Posts (page 2)
Most of my customers--say about 90%--are totally unremarkable.
Another 5% are memorable solely because of their utter illiteracy or stupidity. Examples include this from a...rural...gentleman, attired in cutoff jeans, a wifebeater, and a grungy baseball cap that didn't sufficiently disguise his blond mullet:
"Yes ma'am, ah'd like that there book on duhve huntin'."
"Dove hunting?"
"Yeah, mah boy has ter read it fer school."
"Err, do you know the author's name?"
"Naw, ah ain't much inter books. But maybe the last name had somethin' to do with a war."
"Well, could you tell me a little about it?"
"Ah know it's kinder famous, but ah can't saih for shurr wahy."
"I...see. And your son has to read it for school. It's a book about hunting?" (where is this school district, and what the...?)
"Yah, ah dunn toled you that. Do y'all have it?"
(I really don't get paid enough) "Did the school happen to send you a letter with the title of the book?"
"'Fraid ah'm not real shur, ma'am. The school sends a lotta mail, but ah figger the wife takes care of it." (I can't imagine why)
(suddenly, his face brightens) "But mah son goes to (insert name of public school in boonies near cowtown here). What're they readin'?"
Suddenly, a shaft of light breaks through the fog. I remember a couple of kids from this school coming in last week. We aren't the closest store by any stretch, but they happened to be in cowtown that day, and got the book from our store. What was the title? Oh, surely not. Surely not.
"Sir, it wouldn't be To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, would it?"
It was.
Le sigh.
Of the remaining 5%, 2% are briefly memorable because of snottiness, phone-against-the-ear-itis (symptoms include an inability to hear the cashier ask you to step out of line and go to her register, an inability to understand why the bookseller will NOT, if she has other customers, stand next to you and wait for you to finish your phone conversation before assisting you, and an inability to understand complicated directions like "please slide your card here and enter your PIN or press clear), or just outright RUDENESS (b*tching out the bookseller because you had a bad experience at a store in this chain five years before she was legally old enough to be employed by this store, for example, and offering this as an excuse for why we should give you a discount).
Another 1% are the ones who send the booksellers running the MINUTE they walk into the store. These are usually regular customers who a) want to tell you that Harry Potter is REAL and they need to find the Marauder's Map and where is it shelved?, b) want to corner you to tell you all about their political views (which, no matter what your political bent, will ALWAYS be the exact opposite of yours), c) want to get entirely too hands-on with the female booksellers, d) throw a fit because their frappuccino is "too sweet"--but always order the same frappuccino, and/or e) will ask you to spend thirty minutes looking up obscure or impossible-to-find books with little or no information--"I think it was published in 1910 and had 'fieldmice' in the title, but I'm not sure."
Finally, there are the 2% who either make me laugh, make my day, make my week, or who just make an impact on me that I won't forget. Or they'll do something so completely unexpected that I do a quadruple-take.
I had one of the latter the other night.
I saw a couple walking through History/Current Events, greeted them, and asked if they needed any help.
This couple was perhaps in their late fifties, and had, I suspect, been married for some time. She had her arm through his, and they were chatting and laughing like a couple in their twenties. It was neat to see.
If J. Random Invididual had looked at them, he probably wouldn't have been impressed. They were both blondish, medium height, maybe a little extra weight. No outstanding features beyond nice smiles and the fact that they were clearly still very much in love.
After I greeted them, they smiled at me and said that they didn't need any help, and how was I doing? I replied with some sort of brief response--"fine," "great," "fantastic," etc--and continued on my way back to music to help a music seller with something. Perfectly normal interaction, happens literally hundreds of times during a shift. I thought no more about it.
About three minutes later, I saw the couple walk into music. They came and stood near me while I finished with a customer. Once the other customer left, I turned to the couple.
The guy walked over, took my hand, smiled (very kind smile) and said, "We just wanted to apologize. I don't think we were very polite back there; we were a bit preoccupied. Thanks for asking us how we were doing, and again, we didn't mean to be impolite."
Me: (astonished stare) "Good grief, you were fine. I didn't think you were at all impolite. In fact, you even asked me how I was doing." (wondering vaguely "what the heck?...")
