?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
20 May 2005 @ 10:34 pm
Dude. Eerie Queer-Eye?  

It just figures that my favourite -- thus far -- manga should have the stupidest name in the history of lame-arse translations. *facepalm*

Numero uno. IRELAND LOST IN THE EUROVISION HEATS! Now, maybe, everyone will realise what a great joke the rest of Europe was having at our expense all this time...

Numero duo: PIMP. history_spork. Qualified historians dissing terrible Hollywood historical 'epics'. This is gonna be good.

</em></em></em>

</em></strong>

</strong>

 

 

I'm starting to suspect that sometimes events really do happen for a reason.

Consider, I started working as an archivist/filist/general dogsbody in the city dental hospital on Monday. I picked up the system in about two seconds flat, as would any given brain-dead monkey. However, I archived so fast the head receptionist person had nowhere to put all the files, so I was filing and current-file-fetching for irate dentists all day.

Now, I don't much like archiving, or the work at all for that matter. I have an opinion of bureaucracy and paper-pushing that even Cohen the Barbarian would describe as 'uncomplimentary'. As Pterry also said, except about trucks: 'The files go in, the files go out. No one knows why, but presumably to give them some sort of outing'. It's so damn pointless and unorganised. I have at least twenty things I'd change to make it more efficient. The one bright spot was finding two real teeth in one file. I used it as an anecdote for my fellow drones for a whole working day.

So, when Ann said I was to be filing, I was not exactly, 'HOT DAMN!' I can sit down when archiving, but not when filing, I had to go to the toilet about ten times just to rest my legs. --TMI, je sais--

So there I was, tapping away at the laptop and scanning out files, because the two receptionists were too busy eating sugar-free sweets and doing receipts to actually get the files they were asked for. I don't usually pay much attention to the dental students, beyond noticing that they are a) haughty b) demanding c) five girls to one boy d) the boys are pretty gay, which, while pretty, is pretty useless to me.

BUT THEN.

THERE WAS ONE.

OH, BUGGER.

And I was doing so well! A whole year -- well, give or take a month to forget the Evil Git, bar sporadic reminising -- without a crush, and now -- THIS. *weeps, and weeps, and weeps* I mean, I'm picky. Even on generally-acceptable boys, I do a mental processing which comes up with, 'Yeah, he's okay, but because of ___ I couldn't possibly'. Which isn't to say David is perfect. It's just that my mind came up with, 'Absolutely, whenever, wherever, with whipped cream you say? Leather girdles? Hokay, I'm there'. And that was IT.

I knew. I knew even before I saw him up close, because I perpetrated a whole load of acts I'd never yet done in time I've been there for the sole purpose, in hindsight, of attacting his attention -- negative or otherwise.

Nearly dropped files on the floor -- check. Walloped my back off the cranks for the ceiling-high filing cabinets -- check. Blushed, profusely -- check. Had difficulty typing in the ID numbers -- check. Funny voice when asked was I, actually, finding the files, Rachel? Yes, I [bloody well] am, Beibhinn. -- check.

Then I went to the desk to hand them up -- the dude had checked out three of the files to himself a month ago, one of the ones who hides the things in his locker I suspect, although why? They're hardly a riveting read, I know because archiving is boring and I read all the letters. Dentists are WIERD.

I told him this, although I got the whole larynigitis-voice AGAIN, and handed them over. Then Beibhinn -- who thinks I'm stupid, I reckon, even though I could already do her job and better, plus is one of those annoying people who pronounces my name 'Ra-shell', and if I wanted that gammy name I would have changed mine -- asked me had I checked out the files.

At that moment I saw him properly and my brain actually slowed. One-way track of thought: HANDS. EYELASHES. SKIN. OUT OF CHEESE ERROR, CANNOT COMPUTE, IZ DED.

Rachel: "Yeah, Beibhinn, they were already checked out."

David: "Oh, really? Oops."

Beibhinn: "No, I mean did you scan those out? The ones you just gave him?"

Rachel: "What? Oh. Oh, yeah, of course."

David: "Well, cheers, thanks. Cheers." *scurries off*

I did resist the urge to check up his stats on the computer.

Well, actually, I couldn't hack into the system. I found out a lot about patients, though, and nearly charged one dude twenty-one quid for fillings about four times.

I will not do anything creepy, like transpose our last names. *shifty eyes*

...

Or notice that if we got married my initials would still be the same.

I wonder could I talk him into calling our son Harry?

 
 
Current Mood: hornycrushing and burning
Current Music: 'Lonely', Akon
 
 
 
NumberNinehappyreaper on May 22nd, 2005 06:20 am (UTC)
That part was just perfect.

=D