05bumbleyuck: The Boy's alarm goes off. Marit grumbles and rolls over to this:
more animals
yeah. no. evicts kittehs from room and rolls back over.
0815: wake up. realized managed to somehow sleep completely through alarm. crap.
0825: pulling on boots and zipper breaks. attempt to fix.
0842: look at clock, realize it's 0842, swear profusely, give up on boot, bike to work.
0855: race train into work. clock in. go change.
09ish: dispatch tells us our first call is at 1030. marit goes to put contacts in, tame The Hair of Poofy Death, and try to forage for food. hey, someone brought muffins. sweet. eats half of a chocolate muffin. mmm, muffin. also sutures boot closed on foot with paperclips.
1000: head to call.
1005: go "WTF!?" at traffic. seriously? at 1005? stop and go? what?
1030: arrive at call in oakland, having lost chance at coffee. oh well. there will be later chances. (HAH) while at call, get dispatched to a new call, pickup in alameda at 1215.
1200: arrive in alameda, swing past a starbucks (me) and McDeath (tim) because- cue ominous music- we'll be able to grab real food in berkeley after this.
1215: pick up in alameda, drive back to downtown oakland.
1300: drop off patient and get another page, this time a pickup at 1330 at the location we just dropped off at, going to berkeley. we decide to just hang out, since there's not really any food close.
1310: someone comes out to tell us that our 1330 is ready now. ok, let's go.
1400: drop off, get another page, pickup in san pablo at 1430, oh, and by the way, it's an emergency call. we tell dispatch we still haven't gotten any food and we're getting cranky and need food. they say fine, after this call we can get food.
1435: pick up patient, get clear at 1500. realize that dispatch has given us a call at 1600 going from San Ramon to Fairfield. SAN RAMON TO FAIRFIELD. FAIR.FIELD. get cranky at dispatch. "uh, we still haven't gotten a bite to eat. since 0900. any chance we can get a closer 1600?" dispatch: "uh, I really need you guys up in coco county, so, go ahead and grab something on your way there." yeah. like it's not going to take us an hour to get to fucking San Ramon from San Pablo at four-o-fucking-clock.
1602: arrive at san ramon. pick up patient. drive to fairfield.
1630: get phone call from schedulers. can you work tomorrow 0900-1700? do the O.o stare. (remember? the omgwtfbbq stare? the Friendly Hostility Fatima's WHAT stare?) send charlie and mandy and matt texts to see when/if bbq is happening tomorrow. get back "...who is this?" texts from charlie and mandy. send "marit." texts. get "oh! AWESOMENESS IS HAPPENING AT 1800. WOO" texts. grumble at perkiness. weigh $ and possibly getting a day off next week vs likelyhood of having another DAY OF DEATH, call schedulers. "oh, wonderful, you called us back, sorry about the phone issues, (they could hear me, I couldn't hear them), thank you so much, but we just filled the hole, have a good day!" urge to kill rising. no, don't kill the schedulers, the schedulers are your friends. good schedulers. *petpet.* sigh in relief at dodged bullet, then try to rein in urge to flip on the primaries and sirens and MAKE THESE IDIOTS GET OUT OF MY WAY. holy mother of god is traffic RI. DIC. U. LOS. on a friday in this state.
1835: arrive in fairfield, drop off patient. 2 hours and 35 minutes of no contact with dispatch. what's supposed to happen? they call us after 45 minutes of no contact and make sure we're not dead in a ditch somewhere. screw this, we're going to go eat. and sit down and eat. we go to in and out.
1900: have first actual food since half a croissant at noon.
1945: get back to station. send in paperwork.
2000: clock out. YAY FOR 11 HOUR SHIFTS. NOT.
here is a map of my day:
thank you dispatch. you have made me cranky. and I mean cran.ky.
AND I HAVE NO BEER. but I have rum. rum and rodrigo y gabriela and smashy smashy video games and fuzzy kittehs and eventually I will become noncranky. but for now I am not opening my mouth because The Evil Marmot has the reins.
No comments:
Post a Comment