I Hate My Job

Mondays are never that fun at my job because of all the patients returning after the weekend, but tonight? Tonight was like a free trip to hell.

It always starts innocently enough. Almost nothing for about 15-30 minutes so that it seems I might actually get everything done before our designated clock-out time. Then the first shoe drops and before I can comprehend what is happening it's a whole freaking hail storm of falling shoes! Trying to keep ahead of the work on 3A (position) Monday nights can be likened to treading water... for no less than 3, 4 hours straight. You're doing pretty well at first, you're energy is good, but then you begin to feel a little weary... not long after, you're struggling to keep your head above water until finally you can't help but worry that you will surely drown if the ordeal doesn't immediately come to an end.

This evening, I started out in good spirits. Perhaps I was merely happy thinking of the fact that I have the next two days off. I would get the work done is a reasonable time and then leave to my wonderful time away from work. Then, the trays started coming. Then, I walked into room 36 to deliver Bed 2's tray. It was then I found out that Bed 1 had ordered his meal at 4 requesting it to be delivered at 6. The time was 6:40. The patient said he had called and was told that they didn't have him down as calling before 6:15 and then ordered his tray again. I called the diet office upon finding out the situation and asked if the tray had been sent to the trayline to be put together. I was assured that it had. I apologized to the patient and told him it should be up at any time.

The night wore on. Around 7:30 (the diet office closes at 7), I received the call for my last cart of food trays. I asked if 36-1's tray was on it. It was not. Further investigation found that, according to trayline's records, the tray in question supposedly came up to the floor at 6:45. Neither I nor my coworker had seen it, he hadn't gotten his tray. What's more, the chefs had already left so he would not be able to get his salmon.

I finally delivered everything but the salmon at 8:00... the time I should've been clocking out. Instead, I had to grovel and apologize and feel the cold, calculated wrath of a patient all for the sake of a blunder that was beyond my control. In addition, I still had to pick up and clear off the trays for one of my two units.

Around 8:45, I finally clocked out, leaving a note behind for the ambassador (we're no longer hostesses, but room service ambassadors) working tomorrow. To paraphrase: "36-1's probably pissed. I don't blame him. Good luck."

I have but one question, though. Don't things only go this absurdly wrong on television?