Her: "Oh, well, we thought we'd been a bit abrupt."
Me: "I didn't. Don't worry about it."
Him: (still smiling) "Well, I'm glad you felt that way. Listen, you have a really nice evening, okay?"
Me" ...Yeah, you too. Come back and see us again."
(stands in music department, blinking for several seconds)
They walked out of the store, still hand-in-hand.
Yes, two very nice customers apologized for being insufficiently nice by no one's standards but their own (obviously very high) ones.
In short, I'm expecting the Four Horsemen to make an appearance any minute. Be warned. You heard it here first. It's the only possible explanation.
Now, if I could figure out why so many people felt compelled to wear cat ear headbands into the store tonight. There was no obvious connection between any of them. Different ages (youngest about 13, oldest about 40), male and female, different races (white, asian, hispanic), different socioeconomic backgrounds (the ears were worn with everything from grungy jeans to a local private school uniform), different religions (one guy wore a cross, one gal was wearing a pentogram pendant) etc. Very odd. The Mr. Clean dude with the cat ear headband will, I think, be forever etched in my memory.
(shakes head)
Overall, it was a really nice night. I'd had entirely too much coffee (didn't sleep much or well last night) and was consequently very (and unusually) perky/upbeat/engaging. On the sales floor, I think I'm ordinarily pleasant but quiet and rather low-key. With that much coffee, I chattered nonstop, I laughed (and made most of the customers laugh), I got several people to sign up for the idiotic card program, etc, etc. The rest of the crew found this hysterical. (no more espresso after 5, ubi.)
And people wonder why I don't drink, when mere caffeine does this to me! Can you imagine?
Ooof. I just crashed. Must. go. to. bed. now.
that if you have wiry, curly hair (I do), and if there is a howing gale outside that is strong enough to snatch your makeup case from your hand and fling it a half-acre away, depositing foundation, blush, powder, eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick and lipgloss (remind me again--why do I carry this much makeup with me? why?) (and there was), and if your hair is past shoulder length and particularly prone to tangling, even at the best of times (it is)--
DON'T WEAR IT DOWN WHILE OUTSIDE IN SUCH WEATHER.
Duh.
I had to soak it in almond oil to get some of those tangles out. They were doozies. Took me a good thirty minutes to detangle even with the oil.
It's been quite a while since I had hair this long.
On the bright side, my hair got a good oil treatment this week. :P
I'm sitting at my desk in an oversized sleep shirt and looking as though I haven't washed my hair for a month. All I need now is a nice green mud mask for my face, and then it would be certain that the Hair Goddess would have a cute guy stop by. Works every time. Trust me.
Hot tea, and bed.
...though not necessarily in greater numbers (anyone get the reference?)
The theory homework is done and, I think, done well.
The French is studied, quizzed and tested.
I can play the B flat and E flat major scales in my sleep.
The scholarship app essay is drafted and handed to an English teacher to be checked (what the heck kind of essay is limited to 4000 characters? Not words, not pages, not paragraphs, CHARACTERS.)
Oh yeah, and I ran a mile and a half today without stopping. Another record. I noticed, too, that I am not slowing down during the course of the run. When I started running, I'd run a quarter mile in three minutes (and, incidentally, be very out of breath, whereas now I can run a half mile without breathing heavily at all), then a half mile in six minutes, and a mile in twelve minutes. I ran the mile and a half in eighteen minutes. Not exactly an Olympic qualifier (snort) but still, I like that I'm not slowing down. Perhaps a 5K in 36 minutes? I'm thinking that when I hit two miles without stopping, I'll start trying to increase my speed a little, as I'd like to be able to run a 5K in 30 minutes eventually. We shall see.
I have also noticed that in the last few weeks when I run, I breathe only through my mouth and my lips are rounded when I do so. I have no idea why, except that perhaps this makes me more aware of my breathing and reminds me to a) breathe and b) to take deep and steady breaths.
I think that the items on my to-do list have been engaging in innapropriate activites and consequently reproducing. It's the only possible explanation for the way that list has grown.
