8.14.06
3:35 PM
So, there is a severe lack of communication here at my job. The patients are old and Hispanic (mostly), the nurses are lazy and Haitian (mostly) and I am drunk and American (xmax). There is less of a “language barrier” thing and more of a “Tower of Babel on fire” thing going on. The patient is yelling something in Spanish and calls me, I call the nurse and they go to the patient, trying to soothe them by speaking Creole and, eventually, everything is all fucked up, linguistically speaking.
Anyway, one of the terrible aspects of my job is answering the phone and hearing “Skel bwa Ghana kelp hupy hooman resauces” because I know that that person will be interviewed, given a job and will one day end up on the other end of the phone with me trying their damnedest to impart a very important piece of information, something that might be the difference between a patient being DNR and NOT being DNR and then someone will die. I assume that the person hiring all these non and semiglots is either deaf or has a great sense of humor; whichever one it is, it falls to me to talk with them eventually and then I get depressed. I get depressed because I know that if I had simply hung up when I heard someone gargling with mud and then saying “hooman resauces”, I could have maybe saved a persons life.
You see? Communication saves lives.
Also, the new Beck album, “The Information”, is coming out October 2nd.
Whooty hoo.
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