Eat your heart out, Ashton Kutcher

Remember when you were in grammar school, sitting in class, listening to your teacher drone on about some useless bit of knowledge you would never use in real life except for possibly a round of pub quiz trivia (scalactite: dripstone found on ceilings of caves, stalagmite: dripstone found on ground of caves). Your mind wanders far into oblivion as you've lost all hope of even the slightest distraction when suddenly, like a trumpet from the heavens, a loud blaring alarm sounds, jolting you awake.

FIRE DRILL!!

Oh how I loved the random fire drills! 20 minutes of blissful chaos when your whole class had to scramble out the door, into the halls and out to the parking lot to your designated spot where the teacher would run around counting heads while you got to see your friends in other classrooms and waved frantically to them as if you've just boarded the same refugee boat out of a war torn country. It could have been 75 degrees and sunny, yet for some reason you were always cold and crossing your arms in a shivering position because it seemed to be the appropriate stance. Fire drills were the best escape from school because they were unplanned and never expected. The best ones were of course when they happened during an exam, but few of us were ever lucky enough to experience this perfect miracle.

Once, when I was very young, around the age where I thought turtles only lived in sewers, a fireman came to our class and told us that sometimes when the school had fire drills the firemen would occasionally take a kid out when the teacher wasn't looking and have them wait with them to test the teacher and see if they realized they were missing a kid. I wanted nothing more than to be that kid. I thought it was THE-COOLEST job ever. Hanging out with a firefighter while trying to stump the teacher? Sign me up! I'd even try to lag around my desk so I could be last in line just in case any firefighters wanted to snatch me up and have me hide out in the office. This was probably the wrong reaction of how I should have responded to a fire alarm, but it was a small price to pay to increase the chances of getting my dream gig.

Sadly, I was never chosen. I never got the opportunity to be a firefighter's helper and scare my teacher silly. Which is why after all these years I still crave the chance to be called to duty and it is probably why at work I am now apart of the FIRE SAFETY TEAM!

That's right, not only am I a world-famous (ha) blogger, but I am also a professional "searcher" on Team Fire Safety at my office. My duties? To put on a neon-orange trucker hat, tell everyone to get their butts down the stairs, and check offices on my way out, putting post-its on the doors once I've checked them. Yes, I've wondered if there's a fire on the floor won't the post-its burn off and the firefighters won't know- but I think I'm getting ahead of myself and will save those questions for when I am Fire Captain (dare I dream?).

Today was my first fire drill as a searcher. They warned us a week in advance it was coming which is why I had my hat and post-its out and ready. I did well, I stared down my cube worker as she moseyed down the aisle, giving her the stern stare while donning my orange cap. If she had taken any longer I would have used the fireman lift and hoisted her over my shoulder, but thankfully it did not come to that.

Everyone was moving along nicely but I think I may have over did it with the post-its. I thought we were supposed to put one on each desk down the aisle so you could tell everyone was out, but looking back that doesn't make sense since you can simply look over the very low cube walls. So while all the other searchers were in the lobby I was wandering around my office putting stupid yellow post-its everywhere. Opps.

God help me if there is ever an actual real disaster, because I'm pretty sure you're going to hear on the evening news : "Girl torched in office fire. Sources say she could have survived hadn't she been looking for her trucker hat and surrounded by post-its which served as kindling for the flames."

But as silly as it was, I am finally living out my dream and sense of duty to help those in need during a time of emergency.

Ok, no, I lied. I totally just did it for the hat:

Luck o' the Irish

Gather around, all ye lads and lasses, while I tell you the glorious tale o' Cis4Connie and her adventures into the Irish County o' Milwaukee to attend a festival o' the Irish and how she triumphed miraculously in the yearly tradition o' the BINGO.

(I'll quit it with the o's if you keep reading, promise.)