No more posts until the theory homework is done, the French test is taken, the French homework is completed, the scholarship essay is written, and the letters-of-recommendation folks are (politely, sweetly, respectfully, gently) nagged. One of the latter set some kind of world record with the timing of her letter; I got it LESS THAN AN HOUR after it was requested. (thank you, maestra diva!) I'm still waiting on the other two. However, in fairness, I really can't say a word until my portion (the essay) is finished, so....
In short, no more Internet for me (except the online French course) until this list is whittled down. I will even hand the Hair Goddess my two new mysteries (oh, the humanity!) and tell her not to give them back until I show her sheets of completed theory homework, grades for the French test and homework, and a slightly intelligent essay. I'm at the library now, and here I will stay until the theory homework is finished. Off to be a good student, for a change...
If I get all this done this afternoon, I shall get some sushi for dinner.
(drools, and says in her best Homer Simpson* voice "mmmm, sushiiiiiiii")
*Disclaimer: I do. not. watch. the. Simpsons. This is a pop culture reference with which virtually anyone is familiar.
What's your favorite thing about being sick?
I'm one of those weird people who doesn't mind too much being sick once I accept that I'm going to be sick. Up until that point, I'll be running around with school/work/errands and either hacking up a lung, sniffling miserably, or stopping in the restroom every few minutes, and during that stage I am miserable. I don't get sick very often at all. If whatever the bug is won't go away after a couple of days of ignoring it, I'll go into "hibernation" for a day or two.
Hibernation means I go to the grocery store and stock up on popsicles, juice, tea and (if I don't have a batch in the freezer) chicken soup. Prior to the grocery store, I'll stop at the used book store and grab some movies. I then go home, get into my pajamas, and spend all my time in bed. I sleep for most of the time, and when I'm not sleeping, I'm drinking massive amounts of fluids while watching TV. It's rare for me to watch TV (I might watch a movie every couple of weeks, but usually I'm just too busy), so this is something of a luxury. Occasionally, I'll take a hot bath and change pajamas. Basically, I pamper myself for a day or two. This will usually knock out whatever is bothering me.
And I must say, that the spending-two-days-in-bed feels absolutely wonderful! I'm on the go almost all the time, so just saying "no" and not going and doing for that amount of time feels like total rest--which, I suppose, it is. Honestly, I kind of enjoy it. I wouldn't like to do that all the time, but once in a while it is delightful!
Mmm. What a concept!
Last night, I went to sleep shortly after midnight. Hey, for me that's early! I'm unquestionably a night owl.
When I got up, I spent most of the morning cleaning the house and doing laundry. Laundry is washed, ironed, hung, folded et all, and the house looks absofreakinlutely fantastic. I've even made chicken-vegetable soup from the bones of the chicken I've been eating this week. That smell (quite good) combined with the smell of a clean house (murphy's oil soap, white vinegar, laundry starch) just can't be beaten! I finished off with a home facial, and my skin is in the post-facial-ticked-off stage. Eh, whatever. The skin will look really good tomorrow or Tuesday.
Now to get dressed and go sing. We're doing a Solemn High Mass this evening, which is rather unusual. Apparently the deacons (who are in the process of becoming priests) of the order that runs this Latin Mass community are in town, and the local priests want to show them what a Solemn High Mass looks like. In short, all the smoke and bells and gold trim and music, music, music. I prefer polyphony for a Solemn High Mass, but we are (of course) doing chant. On the bright side--better something we know REALLY well than something we know fairly well and may therefore mess up. There is a rumor that the bishop may stop in, which would, of course, be exceptionally cool. Can one use the word "cool" when talking about a bishop? Apparently so.
Now to go find something cute, cool (it is now humid and in the mid-80s) and church-appropriate from my closet. Easier said than done.
High (and low) points of the evening included:
-45 minutes after I started my shift, I actually raised my voice. At a kid. I think this is the first time I've gone over a normal conversational tone at this job. Sure, I can (and have) been firm with kids whose general level of behavior indicates that they were raised by lax lupines. I generally stick, however, with the firm voice and the steel-glittering eye.
