things a little bit more.
When I got to my cubicle, my chair was missing. I usually hang my coats on the back of the chair, and I was totally baffled. I went over to see Mark's office since I'm suppose to check in with him anyway. He wasn't there, but the chair in front of his computer looked suspicious. I went into the boss's office and found my three coworkers, probably having a meeting. I asked if I could borrow the extra chair in his office, and realizing that the chair he was sitting on was usually mine, said okay.
When I got there, I discovered that someone had decorated the lobby for Christmas. It seems too early still for Christmas, though once I'm on break I'll probably get more into the spirit. It always seems as if the spirit hits me just as Christmas is over, which means maybe I need to start right after Halloween if I want to care on time. But after coming home today, I feel like I'm getting into the spirit of things a little bit more.
When I got to my cubicle, my chair was missing. I usually hang my coats on the back of the chair, and I was totally baffled. I went over to see Mark's office since I'm suppose to check in with him anyway. He wasn't there, but the chair in front of his computer looked suspicious. I went into the boss's office and found my three coworkers, probably having a meeting. I asked if I could borrow the extra chair in his office, and realizing that the chair he was sitting on was usually mine, said okay.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Ruth's Stories
Sometimes I accidentally have long conversations with people. Usually they're with people I love who make me laugh. Last night it was Ruth.
Ruth and I have only recently become friends, but we're apparently those friends who meet and then a few weeks later are best friends. (Last year, I did the same thing with Mark. He asks me about something in a class and three weeks later we're having two and a half hour conversations with lots of giggles. By this past April, we would run into each other in the street and ten friends would pass by, each wondering why we were having such enthusiastic conversations that last three hours when they're supposed to be ten.)
Ruth has got all sorts of fun stories. She used to work in a MP's office. She said that it was an awful job, just because the MP was a complete disappointment and because she had to deal with strange situations.
"We had to scan everything that came in and out of the office for records, which was fine, except the scanner was in one room and the computer that would actually make the scanner scan was in another room. You'd have to walk back and forth scanning in four hundred pages. At one point I suggested two people do it, one to flip the paper and the other to press the button, and they thought it was brilliant, but no one ever helped me."
Apparently a lot of people would call asking for asylum, which was fine, except no one could write anything down about anyone, so usually Ruth would have no contact information for them.
"The phone number they had wouldn't work and the ten different emails they had would just come back as one of those failed to send notices, so I started guessing what the email address probably was. Changing certain numbers, adding an s here, that sort of thing. Finally I got one of those emails to work."
Ugh. Incompetent people are able to have jobs all the time and they make so much extra unnecessary work.
The final straw was the schizophrenic who would call in. She apparently believed that the government, elements of the police and a few lawyers were conspiring against her, and she would call the MP's office over it. Ruth would apparently listen to her on the phone, with her head down, because she would call several times a day. Which was apparently better than her emailing six times a day.
"Usually, if it was mildly diverting, I would listen to her for twenty minutes, or if she was really upset, I'd give her forty."
I don't even give some of my friends forty minutes on the phone. And I'd love to talk to Dan like that, but he's always rushing to get off.
I suggested maybe this woman get some help, since it sounds like the government was far too incompetent to possibly be conspiring against her. On the other hand, Ruth's making my job, with minimal human contact, lots of books and research, and fellow employees I actually like, sound awesome. I already was pleased as punch with this work, but you know, it's good to be reminded of how bad it could be.
Ruth and I have only recently become friends, but we're apparently those friends who meet and then a few weeks later are best friends. (Last year, I did the same thing with Mark. He asks me about something in a class and three weeks later we're having two and a half hour conversations with lots of giggles. By this past April, we would run into each other in the street and ten friends would pass by, each wondering why we were having such enthusiastic conversations that last three hours when they're supposed to be ten.)
Ruth has got all sorts of fun stories. She used to work in a MP's office. She said that it was an awful job, just because the MP was a complete disappointment and because she had to deal with strange situations.
"We had to scan everything that came in and out of the office for records, which was fine, except the scanner was in one room and the computer that would actually make the scanner scan was in another room. You'd have to walk back and forth scanning in four hundred pages. At one point I suggested two people do it, one to flip the paper and the other to press the button, and they thought it was brilliant, but no one ever helped me."
Apparently a lot of people would call asking for asylum, which was fine, except no one could write anything down about anyone, so usually Ruth would have no contact information for them.
"The phone number they had wouldn't work and the ten different emails they had would just come back as one of those failed to send notices, so I started guessing what the email address probably was. Changing certain numbers, adding an s here, that sort of thing. Finally I got one of those emails to work."
Ugh. Incompetent people are able to have jobs all the time and they make so much extra unnecessary work.
The final straw was the schizophrenic who would call in. She apparently believed that the government, elements of the police and a few lawyers were conspiring against her, and she would call the MP's office over it. Ruth would apparently listen to her on the phone, with her head down, because she would call several times a day. Which was apparently better than her emailing six times a day.
"Usually, if it was mildly diverting, I would listen to her for twenty minutes, or if she was really upset, I'd give her forty."
