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I was promoted yesterday.  Finally.

I feel like I should be happier about this, but it’s actually a bit of an anti-climax. 

I was given my pay raise last year, tacked onto the echo of the door swinging behind two very lovely but disgruntled-at-the-time-but-now-ex-employees who raged and ranted about how we were being seriously underpaid for the work we do.  I was given the raise with everybody else, and wasn’t aware up until now that my pay rise was significantly higher than some of my colleagues.  It almost felt like I was paid more for doing nothing, but it’s a weird story.

Actually, this was the promotion I was given two years ago but was suddenly taken away when the ZX10R fell on my ankle.  It happened again after my boss shattered her leg in a freak skiing accident.  Argh… it actually happened last week but then the promotion was reneged while they decided whether it was worth filling the position at all… then they had a meeting about whether they could afford to lose me from Medical, as I’m too effective (read = neurotic and a stickler for setting and following through with my own procedure / hilariously bizarre and a welcome laugh for the patients) as 3IC there.  

Don’t get me wrong, it’s the kick up the butt I’ve been needing for the last 6 months or so – I’m adaptable in Medical Reception, but it’s not enough for me.  The inner-feminist in me has conniptions at the thought of calling myself a Receptionist about as much as it does with the thought of ever being an At-Home-Mum-And-That’s-IT.   

I mean, it’s what I signed up for at the time of employment – I wanted something menial and monotonous, but with a bit of heart.  Unfortunately now, my employers’ focus is staying afloat during the GFC  and the heart has lessened to make way for an avalanche of work and chronically ill patients who lack any patience at all.  So the work has been good but I could use some serious time away to work on troubleshooting, Medico-Legal and triage, and I’ve been given the opportunity. 

Come to think of it, this promotion in a practical sense has been very elusive.  I won’t and can’t lay blame on anything except unfortunate circumstance.  Or my frequent and very clear (vocal, written, illustrated, or otherwise) threats at random moments to poop on people’s cars for their ineptitude over minor triggers. Hey, at least I got the money.  Now, who do I speak about for a celebratory hammock of ganache and pallet of whiskey?


In other news, I watched a high school boy pick up a discarded and half-eaten Happy Meal from the ground at my local train station, in 30+ Degree (Celsius) heat, pull out a fistful of chips, and shove them in his mouth.  Who knows how long it was sitting there before he picked them up and, just as importantly, who was eating them before they were left lying about.  What the shit.

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