So, every year my family makes the great trek up to Milwaukee for the GREATEST fest known to man, also known as Irish Fest. We've been going since I was born and if you ask my parents they'll tell you the story of how when I was two they dragged me up there and a horrific flood occurred and apparently I floated away on an arc or something. Having attended the Fest 20 something years in a row, you'd THINK we'd make it there, oh, I don't know, say before 4:21 pm? But no, we didn't. That's ok though b/c we wanted to stay til the 10pm concert and I learned my lesson last year that drinking from noon til 10 with a million Irish people around you is quite tiring. Anywho, it was awesome. Why? Because the Irish beat everyone in music, tradition, stories, merchandise, and beer (notice, I didn't say food, I loves me some corned beef but other than that it's just potatoes and stew). Ohhh, the beer. If it wasn't for the fact that sister is in charge of my beer coupons (pronounced 'couppin's', like 'toppin's') I'd be crawling around the grounds in search of my lost golden tickets. We have our trip down pat and it starts out as follows:

1. Enter fairgrounds (preferably before dinnertime?)

2. Buy lots of couppins (and note where the stand is so we can go back and get more)

3. BINGO tent!

Which is where my tale begins. For the past couple of years we've been frequenting this tent because, well because its freakin' BINGO and who doesn't love the game? But every year we waste most of our money to no avail and then have to console ourselves with beer. (well, I do, sister watches idly by dreaming of Fest 2010 when she'll be of age).

But because we are Irish and love the misery, we follow the plan again in hopes that this year will be the year. There were sets of 6 games and we made it just in time to the LAST session. The tent was packed with people and next to us were these ANNOYING girls who every time they got a number shouted "BAM!" (It's a Hannah Montana thing, don't ask me how I know). But that wasn't even the worst of it. Their guardian, who probably wasn't even playing right, kept shouting BOO-YA. Now, let me explain. Out of all the horrific catch phrases that have come from the American culture, "Boo-ya" is by far thee WORST. It sends a thousands shivers down my spine and makes me want to throw the nearest object at hand towards the offender. I want to vomit just thinking about it but I will carry on.

So we kept getting close calls and almost making it when someone would shout out Bingo, leaving us in tears and clutching our bottles. But alas, game 4 approaches. Now the games we were playing were not simple "straight across" or "diagonal" OH NO, game 4 consisted of "crazy arrow" in which you had to make the shape of an arrow pointing to one of the corners of the board. My top board was going strong, but I didn't want to say anything for fear of the inevitable jinx (most sacred in the Bingo world). I tried not to think to much of it until I saw only 2 remained- B6 and I20. Then, all of a sudden, a quiet murmur was heard from among the crowd... and Bingo was called.

My heart sank, I wanted to cry, or at least punch one of the Miley Cyrus wanna bes next to me. Were all my prayers to the Bingo gods for nothing? I began to lose faith. But then! A light opened in the sky and the caller declared NO BINGO. My faith was restored.

We went on, and the rest I can only recall as a distant memory. My final two were called as I clenched onto sister's arm and I lept for joy, tearing the dreams of the annoying kids and their idiot guardian aside, crushing their spirits and insuring even more so that they wouldn't be able to shout "Boo-ya" supported with a clear tone of victory. I was asked my name and a check was promptly assigned to me, and I briefly recall the faint sound of St. Patrick calling from the heavens to declare this as the day that would live on for the ages, a story that grandchildren would tell their grandchildren, of the 2009 Irish Fest when Cis4Connie said the one phrase that could be heard clear through to Chicago...

Bingo.

Nurse Ratchid, paging Nurse Ratchid....

So last Friday I took the day off (mad props to my boss for letting me take off even though I asked the day before and said "I feel like starting the weekend early") and after a lovely lunch w/ Aurora, I had to take my sister to the doctor's office b/c she hurt her back. Possible explanations of how she hurt her back are falling over one of the one million laundry baskets in our house, tripping over the dog who likes to tap dance under your feet when there's chicken in the house, or bum-rushing some punk kids trying to steal CDs from the place she works. Either way I didn't have much to do (aside from precious, precious sleep) so I gladly drove her. She goes to the Advocate which is where I used to go but recently switched due to the simple fact that its the place where the most vile, putrid, horrendous beasts who walk on their hind legs and take the form of humans in white coats work. Some may refer to them as Doctor P's nurses, but I call them Beast #1 and Beast #2. Think Regina George, plus that guy who killed the Gladiator's family, plus the Shredder, plus 10 other villains, all rolled into one....times two.

Disclaimer: I don't hate all nurses!!! Just the one's at my ex-doctor's office. If you read on I'll explain why, trust me, they're beasts.

We get there and there is no one in the waiting room. By no one I mean patients OR nurses. Fine, ok, whatever. We sign her in and sit down. Beast #1 walks in, looks over at us and says, "Who are you." with a tone that I can only describe as rancid. Now, common sense would tell any medical professional, or person with a head for that matter, that they could simply look at the sign in sheet and make the connection that the only name on it is the person whom you are starring at, but alas this beast had no head- only an attitude. My sister tells her her name and she then looks to the sheet (good job!). She pulls her file, and retorts, "you have to pay your copay TO-DAY." Ok...fine...obviously we weren't going to run. God knows I don't want to see my sister running in a hospital gown down the block with a bad back trying to escape the expensive $15 copay that is due after this luxurious experience. (Although....it would be kind of hilarious if they DID chase after her and she gets tackled with her back spasming down the street....hi sister if you're reading!!)

