Apparently, it’s stylish to post a pic of the desktop. Well, here’s mine. For some reason, I just couldn’t summon up the energy to go for an all-out blog post, so this will have to suffice. A picture is worth a thousand words, right? So, see what my desktop screenshot says about me. By the way, the image is courtesy of Webshots. 

Current Mood: discontent
Current Music: chihiro onitsuka– infection

I promised a post on my first day experience on Wenesday. So here it is.

I didn’t really do much at all, except stock the cabinents. They have these cupboard things right next to the doors for the patient rooms. They’re usually filled with charts, pens, straws, guaze, all the little medical supplies that the nurses and doctors need on hand. Things were really disorganized, but once I knew where the supplies were kept, it was a breeze, if not the most exciting volunteer work.

It’s a very busy floor that I’m on. All of the nurses were really nice, and helped me find stuff. I made sure to make myself as personable as possible, and to smile at everyone. Most people smiled back. I didn’t meet anyone unfriendly, but there was one doctor that ticked me off. Since I work in the heart center, and they have all these different machines, there are signs all over that say: “NO CELLPHONES: INTERFERES WITH LIFE-SUPPORTING MACHINERY“. So, this doctor comes out of a room, oh-so-important in his white lab coat, etc. And his cell phone rings. In his pocket. So, I’m thinking, maybe this guy forgot to turn it off. Right. SURE he did. So, he reaches in, pulls it, and answers it. It wasn’t a business call. It wasn’t about such and such patient or charge nurse or whatever need this. It was a personal call. Not only was he on the job and taking a personal call in front of other nurses and patients, he’s on a cellphone that interferes with machines like pacemakers, heart monitors, etc. He just thinks he soo important ’cause he’s this almighty physician that he can talk on his cellphone on a floor where it’s forbidden. He wasn’t even a floor doctor, but a visiting physician. Ugh. I was disgusted. Because I’m the lowly candystriper, and I’m in a work enviroment, I didn’t dare speak my mind, but I gave him the coldest evil-eye that I could summon, once I partially got over my shock at his audacity and arrogance.

For the most part, people didn’t notice me. That’s fine. I’ve realized that when people don’t notice you, they say things that they otherwise might not if you were talking to them. When I first signed up to be a volunteer, I had to jump through all these hoops for patient privacy– HIPPA– and remember getting annoyed. I mean, to the average person, it sounds like the government passed a CYA law (cover your a$$). But then, working on the floor, I realized how much even a lowly volunteer can hear. Now, because of that law, I can’t repeat any of that here, nor would I want to. Most of HIPPA is kind of obvious– except to only the most depraved of doctors and nurses, none of which I’ve found so far. But I did find out about who was getting this procedure, exactly what that procedure entailed, the detailed on the medicated patients. I even heard all about others’ personal lives. For example, one woman I was working with made lots of personal calls also (to her credit, she did it one a regular phone and only because there was no work– nothing– for her to do). I then knew when the repairman was coming to fix the thermostat, when her cellphone plan expired, what she planned on getting her husband for his birthday, etc, etc. It’s laughable how much I know about all of these people, and they don’t know about me. Well, it seems like I’m going to change all that, posting on the WWW. Not that they’d make the connection, but…

Anyway, after I finished stocking those cabinent things, I was sent into an office-like area, so make the patient packets. That was easy. Once I got the order down, I got one of those rubber things to put on your fingers, making pulling down papers faster, and I was putting together packets like a commando on the war path.

Then, my shift was up. I went out of the hospital after grabbing my purse and slathering on sunscreen (it was 105 degrees out there, and I didn’t want to be london broil). I was in white pants, a white polo shirt, and my candystriper pinafore thingie. So, I took of the pinafore, jammed it in my purse, unbuttoned the first button of the polo shirt, untucked it, and stode away, thinking: watch Amy as she goes from selfless hospital volunteer to the street chick dressed in white with ugly tennis shoes. Reminded of the superman identify changes.

Needless to say, I was sweating buckets by the time I got back to my ACed house. I had to walk a little over two miles– not terribly far but the heat made it nearly unbearable. I was so dehydrated that I couldn’t walk in a straight line. Next time I’m bringing a purse big enough for a water bottle.

After I came home, my dad came back for lunch and we drove to the airport to pick up my grandmother, who was staying with us. Her plane was delayed, and as we were leaving, she alternated between complaining about the airlines and the weather.

My dad went back to work and so I entertained Grandma, and when she went for a nap I plugged away on the computer. That night we took her out for sushi. She didn’t like that, but luckily we had all ordered some bento boxes, and she enjoyed the rice, the salad, and the chicken terriyaki. I, of course, devoured my California rolls and hers, and took half of the crunchy rolls, and one of the maguro (tuna). The maguro was sashimi (raw fish; most people get sushi [cooked meat/fish] and sashimi [raw fish] mixed up). Dad wasn’t too happy with the maguro, he thought it plain and simply mediocre. I disagreed completely. Yes, the maguro was plain, but that’s what made it so good, so incredible. It wasn’t fishy, but just good, fresh fish, that tasted so awesome. It tasted, this will sound odd, but it’s the only description that fits– organic, and elegant. I got to appreciate just the plain fish, without cooking, frying, batter, marinade, vinegar, anything. And I find enjoying something for what it is is often pleasurable enough, refreshing, even, then taking it with all the trimmings.

The thing that really got Grandma was the pickled ginger and wasabi (green Japanese horseradish paste). She asked my dad was it was for, and he replied “oh, you put it on your sushi.”

BUZZ! Wrong! I said: “don’t listent to him, Grandma, that’s a common misconception. You pair the wasabi and the ginger together, and take it between rolls, to cleanse your palate.”

Dad: “well, Americans do it that way, and we’re in America.”

Me: “well, we’re also eating the food of another culture, so I think that it’s better to eat it their way, apparently they’ve done this for longer than us dumb Americans have, so they’d know better than we would. And anyway, we’re eating their food, and we should be a little more respectful. Honestly, it’s that arrogant, ignorant additude that makes other cultures resent us so much.”

Dad: “well, if they don’t like it, not my problem.”

Me: “well, I don’t like it, so it IS your problem.”

Honestly, he can be such a jerk sometimes! So close-minded! I mean, in reality, putting wasabi and ginger on his sushi is no big deal, it’s just the additude he had at being corrected, and being told that it really is rude to behave that way. Honestly, can’t people appreciate other cultures for what they are? I love the USA as much as anyone, but that’s no excuse to be arrogant about it. Other people matter, and their culture matters, so deal with it. It’s not like we can “fix” them with Walmart, Starbuck and McDonalds. I love these brands (except Walmart), but using them, and behaving the way that people do, is just plain wrong. And I’m sick of the “dumb, arrogant american” sterotype, so people really need to stop encouraging it. Honestly.