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Garrison Keillor? That reminds me...
Sunday, 16 May 2004 12:30 pmNah, not a movie review, not yet.
For some reason, I am reminded of how, when I let my supervisor at the place that won't be named know I had a regular weekly doctor appointment (and therefore couldn't work through lunch those days, something employees were often expected to do), his immediate response was that a regular weekly appointment probably means the person is being treated for alcohol abuse. I phrase this in a more civilised way than he did.
There is just so much wrong with that. Analysis left as an exercise for the reader.
But then, as I'm sure I've mentioned here and there in this blog when I wax nostalgic, there was much wrong with the place that won't be named. Every now and then some little incident pops into my mind—for reasons I can't fathom, this particular memory was triggered while listening to the 30th anniversary episode of A Prairie Home Companion—and I wonder why I never did really call the place a "hellhole," as the supervisor and bosses accused me of doing (and became terribly fluffed up over). Of all the weirdness that went on there, the Incident of the Hellhole is one that sticks in mind the most, since it was a complete fabrication, told by a healthcare worker to the bosses, and not only believed by them, but used to... well, prove my disloyalty and non-company-girl attitude. It certainly rankled them, and was mentioned quite a bit toward the end.
But this all provides the perspective that, no matter how frustrating life is now, it could be worse.
Hmm. I have a sudden craving for buttermilk biscuits. Heavens, they're tasty.
For some reason, I am reminded of how, when I let my supervisor at the place that won't be named know I had a regular weekly doctor appointment (and therefore couldn't work through lunch those days, something employees were often expected to do), his immediate response was that a regular weekly appointment probably means the person is being treated for alcohol abuse. I phrase this in a more civilised way than he did.
There is just so much wrong with that. Analysis left as an exercise for the reader.
But then, as I'm sure I've mentioned here and there in this blog when I wax nostalgic, there was much wrong with the place that won't be named. Every now and then some little incident pops into my mind—for reasons I can't fathom, this particular memory was triggered while listening to the 30th anniversary episode of A Prairie Home Companion—and I wonder why I never did really call the place a "hellhole," as the supervisor and bosses accused me of doing (and became terribly fluffed up over). Of all the weirdness that went on there, the Incident of the Hellhole is one that sticks in mind the most, since it was a complete fabrication, told by a healthcare worker to the bosses, and not only believed by them, but used to... well, prove my disloyalty and non-company-girl attitude. It certainly rankled them, and was mentioned quite a bit toward the end.
But this all provides the perspective that, no matter how frustrating life is now, it could be worse.
Hmm. I have a sudden craving for buttermilk biscuits. Heavens, they're tasty.
