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.