People are seriously pissing me off. To the point that I have actually said something. Shock! Horror! Probe! “Seriously Pissed Off Woman Actually Says Something!” What I mean, of course, is that someone's annoyed me so much, I’ve actually said something TO THEIR FACE, rather than muttering to myself, or just giving a silent “tut” and looking up at the ceiling with pursed cat's-bum lips.
The thing is, I am usually quite a nice person. A bit scarey when riled, but then I was born to be riled, so everyone’s used to it by now and takes no notice. But I’m not usually downright mean, or if I am I really don’t want to be. I’m the sort of person who might think “sod it, I’m actually going to put the boot in this time,” but I rarely do in reality. In my head, now that’s another thing, in my head I can bollock people to infinity, could turn even Jeremy Paxman into a quivering jelly of angst, probably make him cry even.
But I don’t like to hurt people and my biggest worry is that if I actually do vent my spleen on someone, I may later find that I am wrongly accusing them, or they will turn out to be the very person whose dog has just died, or has a child in hospital, their husband’s gone off with their best mate or they’ve just been told very bad news re a dear, dear friend. And then I'd feel like hanging myself in pure remorse. For all I know, they could be making up their hard-luck story in an effort to get the sympathy vote, but it would probably affect me just the same. I would feel an absolute git, and that’s an end to it.
Unless, of course, they GO TOO F*CKING FAR and then, sorry, it’s goodnight Vienna. With bells on. My fuse is long but there is, unfortunately, a nuclear arsenal at the far end of it.
Like today for instance, when a receptionist muddled up some fairly vital medical papers and gave the wrong information to the patient's specialist. I can't really go into too much detail because if I told you I'd have to kill you, but basically it could have potentially been the MOTHER OF ALL COCK-UPS, had it not been so quickly discovered, and she was clearly at fault. As the person who had spotted the error, it was up to me to tackle her about it and help put things right.
So I had a quiet word and asked her to join me in a mutual effort to sort it out. How could we prevent this from ever happening again? Did she have a problem understandng how the system works? Could I help in any way? That sort of thing. Touchy, feely, softly, softly approach. All non-confrontational stuff. Whereupon, she promptly adopted a glazed expression, twiddled her hair, chewed her gum, gave a bit of a nonchalant shrug and left me to get on with it. Was she bovvered? No, she was not. Did she look bovvered? No, she did not. I definitely got the message: She. Ain't. Bovvered. Not her problem, apparently.
Now I am used to clearing up other people’s messes (of the administrative kind, thankfully. I would never have made it as a nurse) but I usually find that when a clerical balls-up such as this is discovered most people have the humility or decency to realise that they could have caused someone, somewhere, a lot of trouble. Or pain. Or anxiety. Or even harm. Usually they are very, very sorry and want to put things right as soon as possible. But not this girl. She just didn’t give a shit.
Now that really annoyed me.
Anyway, I won’t drone on about it any more. I am sure you can fill in the blanks. Just let it be said that she had her chance, she heard the four minute warning but chose to ignore it. Apparently the radio-active half-life of a nuked couldn't-care-less receptionist is about two trillion years, but frankly I think I’ve done humanity a service today if anything I said to her meant that from now on she’d be A BIT MORE BLOODY CAREFUL or, better still, go and work at Sainsbury’s. But somehow I doubt it. To borrow a phrase from a fantastically foul mouthed friend of mine, I think it would be easier to push butter up a porcupine’s arse with a red hot needle than get her to understand the enormity of the potential disaster her carelessness could have caused today.
Of course, tomorrow, someone’s going to tell me that she’s got terminal Shit-for-Brains disease or something similar, and then I’ll feel really, really bad.
Though, to be honest, I think I'd already guessed.