That was the first sms I wrote today. To my boss.
She had insisted that I seek the consultation of a renowned specialist. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that she’s genuinely concern. Note that I have been operating zombie-like for the last 3 weeks. Pale. Distracted. 1/5 of the workday bent over some porcelain entrapment. Delayed date lines. Mistakes! I have transformed from Ms. Pro-active Perfectionist to Ms. Puzzled Puke-y. Who could blame the boss?
I mean in a performance driven environment, my productivity, effectiveness and performance has literally gone down the drain each time I press the flush button in our swanky 5-star hotel-styled toilets. Yes. That was actually a pre-requisite for me before selling my soul to the Bank. I was after all coming from an iPod-cool-styled toilet. Yup. Cappuccino machines and the insurance plan was secondary in my decision making process, but let’s not encourage any further digressions from me!
You know. The thing is, my tolerance and adaptability is very high. Just get me mentally prepared. That’s all. I need information to operate.
If it was going to be swamped by Hakka speaking hawkers, be it.
If I was going to have to wait in a long dim and badly ventilated hallway with not so great smelling toilets along it, be it.
If I was expected to park on a hill 2 blocks away, be it.
If a 10am appointment translates to a 12:40pm consultation, be it.
And if my fellow consultation roommates were at least 3 decades my senior, be it.
Just tell me!
It would have saved me the stares and murmurings. Look. I would have used some sensibility and not look like Paris Hilton stumbling into some soup kitchen (not that I look anything like Paris, but can’t qualify the hospital much).
More importantly, I would have fought my mother’s persistence of coming along.
Though her real intend I suspect was to go to Ikea. Her passion and loyalty for Ikea equals my hatred and distaste for the Lego-like furniture and morbid-children-scared-for-life looking toys. Her excuse? Buddha needs a ‘home’.
Firstly, we are all about to burn in hell for not having a religion. Although I argue we will just float around.
Secondly, Buddha traveled business class from Chiang Mai. Buddha was acquainted to Jack Daniels on the fight. No. No. He didn’t consume it. Not that a statue could take any form of liquid, but they I suspect would have shared the same overhead compartment.
And finally, Val brought Buddha shopping!
So, really, is there a REAL need for Buddha to have a ‘home’. Is he sacred after the shopping. After the luxurious ride? After the company he kept? I wonder…
Anyway, back to the original intend.
It was ONLY today that I appreciated that my drama-queen-melodramatic trait is in the genes. OK. Maybe not. Environment. Upbringing, then.
Here’s excerpts from mom’s comments on the survey feedback form:
Parking 2 km away
Fell SEVERAL times from parking to hospital
(don’t recall her even tripping or kicking on a pebble)
Experiencing dizzy spells and faints from bad ventilation – even the MRI machine has ventilation!
(the latter is definitely true)
Not enough chairs in the waiting room
Hospital cost cutting efforts will cause negligence – on your lights!
(err… yeah, if you stretch the argument)
In-patient should be treated when the Out-patient clinics are shut
(triad mom, triad)
So, I asked her quizzically, “What happened to the ‘If you have nothing nice to say, shut up!‘, mantra?”
Her reply: “Don’t be silly. They ARE appreciative of this. They have a suggestion box.”
I rest my case.
I am hardly at fault.
I am in as much a victim.
I am just the (rotten) apple from the tree!
… and oh, I ain’t going back.
No doubt the doctor was really good.
But I am (to a large extent) aesthetically obsessed (read about toilet above) … so, I’d rather have a mediocre doctor in a good ambiance… unless there’s a compelling reason.