I’ve been training temps this week and I am trying to be sympathetic about their individual plights, but one of them has just rubbed me wrong from Day 1. The temps were really brought on in a rushed manner, and apparently my boss seems to have approved the first two applications that fell across his desk.
Here’s an interaction that took place within just a couple days of Temp Z’s training, which took place when I popped my head into where they were working to talk to a fellow employee:
Me: "Blah blah blah patient is blah blah blah and Doctor wants to reschedule to…"
Temp Z, interrupting: "Where did you get your top?"
Fellow Employee and Myself, awkward silence.
Me: "Uh, I don’t know. I’ve had it for a couple years."
Temp Z: "I think it came from The Store."
Me: "It could have."
Temp Z, defensive tone: "Well, I guess I got MY answer!"
Confused look exchanged Fellow Employee and Myself.
I won’t even go into her voice, which has been described by more than one person as "bored" and "disdainful".
And just because you know I’ll never lose that last edge of my Bitter Infertile, she announced she was pregnant and due Christmas Day, and she made that announcement April 20th. YOU do the math.
The Fellow Employee’s last day was Tuesday. She left me a note to read to the entire staff at our morning huddle. It expressed the hurt she felt over something a couple of other employees did and the backstabbing. While she ended it on a positive note, I decided that I wasn’t comfortable reading it. I know it will get back to her and it’s unfortunate that her anger may end up getting diverted back to me, but I selfishly have to look out for myself as I’m the one still in the office dealing with the Backstabbers.
On a more humorous note, my daughter, Aitch (who I may have to re-nickname after I discovered that "H" is actually a street term for Heroin, and here I am calling out to Aitch in public settings…More hip listeners might think I’m a soccermom addict), was instructing me in the ways of womanly attributes last night.
As I was tucking her in she poked my stomach. "That’s your belly." "Yes, it is." "And this is your chest." "Yes, it is." "What are these?" as she poked me directly on the boob.
"Those are called Breasts." "They’re Bressels." "What??" "Bressels are Spanish for breasts." I’m laughing now, "Hmmm, okay."
"I don’t have bressels. I’ll get them when I get bigger. I’ll get a Patch, too, right?"
All I could do was laugh some more and answer, "I suppose you will!"