One of my coworkers in the music department is pregnant. Being pregnant, she really can't be on her feet for eight hours straight. Ergo, she has a bar-stool type thing on which she sits when she isn't walking around the department. She had her jacket draped over this when I came in.
45 minutes into the shift, a mother comes in with four kids. Three are between 7-10 (all boys), and one is about 12-14 (girl). The girl is fairly well-behaved. The boys are nothing short of dreadful. Mom vacillates on whether to get some of our (frankly) overpriced DVDs. The kids whine, screech, plead, beg, and whinewhinewhine. I'm trying to check out the older girl, and pregnantcoworker is trying to check out another customer. The noise, I might add, from those three kids is absolutely deafening. The mom decides not to get the movies. The noise from the three boys reaches levels that cause hearing damage in adults. (Mom is ignoring this behavior except to interject occasionally, "It's okay, honey, we'll get those movies soon.") The middle one is particularly angry. He expresses his anger by grabbing some DVDs and throwing them on the floor, then reaching over, grabbing pregnantcoworker's jacket, and throwing it on the floor.
That did it.
Me (very terse, very clipped, and sufficiently loud--not yelling, but loud enough--to be heard over the racket the kids were making): "That's quite enough. Pick up that jacket, fold it neatly, and place it back on the stool this minute."
After a second's shocked expression, the kid shut up and did as he was told.
-the customers who walked up to me towards the end of the evening and who were just so pleasant with the small talk, etc. Most customers don't do that--not that I mind, of course, as that isn't why I'm there. It's just neat when I get to talk to nice and well-meaning people like that on occasion.
-the customer with whom I had such a nice chat about John Williams (composer)
-the customer who told me all sorts of cool and hitherto unknown-to-me stuff about Tchaikovsky
-the expression on the manager's face as he realized I had managed to do $2990 that evening (unusually high)
-the expression on my face when that manager made a $15 purchase post-close so that I would officially break $3000 for the evening. (snarky grin)
-the fact that the store manager apparently banned some exceptionally obnoxious young boys (10-12 age group, not the same kids described above) from the store and told their mother so to her face. this happened before i came in. the boys had been running around and around the music department, pausing occasionally to fight or wrestle. pregnantcoworker told them several times that they were welcome in the department, but couldn't run. they could preview movies, they could listen to music, she'd even help them find movies/music, but they couldn't run, box or wrestle in the department. they told her to "shut up" and continued running, at one point coming within inches of running into her while she helped another customer. called manager, manager escorted the boys to their mom and told the mom not to bring the kids back unless they could behave like civilized human beings. hah.
-a beautiful forty-percent-off coupon that i used to get all sorts of goodies, chief among them being this (le drool):
--the barista who makes the best latte EVER was on when I ordered my afternoon java fix
-the fact that Cold Stone Creamery a) is across the parking lot from my store and b) will mix raspberries into their chocolate ice cream. extra run for me tomorrow (i usually take saturdays off) but it was worth it. mmm.
-these work slacks are starting to feel a little loose in the waist. not too big yet, but a bit loose.
-i have my mother's birthday present purchased and packaged (she is impossible to buy for, so this is an accomplishment), and her mother's day gift, and a father's day gift for dad. Excellent. Now to mail them on time.
-oh, yes, and the piano teacher informed us that he'd be out of town on monday and friday next week, so no classes on those days. sleeping in! yay! (yes, I'll practice. just not at the class times!)
Yesterday was even better. It was the kind of day in which
-I aced at least one of two theory quizzes, and did "fair" on the other
-I finished the first quiz early, and so had twenty minutes to kill. Spent that twenty minutes grabbing a coffee at the campus coffee shop. The "fast" barista was there. This shop seems to be staffed with two people. Both make decent lattes, but one of them will literally take 15 minutes to make a latte, even if there is NO LINE. I swear he goes out back and milks a cow to get the milk. It's the only explanation. Anyway, he wasn't there, so I got my coffee and spent the rest of the time wandering around in the fresh air, sun and wind while sipping a yummy latte.
-Choir was excellent. Just excellent. Good music, good laughs, good fellowship.
