Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

Some days, though. I can’t even, for the most part.

Yesterday was one of those days. I woke up, thinking it was Saturday, but it was Wednesday. How soul-crushing is that?

I get to my office, head up to my daily Safety Huddle, grab an omelette from Chef Carl, who is my reason for getting up on Wednesday mornings, even if I think they are Saturdays. I order my usual: egg whites with the good veggies, some ham and mozzarella inside and out.

I get in front of my computer with my Tabasco-laced breakfast and open my email and there it is. The downfall of my day. I went home early sick on Monday and on Tuesday morning I found an email from my nemesis, written during second shift. The content of said email is neither here nor there, but I respond in kind, sort of drawing a picture without crayons, even though I believe the recipient needs an actual picture drawn out for them. The response was sent early yesterday morning, to which I replied. I worded my response as carefully as I could, simply because I know my nemesis would probably forward this response to my boss and his bosses above him.

I’m still not exactly sure what transpired between this person and my boss, but I receive a call from my boss wanting to know what, exactly I sent to my nemesis, so I forwarded all correspondence to him.

By now? I’m pissed (sorry, Mom) because while I used to be able to do evaluations and write-ups? That falls in my boss’s lap, now, and just about every day for the past week or so, my nemesis has screwed something up, so I keep my boss in the email loop, yet NOTHING is being done. In the old days? I would have already written her up for insubordination and lack of professional communication, separately, which would have gotten her terminated. It’s out of my hands now.

I regressed to my former, unprofessional, Sicilian-tempered self and blurted (out loud, no less) that should I come across this person on the street, I would happily whoop her ass. (Again, sorry, Mom.)

A nice girl can only take so much.

For every email I now send, my boss has a courtesy copy, and I print everything, so to say I have a thick file of paper-trail is an understatement. I don’t know what my boss is waiting for, but I’m hoping that someone will do something before my nemesis takes another patient off of the cardiac floor without notifying a monitor tech. These techs need to know where their patients are at all times in case their monitors (or God forbid their hearts) go ka-floo-ey. I don’t need someone dying on my watch to prove a point.

All that being said? I’m done being the nice girl. Nice doesn’t save lives and it doesn’t win friends and influence people in my immediate circle.

Until next time…