More knitting, less nursing

I do fully realize that this is supposed to be a nursing blog but it's fairly devoid of any nursey content. But in between calling off sick with nasty colds and being cancelled due to low census, I haven't really worked much lately. And I actually miss working. My bank account really really misses me working, but that's another story. I was really hoping to go to work tonight but whatever crawled up my nose last night has set up camp in my head so I had to call in sick. And since this is my second cold in a month, I wonder if I have a compromised immune system, possibly secondary to leukemia? I'm not a hypochondriac, per se, however being an oncology/ICU nurse I tend to look for zebras. That's one of my favorite sayings, by the way. They say it to med students, when they are diagnosing patients. "When you hear hoofbeats, don't look for zebras," or something like that. Just meaning that always rule out the most likely scenario first. Anyway, I digress. Because I took cold medicine and my head is cloudy.

Last night I went to Pizza Hut because I suddenly needed to have me some stuffed crust pizza. And it was the most bizarre experience ever. I ordered online, and the email reply said it would take 20 minutes. So I went to pick it up, 20 minutes later. After a few minutes, someone finally comes to the counter to acknowledge me, and says it'll be a few more minutes. How magical that he knows that, I think, considering he didn't even ask my name for my order. Then a guy in mismatched navy sweats comes in, and the same thing happens to him. In the meantime, while he is waiting, he gets a call on his cell phone.
"Really? So he had another seizure? You're taking him to the hospital now?"
It was bizarre, hearing his end of the conversation. I stared at the Mountain Dew in the locked soda case and pretended I was not a nurse. After hanging up, Navy Sweats starts getting anxious and demanding to see a manager, because his food was supposed to ready 10 minutes ago. By this point, two more people have come in, are waiting for their orders, and the phone is ringing constantly. No one at all is approaching the counter to let us know where our food is. Some employee calls to another, "Can we stop taking orders?" Uhm, can you do that? I can sympathize, when things are crazy in retail or food service, you totally want to lock that door and stop customers from coming in because you don't give a shit if more money is to be made, you are making minimum wage and you are miserable. But anyway. Navy Sweats is getting all indignant and ranting about how he had better be compensated for his wait. Some woman in a crazy hat and a knee brace is trying to sympathize and make jokes. A 12-year-old employee comes out to explain that they're really backed up, running out of stuff, etc. Navy Sweats is not mollified. I'm thinking that at this point, Navy Sweats should just pop next door for some teriyaki then head home to his seizing friend. But anyway, no one asked me. Finally, his pizzas come out and the manager is all, "Uhm, just give me ten dollars." I finally got mine and was only charged half price, but then went to my car only to discover that Crazy Hat Knee Brace Lady had blocked my car in with her 1982 white Buick. Seriously. I felt like I was back in Pittsburgh for a little while.

Here's a funny story my dad told me. He was in Canada, at Immigration trying to get his work permit. Ahead of him in line was some strange looking older guy. He couldn't hear what the guy was saying, as he was kind of mumbling, but he could hear the customs agent's end of the conversation. The customs agent looked at the guy's paperwork, and said, "It says here you have a couple of felonies." The guy mumbled a little. The agent continued,
"For weapons possessions?" Now, at this point, one would assume the customs agent should merely stamp a big fat red "denied" on this dude's paperwork and turn him away. However, this particular agent is too intrigued...
"They were assault rifles, you say?" Mumble mumble.
"How many?" Mumble mumble mumble.
"Wow. That certainly is a lot, sir. Did you have permits for those, uhm, assault rifles?" Mumble mumble.
"Hmm. I can see how that caused a legal problem for you." Mumble mumble.
"No, I'm sorry, I cannot allow you to have a work permit to enter Canada with." Mumble mumble mumble. STAMP.

Thanks, Canada. On one hand, kudos to you for policing your borders. On the other hand, maybe you could have referred him somewhere else? Instead of back to the US.