-I had a second voice lesson for the week with la maestra diva (maekup lesson). Voice lessons are always wonderful, but this one was just plain fantastic. In short: Handel and Baroque ornaments I love.
-I walked into la maestra diva's studio and saw my absolute favorite pair of sunglasses (MIA since the musical) on her piano. someone had found them backstage and brought them to her. oh, happy me!
-I came home, reveled in the sunshine and in the discovery that a Starbucks has opened up less than a mile from my house. Wouldn't this be a great summer job? (second, of course, to the shoe store. must put in application there.)
And now to bed--and I don't have to be up at a particular time! yay for sleep!
What's the one thing you're most neurotic about?
A picture speaks a thousand words:
I hate snakes. Hate 'em, hate 'em, hate 'em. One of my all-time favorite movie lines: "I HATE snakes, Jock. Hate 'em." (Look, if a big, tough, and damn good looking adenturing archaeologist can hate snakes, I don't feel so bad.)
They are perhaps the one flaw in this (to me) otherwise near-perfect state. Too damn many snakes.
I won't go anywhere near a lake during the spring or summer. I do NOT go hiking or near rocks during those times, either. As far as tall grass, there is no. way. in. hell. I have a path where I run that goes over a waterway. Frankly, I give myself another few weeks before I stop running there.
I would add (and now I'm jinxing myself) that I have yet to see a snake in Texas after living here for almost three years. If I did, you'd find me either on the top of the nearest building or breaking my PR for a mile. Or two.
I'm really afraid of very little else. Oceans? Heh. I'd take a shark any day over something that slithers. Big dogs? Never met one yet that scared me. Horses, including unbroken stallions? Even better. They might be edgy, but if they see a snake you'll be picking bits of snake off their hooves. Horses will stomp a snake to death. Even crazy humans I'd take over snakes.
TheMaureenCorps tells stories of meeting up with some sort of venomous snakes frequently while growing up. Can't remember if they were cottonmouths or copperheads or what, but they apparently liked south Texas. She, her sister, and her mother would drop large rocks on them in order to kill them. Their dad would be running in the opposite direction and screaming. To me, he sounds like the only sensible one of the bunch. :P
So, if you hear a piercing screech from my neighborhood some summer day, you'll know why!
I. Don't. Do. Snakes.
so let me leave you with a more upbeat one.
At this ER, there was a medical tech named Max. Max was Russian, determined to be a doctor, about 23, and very, very cute. Also very shy and polite.
There was another tech named Steve who was studying to be a nurse. He was really a character. Everybody loved him; he was always making people laugh. I heard after I left the area that he had passed his RN boards, and sent him a note congratulating him. One of Steve's favorite things to do was play practical jokes on ER staff. He was such a ham that he could get away with even playing some pranks on doctors, and they'd just laugh.
Steve liked few things more than playing jokes on Max. Max had quite a sense of humor, but was very serious and dedicated most of the time. Steve shook him up a little, and that was a good thing for both of them.
One day, Max fought back.
After a week on which he had some sort of joke played on him during EVERY shift by Steve, he finally came up with a somewhat fiendish idea.
That Friday (a completely dead evening, I might add) he approached Steved with a worried expression on his face.
"Steve, I've been trying to figure out how to get these arm braces just right, but I can't seem to make them go on properly. I'm supposed to demonstrate this for class tomorrow, and I'm worried that I'll mess it up."
I can't remember exactly what these braces consisted of. While not plaster casts, they involved a splint around the thumb/forefinger area and miles of gauze.
Steve, being a softhearted guy, fell for it. He said, "Oh, why don't you practice on me, and I can tell you what you're doing wrong?"
"Oh," said Max, innocently, "Are you sure? I don't want to bother you."
"Naw, go ahead."
So Max does a very credible job of wrapping Steve's forearms in bandages and splint material. At the end of it, Steve can't use his thumb/forefinger for anything involving a pincer grasp, because they are held apart by splint material.
At that point, one of the ER docs (another frequent victim of Steve's) suddenly yells that the patient in Room 4 is coding. (a side note: there was no patient in room 4). Room 4 was one of the rooms assigned to Steve.
