Workplace Blues

The scene: 

From the previous shift Patrick, poor green soul that he was, had left four trolleys of washing still to be folded: bibs, place-mats, table-cloths and mounds of personal linen. In addition, one of the residents had the day before suffered a catastrophic digestive explosion and so the mountains of linen from his quarters had swamped the laundry. All this had totally upset the usual morning routine and Becky was ropeable when Patrick arrived, casual and groovy like usual.  

As Patrick walked into the Sluice room, Becky immediately spoke her mind.

‘Do you know what time they have breakfast here?’ she demanded.

‘Uh…seven, seven-thirty?’ 

'Well, what about all the washing you left behind?'

Patrick mumbled said something about it being quarter-past six and how by then it should be fine to leave.

‘No!’ Becky snapped. ‘You finish your job!’

Evidently, as the scolding continued, she and Clarice had been working to make the afternoon shifts less demanding. She went on to mention having to deal with a load being left overnight in the washer. ‘It totally stank!! Tell me, why do I bust my butt?’ she said darkly. ‘I’ve had enough!’ With nothing to say Patrick meekly held her eye. Becky went on to say something about Clarice having shared similar frustrations before adding that, ‘we haven’t told the boss yet!’

‘But I feel like I’m getting better!’ 

‘No!’ she snapped again. ‘You’re getting worse!’

It was clear that several red bags were in the middle washer about to be processed. ‘Should I get these going?’ Patrick asked tentatively.

'It’s not my problem!' Becky said throwing her hands in the air Greek-style and stepping away from the machine. ‘I’m outta here in five- do it your fucking self!’ She headed back into the folding room to finish the trolley of personals before she left.

Patrick got that going before returning to the folding-room. ‘I know I need to pull my finger out,’ he apologised. Becky snarled something dismissive. Clearly he was not welcome right now— a wing run looked particularly appealing. Grabbing the nearest trolley which seemed fullest, Wing 2A, Patrick made a hasty exit. He looked over his shoulder briefly as he neared the doorway, but aside from the throw-away comment that ‘this better not be a mess when I come back tomorrow!’, it was it clear Becky had had enough of him for one afternoon.

Work At Long Last!

Published in 'Newslink', Headstart ABI Service; December, 2018

 In October, I responded to an ad for a ‘General Service Officer’ at a nearby Aged Care Facility. To my surprise, I was called that very afternoon and asked to come in for an interview! Shortly after, I was offered the position of Laundry Attendant. This has not been without its challenges, but already I am feeling a lot more confident with the job. 

 As it’s developed, my shifts loosely follow the same pattern:

From the Nurses, I have learnt the value of having a ‘hand-over’. I’ll clock in about fifteen minutes early, and be updated on where things are at. 'Wash these', I might be told, or 'deliver these trolleys’ of clothes’, which gives me a head-start on how the shift is to progress. Writing a few pages of key notes (‘hang these’ and ‘operate-like-so’) for quick reference has helped too. 

There is always a mound of personal linen to be sorted, which threw me in those first few weeks. But the alphabetical list of resident’s names made shortly after I started with their room number helps tremendously, as does composing a mental map of people and faces by delivering to them. ‘So-and-so?’ I’ll think. ‘Oh, he’s  in wing 2!’ and often look straight to the trolley.

I wrestled with those bothersome sheets and blankets at first! Then I was showed a neat way of folding those pesky fitted sheets and the handy-man told me about the '3rd Arm'. A tool used by the hospitality industry, it has a clamp and footswitch which allows you to fold linen sheets with minimal back-strain and zero ground-time. Haven’t looked back.

So for the first few hours of my shift I’ll alternate between washing, drying, folding and delivering, which will of course be guided by the hand-over. Then in the last hour I’ll set aside some time to focus on the cleaning routine. The lint filters must emptied, the soiled soiled linen trolleys must be cleaned (Residents’ can be quite care-free with corn-flakes), floors must be regularly swept and mopped, bins must be emptied and supplies need re-stocking. 

On a good day I’ll knock off maybe five minutes late. Sometimes I may stay back a little longer if I’m a bit behind, but there’s kind of an unspoken agreement there.  ‘You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours,’ I was told one day, and I get that. Can’t rest on my laurels just yet, mind you- still gotta pass the six-month probation- but they’re a good bunch to be working with, and I’m feeling optimistic about this...  

