Momentary relief

Like diarrhoea, work comes in spurts. Right now, I’m in the momentary relief stage though I’m still smarting a little from all the grating from the previous spurt session. On second thought, I’m discontinuing this analogy because it implies that I’m an anus. Which I am not. No, really. Oh, shut up.

The average day at office sucks. Stuff like this doesn’t help.

Intern: (After unloading a stack of colour seps on my desk) “So-and-so needs you to copy write for these.”
Me: Write copy?
Intern: Yes. Copy write.
Me: For these?
Intern: Yes
Me: Where’s the brief?
Intern: No need brief mah. Just check this and this can already.
Me: So you mean copy vet?
Intern: Yah. Copy write.
Me: By making sure these two are the same?
Intern: Yes.
Me: So you mean copy vet?
Intern: Yes. Copy write.
Me: *Weeps*

So after drying my tears, I dutifully proofread every single page. They’re all fine except for one tiny error in the terms and conditions. Back comes the intern and I inform him of the change. He accepts it with a great big grin. I wonder what he’s so happy about. No one here should be happy, is my take on things. He leaves. Great, I think. One thing down, a mere gazillion to go.

Five minutes later, the intern is once again grinning behind me. Turns out they won’t make the change after all cos there’s no budget for it. What was that? No budget to add two letters in? What a royal waste of time this has been then. Fifteen minutes spent proofing when I could’ve been doing something more productive. Fifteen minutes which would’ve allowed me to get home at 10.45pm instead of 11. The assholes.

This happened quite a few days ago, by the way. I don’t know why I’m writing about it only now. Must be the Sunday night blues. Alright. Back to work.

I got crocked

As my football injuries go, this is easily the worst of the lot. A dislocated shoulder of all things. This’ll make a nice bedtime story for the grandkids.

I got clattered from the side while jumping which enabled me to do a half somersault and land gracefully on the right side of my body, tilted slightly forward to boot. Naturally, my right humerus gleefully popped out of its socket and lazed languidly behind its rightful place meaning I had a nice protrusion in my shoulder. I remember Bryan coming over and asking if I was ok to which I replied by pointing to my lump to which he replied by saying oh to which I said fuck.

And so it was off to find a doctor. Now, I don’t usually go to Chinese physicians, but in this case, everyone recommended that I do so. Yikun accompanied me while the rest couldn’t be arsed to even stop playing. The assholes. After wandering half-naked around Ang Mo Kio (I was playing with the shirt off and found that I couldn’t put it back on again with a bad shoulder) for awhile, we finally managed to find a Ma Kuang outlet. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this place, it’s a Chinese medical hall trying to be Western. We walked in and saw two doctors, both of which ascertained that I had a dislocation but wouldn’t do anything about it till I had an X-ray which I would have to get at the A&E. THEN, I could come back and have my shoulder popped back. Good grief. A Chinese medical place demanding an X-ray?! There I am, arm dangling loosely by my side and they ask me to get zapped?

We wandered somemore.

And came upon this small Chinese clinic. The doctor took a look at my shoulder and immediately started pushing and pulling. Now that’s efficiency for you. No nonsense medical attention. He twisted my arm round and round and pressed and kneaded my shoulder to coax the bone over the ridges and back into place. If you’ve ever pulled a wing off a chicken, you’ll have a rough idea of what I went through except that he was putting it back. Marvellous. It took about five minutes and I’d never been more comforted by the sight of my own shoulder.

I must admit that I still went to the A&E the following day, just to check if he’d gotten it right. He had and I got a week’s MC as well. The shoulder’s still swollen though and I’m supposed to wear an arm sling, all of which make me look like a fiddler crab. How sexy.

So it’s back to more Winning Eleven. Yes, if I rest my elbow carefully on a cushion, I can just about manage to use a controller. Thank goodness for that or I’d be blogging even more.