The nurses etc at the desk RUN to Room 4 (or, more appropriately, just around the corner so they can watch), leaving Steve standing at the desk and cussing an absolute blue streak because he can't get the bandages off. Eventually, he's trying to use his teeth to remove the gauze when the staff can't hold back the laughter any longer.
Once he gets it, he starts laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
After that, he took a decidedly "if you can' t bat 'em, join 'em" attitude, and would usually round Max up to help him come up with the pranks.
One of the few I remember was placing decaf in the doctors' coffee machine. Don't ask why the doctors had a separate coffee machine from the rest of the staff when they all shared a break room. It didn't make sense to anyone. But it was even LABELED "Doctors' Coffee." One day, there was an unusually rude (and new) doctor on who had been giving the nurses holy heck for nothing. These two techs went to the breakroom and replaced the "doctors coffee" with decaf. That doc kept chugging the stuff down, but it never seemed to do anything for him. (snort, giggle)
Hm.
I just realized that I've never told some of my ER stories on this blog. Trust me, I have some.
See, when I was in high school, I was convinced that I wanted to be a nurse. The fact that I had no aptitude in science didn't particularly phase me. I was going to be a nurse.
Because of this, I started volunteering at the local ER. By "local" I mean an hour away. Hey, it was the closest hospital. It was also a Level 1 Trauma Center. In English, they had the fancy machines and more staff. This was one of three hospitals in town, and its specialty was this ER. They'd poured a lot of money into it. There was a hospital across town with a NICU, and another hospital between the two with THE psych lockdown unit in town. Divide and conquer.
In short, if you were interested in adrenaline (and plenty of it), you'd volunteer in this ER.
So I did. Of the four years I spent at that hospital, I spent the last two almost exclusively at the ER. I'd be there two days a week for anywhere from 4 to 6 hours at a time. I was one of only a couple of volunteers who worked in the ER, so aside from letting the supervisor know that I'd be there Thursday/Friday evenings, I could kind of set my own schedule. If we got slammed with patients, I could stay there for a looooooong time, or, if it was absolutely dead, I'd leave after four hours.
Obviously, I didn't do patient care. I was just a volunteer. A lot of the nurses and techs, though, were really kind to me. They probably thought it was odd that a 16-year-old was volunteering at the ER until midnight on a school night, but they never asked. I really appreciated that. They taught me a lot. I can still tell you exactly how to stabilize a fractured limb, how to get this particularly ornery type of hospital bed to cooperate with you, and how to play some extremely WRONG practical jokes.
I had a lot of people there I liked, but Curt and Gail were two of my favorites.
Mike and Chris were nurses, and they were married to each other. They'd usually work the same shifts. For some couples, that probably wouldn't work well. They, however, worked REALLY well together. They had this wonderful relationship, and when they were both working on a patient I swear they could read each others mind. It was fun to just watch them. Mike was a HULKING biker type--well over six feet, probably weighed around 250-300. He was extremely good at inspiring rude patients to good behavior. Chris was about 4'9" and tiny. Just tiny. They were both really sweet to me, and showed me a lot of stuff. I remember Chris calling me into an ortho room once, and telling me to bring a chair. I did so. "Okay, honey, this is how you set up a suspected fractured tibia for transport to X-ray. Sit there if you start to feel woozy. Hand me that pillow, that wrap, etc." Get her mad, though, and it was scary.
One night, I was working at the front desk. Basically, I was helping the triage nurse by getting info from each patient and starting a chart with name, birthdate, time arrived etc for each one. The triage nurse was in the room right next to me. I would log each person into the ER log as they came in, writing down the name, birthday, chief complaint. I'd write the same thing on the chart, but put a post-it on the chart with the chief complaint as, of course, I couldn't chart. I was to get the triage nurse IMMEDIATELY if the patient had anything serious: chest pain, difficulty breathing, was a kid, was pregnant, etc. Hey, it worked. I'm sure JCAHO would have had a fit, but for whatever reason they had decided to cut out a secretary position from the ER staff, leaving the triage nurse (only one at a time, of course) to do all the paperwork/entry info plus triage. Idiot ER manager.