We wait a long time, which is about 25 minutes although we're there on time and still no one has come in. My sister then is escorted off and I am left to watch Beast #1 perform a mundane task that requires papers, a stapler, and is clearly not difficult because she is able to use her headset to talk to a friend on the phone. Every 10 minutes or so she is rudely interrupted by some obnoxious sick person who is calling in search of help (how DARE they!). The following is a list of responses she said to each.

"Dr. Fox? Noooo, haha you're going to have to wait a long time to see him..."

"No, you can't talk to her, she's busy."

"You want a prescription? No you can't talk to him, you have to call your pharmacy."

"You're deathly ill and desperately need to see a doctor? F-you, I'm stapling here!."

The last one was an exaggeration, but you get my drift. No, no, no. All with the same attitude. It was as if each person she came in contact with was a blood and she was clearly a crypt. No-mercy-period. A sweet old man comes in later (by later I mean 40 minutes now...did sister die? I hope not) and tries to tell her the story of his prescription, but she stops him mid sentence. She then picks up the phone in front of him, calls Beast #2, and says, "you need to come deal with this, no, you need to come now, please, please, please....ok." and then tells him to wait for the grim reaper while she works on her ever so difficult task (if there were a staple jam, I'd dive in front of the old man secret service style to protect him from the bullet storm of office supplies that would ensue).

Beast #2 strolls in, listens to this poor man's story (think tweed cap, old man jacket, and hankee for his cough, I shall call him Charlie for added sympathy) explains that his pharmacy has been trying to contact the office for 3 days and no one has responded to them. His doctor is out on vacation for a few weeks and he needs his prescription (although I don't know what it is, lets pretend its important for dramatic effect, eh?). Beast #2 then looks up his file, pulls it open and
condescendingly explains that there is no record of his pharmacy calling, "Here it is, in black and white, there's no record" (can I just ask at this time how can something that doesn't exist be in black and white? clearly we are dealing with great minds here).

After Charlie pleading and yelling about how he has no medicine, (note, not beer, not strippers, med-i-cine) Beast #2 gets a spark in her head hole and thinks to look at the online site where pharmacies can go and fill out requests. I know this because it is posted in several places around the office promoting that patients use this method as a simpler way to get their meds. She scratches herself, and tells him that his pharmacy did not call, yet placed an order online. Since his doctor is living it up on vacay, lil' ol' her was left to tend to filling his prescriptions and she failed to think to look online...or a nearby wall for that matter. After twisting and twirling Charlie's words around, she is somehow able to make it seem as though he and the pharmacy are to blame, fills his meds, and sends him on his way. Did I mention it was raining? That's not an exaggeration. Poor Charlie =(

Now I know that nurses have some of the toughest jobs out there, but cleeearly these people were just not human. Half of my followers (lol, that's two) work in the ER as greeters and I can almost guarantee that they would never act so mean, especially on such a slow day. In fact I was trying to picture my bff Turk (why Turk? Because she's working her way up to be a medical professional, and she's my bff, and I'd totally fit the role of JD on Scrubs =D) acting mean to old Charlie and I couldn't- she has a soul. Now had Charlie come in yelling and not respecting her desk, by all means, rip Charlie a new one. But honestly this was a tale of a sweet old man and two evil, evil witches.

Also, it took us over an hour to get in and out- and when I asked my sister what happened she said she waited 40 minutes, the doctor came in, poked her back, and decided she pulled a muscle....I don't have enough time to get into doctors but seriously? Poke faster.

After that I was in disbelief and disgust. Thank God I no longer go there. My work just offered a cheaper version of HMO and in order to get it I had to switch doc's because my pristine medical group was not part of it. Today I called my new doc for an appointment, cringing and praying that the nurses there at least 1% nicer than the ones I just described. Not only did my new nurses greet me with pleasantries, they APOLOGIZED for me having to wait on the phone because they had to check to make sure my name was on the approved list of new patients. I feel that this is going to be the start of a beautiful relationship and I hope to God I never have to see Beast #1 and Beast #2 as long as I live.