Rise of the machine
Walking along the seafront early one morning, I was confronted by an airborne bread roll travelling at head height on an undulating kamikaze flight path. I let out a feeble squawk of fear and confusion. This seemed to startle the roll as it veered off course, revealing the source of its supernaturally-gifted powers of flight - a remarkably strong Starling that had managed to pick it up in its beak and was now flying blind.
I am working in Pathology until the end of November. My health is not good and I am in more pain than I have been for a while. I get tired very quickly. It’s become hard for me to have any kind of life outside of the hospital. At least when I am there I work alongside people who I get on with. When things get hard - when the problems stack up, or our numbers are low, we all rally round and make each other laugh.
A team of efficiency experts put us under the magnifying glass for two days. I wasn’t there the second day and so missed them counting the number of footsteps that we take between the reception and the office. It’s probably for the best; I couldn’t let something so absurd pass without making a flippant comment that would have probably landed me in trouble.
It wasn’t until a week later that it occurred to me how inefficient it was to send such a large party of people to assess our working practices. I think basing future hospital policy on the footnotes of two days of observation, with no direct experience, or true understanding of how a department functions is a flawed methodology. I don’t think these people really appreciated the chaos they caused. They seemed to be constantly underfoot.
It didn’t take long for the first austerity measures to fall into place. A few days later every grimy photocopier, fax machine and printer in the department was unplugged and unceremoniously piled-up in the office. They were replaced by a brand new three-in-one device that is now located in one of the most inaccessible recesses of the room.
The migratory footstep-counters may be interested to learn that, since this upheaval, everyone has to walk much further to fax, photocopy or retrieve printed documents. People who would have previously used separate machines, depending on their wants and needs must now queue-up to use the all-in-one device, which is far more advanced than we need it to be; it does too much. A baffling array of sub-menus undermines its user-friendliness. We need equipment that is robust, easy to use and easy to repair. A case in point: On Friday evening the printer jammed, effectively taking the photocopier out of commission, as it dispenses paper from the same tray. After I had failed to clear the blockage to the satisfaction of the software, I had to call a clinic who had requested faxed blood results and read the report out down the phone.
On Monday I went up to the restaurant and had lunch with Lorraine - one of my former colleagues in Radiotherapy. We’re both terrible gossips; it was good to catch up with all that’s been going on. The woman who beat me to the permanent version of my old job - the candidate that looked so good on paper - lasted 10 weeks and was not well liked. One of the volunteers has applied to replace her. If Vicky and Nicolai have any sense, this time around they’ll put less emphasis on checking boxes and go with the person that knows the job.
It’s more or less dark when I leave work. At the moment I enjoy the novelty of it - the romance of passing faces, framed in the fogged windows of brightly illuminated buses. I will probably like it less when it gets colder and I have to walk to the hospital in the dark.
A couple of Fridays ago, on Southend High Street, the red white and blue bunting, that zigzags back and forth between the rows of lampposts, cast monstrous triangular shadows down onto the flat cobbles.