Anyhow, this woman came in carrying a kid on her shoulder. The kid was about 2-3ish, and she had her head down on the woman's shoulder. Her head was covered with a light receiving blanket. Not entirely unusual, as it was about 0 outside.
Okay, name? DOB? Chief complaint?
I have a strong stomach. I really do. I'll never be a nurse, but I am not affected by the sight of blood beyond a "hm, we need to get that cleaned up" reaction. No dizzyness, no nausea, nothing.
Where was I? Ah, yes, chief complaint. Woman turns around and lifts the corner of the blanket up so I can see the kid's face. The only word to describe it is "torn." Literally, torn. And the kid is just looking at me out of this messed-up face and not. crying. at. all. Just looking.
Me (feeling sick for the first time since I started volunteering over a year ago): "What the..." (leans over and taps on triage door) "I think you need to come out here. Now."
Short version of the long and insane story is that the kid's dad apparently raises pit bulls and trains them as "guard dogs." Part of the joint-custody agreement was that he was to stop raising the dogs. That, and stop smoking crack. But I digress. Basically, dad obeyed that ruling for a couple of weeks before getting more dogs and "training" them. At some point, he passed out on the couch, the girl goes to play with the puppies, and I get to see the results. The woman carrying the kid is the mom, who doesn't seem all that functional herself, but compared to the dad she looks like June Cleaver. Mom came (thank God) to pick up the kid and found her like this.
Needless to say, they're taken back to a room and a plastic surgeon is called.
While they're waiting for him, mom goes out for a smoke and to call someone for A COUPLE OF HOURS (how the heck do you leave a kid like that for two minutes, much less a couple of hours?)
Chris walks into the room to check on the kid and finds her sobbing and completely terrified and alone. Now, the wounds were not life threatening (beyond infection, of course, but the airway wasn't involved and it wasn't bleeding a lot at that point. Like said, they're waiting for the surgeon.
Chris takes one look at this kid, walks over to the "toy drawer" I set up (has books, mags, crayons, little toys for kids who are in the ER. Helps keep 'em occupied.) She grabs a few books, walks back into the room, climbs up on the bed, pulls the kid into her lap, and starts reading. Chris has a way with kids that puts them at ease. Pretty soon, the kid is somewhat calmer, though still occasionally asking where mom is.
Until, that is, this big guy comes stumbling into the room and yelling about how he's "taking his daugher home now, she doesn't need more than a couple bandaids." This would, judging by the amount of screeching coming from the kid, be her father. It was later determined that he had come into the ER through hospital entrance, rather than the ER entrance. The hospital entrance has no codes required, no security, etc. Lovely.
Chris promptly jumps off the bed, gets between the two, and tells him to get out of "her" ER. She never laid a finger on him; she just kept walking towards him while telling him to leave, to leave the kid alone, and to never come back to that ER. She doesn't raise her voice. She just keeps going.
The guy backs out of the room, out of the ER and into the waiting room, and outside into the parking lot. She follows him the entire time, repeating "stay out of my ER and stay away from that kid." She followed him as far as the waiting room, watched him leave, then turned around and walked right back into the kid's room, where she reassured the kid that it was okay.
It was impressive, to say the least.
Oh yes, and security arrived ten minutes after everything was over. The "security" "patrol" consisted of one guy who was about 5'8" and weighed about 300 lbs (totally useless aside from sitting on someone, brains of an eggplant) and one nice 5'4" sixty-something-year-old white-haired grandma who might have weighed a hundred and twenty dripping wet. The security service that the hospital employed was an equal-opportunity employer. I'm all in favor of equal-opportunity EXCEPT in situations like this. It was at about that time that an very unofficial policy was put into place regarding violent patients or family members: if you're going to call anyone, call the cops 'cause they'll get there faster and be a lot more effective.
Oh, and the kid turned out okay. She ended up staying with an aunt or something, and they came in a year later with a cake for the ER staff as a "thank you." She had some scarring, but it was pretty minimal.