Nearer Than You Think

December, 2018

The sun peeked its golden rays through the surrounding gum-trees.

Tom leant back in his chair on the front patio setting his half-emptied glass of Kombucha on the ledge beside him. Sighing contentedly, he reflected on another productive Saturday. With his sister due to visit in a week, bringing with her the much-adored four-month year old infant daughter, he and his folks had made a point of tackling as many chores as they could. Mowing the lawn, doing the washing, cleaning the floors and bathrooms, heaping the yearly Spring mulch on the garden - mundane, true, yet ultimately satisfying.

But there was another, more wistful side to that sigh.  For some months now there had been a pretty blonde nurse regularly floating around the facility at the same time as Tom. Though from the outset he had been attracted to her, he’d at first held back, reasoning that ‘she’s not strictly my type’. In weeks of late this had all changed though, especially after one day he’d seen her quietly jiving about in front of the Nurses’ station. 

Finally he had made a resolution. ‘Next time I see her,’ he decided, ‘I’ll ask her out!’ Sure enough, there she was, the very next day.

‘So Molli,’ he said, catching her as his shift ended. ‘You wanna meet at the Pub tonight for a game of Trivia?’

 Mid-way through feeding someone sitting in a Princess-Chair, she squealed in delight.

‘Oh, I’d love that!’ Then she frowned. ‘Oh sorry- I can’t tonight. Got a new job up in Dungog, and I’ve got to finalise papers with the Real Estate.’

‘Oh,’ Tom said, disappointed. ‘Great career move though- when do you start?’

‘Monday,’ Molli replied, skilfully depositing another mouthful of mashed roast. 

‘Could I have a rain-check then? Tomorrow night instead?’

‘Of course! Find me on Facebook- it’s Molli MacBeth, with a ‘k’.’

Later that afternoon, Tom found his fancy and sent her a message. 'Still up for dinner tomorrow night? 

She replied shortly after.  Not sure, she wrote. Got a friend coming up for a visit over the weekend and I’ve still got plenty of packing left for the move.

 No skin off my back, he’d replied. We’ve plenty of time left yet and at least we’re talking. Good luck with the move!

She had not responded to that last message but it seemed wisest to let sleeping dogs lie.

            

Tom reflected on all this now, sipping on another few mouthfuls of Kombucha under his patio. His was a commanding view from where he sat, the front door being two-levels above the street. The view tapered off to down the street to the right down to where the local boat-ramp entered the Bay. Hammering could be heard from the Resident Carpenter’s workshop across the road; in a clump of weathered Eucalypts to the left, a pair of Kookaburras suddenly broke out into maniacal peals of laughter.

He lifted the dregs of Kombucha to his lips, remembering an old Zen story as he did so. ‘What’s the best way to practice?’ one disciple had asked. ‘Don’t cling; don’t seek,’ said his Master. So Tom closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, in and out, returning his focus to the constant sound of his breath imagining, as he often did, floating in a sea of thoughts but latching onto none.

Eventually the sounds around him faded into obscurity. You could say they became like background or white noise, the sort you might hear when you are at a party but just contentedly letting the surrounding conversation wash over you. A few moments later he heard a car pull up out the front of his address.

‘Hullo!’ Tom thought, opening his eyes. ‘Who’s this?’ He sat forward as the car’s driver stepped out and it was none other than that same pretty nurse.

 ‘Molli!’ he cried in surprise. ‘Didn’t expect to see you before you’d leave!’

 'Neither did I,’ she said, walking up the driveway. ‘But we did have a rain-check, and I wanted to see you before I left.’

'How did you find where I live?'

‘You spoke once about being out here,’ Molli replied. ‘And I do haf my vays,’ she added, adopting a mock-sinister accent.

Tom laughed. ‘Just think— if I hadn’t asked you out I’d never have known why you were leaving at all. You’d have just disappeared!’

‘I wouldn’t be so dramatic,’ Molli said, rolling her eyes. ‘Surely one of the other nurses would have explained and I’d have come back at some point— I’ve still got family here.’

‘That’s true,’ admitted Tom, feeling slightly abashed. Suddenly he had a flash off inspiration and reached down into the esky by his side. ‘Say, while you’re here— you wanna drink?’

Molli looked at him warily, but relaxed once she recognised the sincerity in his eyes. ‘Sure,’ she said, ‘why not? Let’s drink to the future!