Thursday, February 8, 2007

I'm amazed someone got the stick up that far

When I took my job I thought a plus would be having stories to tell my husband when I got home. With my last job there was only so much to tell: "Got to work, touched various people, hid from my boss, punched the Hippie in the kidney." Yawnsville. I met some very interesting people with that job, but how do I tell my husband about them? "Hey! I worked on a lawyer and had to be exorcised afterwards because his mojo was so evil and contagious!" So with my job wrangling crazy people, there should be lots to discuss. Then I realized that some things are best left as secrets, like the dude who hears voices telling him to chop up people with an axe, or how that guy that lives in the ghetto described an early morning shakedown of the crack houses on his block, or he can't hug me because my hair smells like the house of the lady that pees on herself and never bathes. Now he asks me how my day went, and sometimes I just plead with him not to make me relive the last nine hours of my life.

This week my company (I'll refer to it as Gestapo from now on) instituted a new rule that we can't make jokes or hold general conversations that could offend a person or group. I'm all for sensitivity and shit, but this rule was a reaction to my boss saying a description of a new patient made her sound fat. They looked up her weight, and Bingo! But someone in the room got upset because her husband is fat. So I can't joke, but I can blog.

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