I don't even give some of my friends forty minutes on the phone. And I'd love to talk to Dan like that, but he's always rushing to get off.
I suggested maybe this woman get some help, since it sounds like the government was far too incompetent to possibly be conspiring against her. On the other hand, Ruth's making my job, with minimal human contact, lots of books and research, and fellow employees I actually like, sound awesome. I already was pleased as punch with this work, but you know, it's good to be reminded of how bad it could be.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sold
My Mom and I were running errands.
First, I got to see a new dermatologist about my acne. My Mother is very particular about what I look like. I was having a really bad day, acne-wise. The dermatologist looked me over, suggested I try one thing and told me to keep using something I already was and then left.
After we got done there, we began our search for places for my Grandma's rehab. She has to go, again, it turns out, after getting out of rehab less than three months ago. Since the last place didn't really do her much good (as she's going back again), we decided to look around at other places.
The first place looked a little like a dentist office from the outside. Windows with curtains drawn, simple brick side. We went inside and requested a tour.
A woman in her early thirties showed us around. She walked us first through the long-term care, which was were my Grandma wasn't going to go since she would hopefully only be there for a few weeks. The walls were decorated with fancy wallpaper that made me think of fancy old homes. The long term ward was decorated in an off-white wallpaper, but the floor my Grandma would be on, one for short-term stays, would be green.
The woman showed us in a sample room. One old woman was laying down in a bed. She looked like she was just about to fall asleep. The set up of the room was two people per room, with a curtain to draw if you wanted a little privacy.
"What about a tv?" my Mom asked.
"We provide that if you pay 3.50."
"And internet?"
"Sorry, we don't have any access to that here."
I could tell that my Mom was trying to piece together a way for her to be with my Grandma a lot without completely forgetting her work. A lot of the paperwork my Mom does is online, which is what she does when she spend days and days over at my Grandma's place. She's there to watch her in case something happens, but she has a job to do too. Without internet access, it was going to be hard for her to stay as long. It also meant I and my sister might have to pick up the slack, which is fine.
The woman also showed us the rehab rooms. There were all the usual things that I had come to expect there, like stairs to practice walking on, and a fake kitchen for occupational therapy, and those big bouncy balls, and bikes and fake beds to practice getting in and out of. There were therapists and patients milling about. The walls were all painted pale yellow and green, and there were words of encouragement on the walls. There was a table on the side with lemonade on it, and I wanted to try some myself, just because I hadn't had anything to eat in so long.
The woman showed us a conference room, and said that every patient had a weekly conference with the doctors, nurses, therapists and family members.
"Sold," I thought. This was one of the many things that had made my Mom so mad about the last time my Grandma was in therapy. Inside, one of these conferences looked like it was going on right now. The woman led us away, back to the front offices.
First, I got to see a new dermatologist about my acne. My Mother is very particular about what I look like. I was having a really bad day, acne-wise. The dermatologist looked me over, suggested I try one thing and told me to keep using something I already was and then left.
After we got done there, we began our search for places for my Grandma's rehab. She has to go, again, it turns out, after getting out of rehab less than three months ago. Since the last place didn't really do her much good (as she's going back again), we decided to look around at other places.
The first place looked a little like a dentist office from the outside. Windows with curtains drawn, simple brick side. We went inside and requested a tour.
A woman in her early thirties showed us around. She walked us first through the long-term care, which was were my Grandma wasn't going to go since she would hopefully only be there for a few weeks. The walls were decorated with fancy wallpaper that made me think of fancy old homes. The long term ward was decorated in an off-white wallpaper, but the floor my Grandma would be on, one for short-term stays, would be green.
The woman showed us in a sample room. One old woman was laying down in a bed. She looked like she was just about to fall asleep. The set up of the room was two people per room, with a curtain to draw if you wanted a little privacy.
"What about a tv?" my Mom asked.
"We provide that if you pay 3.50."
"And internet?"
"Sorry, we don't have any access to that here."
I could tell that my Mom was trying to piece together a way for her to be with my Grandma a lot without completely forgetting her work. A lot of the paperwork my Mom does is online, which is what she does when she spend days and days over at my Grandma's place. She's there to watch her in case something happens, but she has a job to do too. Without internet access, it was going to be hard for her to stay as long. It also meant I and my sister might have to pick up the slack, which is fine.
The woman also showed us the rehab rooms. There were all the usual things that I had come to expect there, like stairs to practice walking on, and a fake kitchen for occupational therapy, and those big bouncy balls, and bikes and fake beds to practice getting in and out of. There were therapists and patients milling about. The walls were all painted pale yellow and green, and there were words of encouragement on the walls. There was a table on the side with lemonade on it, and I wanted to try some myself, just because I hadn't had anything to eat in so long.
The woman showed us a conference room, and said that every patient had a weekly conference with the doctors, nurses, therapists and family members.
"Sold," I thought. This was one of the many things that had made my Mom so mad about the last time my Grandma was in therapy. Inside, one of these conferences looked like it was going on right now. The woman led us away, back to the front offices.
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