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MALLORY
A dog barking interrupts the most incredible dream I have ever had. Unfortunately, as soon as I open my eyes, that dream fades away into the abyss of my forgotten mind. Wait, what time is it? I am supposed to start work at six this morning and for some reason, I have the feeling that it is much later than that.
Why hasn’t my alarm gone off yet? The nightstand is bare, so I palm the bed looking for my phone—my lifeline to the outside world—that also works as my alarm clock. I come up empty-handed. Oh no, my mind is spinning. Something tells me it is long past the time that I need to be at work, but I still don’t know what that number might be.
Good thing I went overtime on the bath last night because I already know there will be no time for a shower this morning.
Exiting my bedroom, I can already hear the alarm going off. It takes my panicked mind a minute to find my phone on the kitchen counter, right where I left it. The time reads ten past seven, meaning that my alarm has been going off every ten minutes for the last two hours and ten minutes. I was supposed to be at work over an hour ago. I am in full-on panic mode now, but at the same time, frozen and unable to move.
How did this happen? What can I do to fix it? My first thought is to call the hospital. I dial the number and hit send the moment my bladder decides to wake up and knock on my urethra door. Yep, this is happening. I am calling into work after I am already supposed to be there while relieving myself. There is no coming back from this.
Someone answers. After I tell her who I am and who I need to speak with, she places me on hold.
“Mallory, are you okay?” I hear Heather, the HR rep, ask from the other end of the line.
“Oh, my gosh. Yes. I am so sorry that you had to get involved. Look, I had a minor issue here at home and it is under control now. I apologize for not calling before my shift, but this was the first chance I got.” The lie makes me cringe.
Heather interrupts my rant. “Mallory, it is all going to be okay. So, you couldn’t make it in for a shift. It’s not the end of the world. That is why we have back-ups.”
I’m sorry, what? Wait! Does she mean to tell me it is okay to just not show up and not call in for a shift? Because she has no idea what it is like for the other nurses working that shift. The ones that have to cover for the missing member. She says, ‘that’s why we have back-up’ like they actually have physical back-up. Is that what the other nurses are told? The ones that call in often and never have to work with the short staff and overcrowded rooms.
“Actually, I am not calling in. I will be there. I’m just going to be late.”
“Okay,” Heather starts, “So, when should we expect you? I can send your stand-in to another department once you arrive.”
“I should be there within the hour. Please keep them on deck. I will let the floor know once I arrive. Again, I am so sorry for the inconvenience. This was something that could not be avoided.” The lies keep piling up and make me sick to my stomach.
Heather takes a deep breath, one that I believe she means to sound endearing but somehow does not have that effect on me. “You got it. Hope to see you here soon,” she says. Why would she say that? She won’t see me, she never sees me, as she stays on her floor in her cushioned office that is fully staffed all the time.
I realized several things during that brief conversation, but the main thing is: Heather is a liar! No one is taking my place while I am out. All we have are over-worked and underpaid nurses. Both of which the hospital is in short supply.
Moving at a rate that causes me to pant for breath, I throw on some already pressed scrubs—not even looking to see which ones they are when I pull them from the closet—tie my hair into a messy bun, and brush my teeth. There is no time to do anything else.
Before stepping out of my apartment, I grab my purse and look around, doing a dummy check. The place is quiet and appears the same as it did before I went to bed. I can’t tell if my sister has been here and have no time to check. It’s weird having an unwanted house guest that I hardly see.
As I pound down the concrete stairs, two at a time, I summon an Uber so it might be waiting for me at the front gate. Walking to work will only add an additional twenty minutes to my already inexcusable tardiness.
The sun is blinding when I step out of the covered stairway. My phone screen dims in the light, and I can’t see when my driver will arrive. It shouldn’t be long, it never is. I’ll get to the front and check under the office awning if they aren’t waiting for me yet.
“Mal, wait a second!” No. I will not wait a second. I have no seconds to give, not to anyone, and especially to Paul. “Come on, Mal. It’s been a couple of days now. You can’t keep avoiding me.”
He’s getting closer, making it harder for me to act like I can’t hear him. “Not now, Paul. I’m late for work.” I wave behind me, trying to brush him off. He must get the point because I don’t hear him anymore. And what the hell did he mean by me avoiding him? News flash, buddy, I am always avoiding you.
There is a white Prius waiting at the entrance, one I do not recognize. Stopping under the awning for a second, I glance at my phone to check on my driver. Laramie has arrived and is driving...yep, a white Prius.
“Mallory?” she asks when I throw myself into her back seat.
“That’s me!”
“You going to the hospital?”
“Yes, just drop me at the emergency entrance.” That’s what I’m working today, the ER. Great. Tuesdays in the ER aren’t usually too bad. However, it is summer. We always have a slew of unsupervised kids coming in during the week. You know, boys that think they are daredevils while their parents are at work.
I signed up for rotating shifts and assignments so I would never get bored with the job. I would have probably blown my brains out already if I had nothing to do but watch babies being born or old people die. Switching up the monotony of my day-to-day has gotten me this far, but I don’t know how much longer I will last.
“Would you like a bottle of water?” Laramie asks.
“Oh, please, yes.”
It’s only a four-minute drive. No one ever offers me water. I didn’t get a chance to consume anything before I booked it out of my apartment, and I am parched. She pulls a full-size water bottle out of a cooler in the front seat—not just one of those mini bottles—and hands it to me. It is empty by the time she stops to let me out.
“I’ll take that,” she says, holding her hand out for my trash.
“Thank you so much.”
She turns to me as I open the door to get out. “Don’t forget to leave a review.”
“I won’t. You are absolute perfection.” Chances are I will forget to leave that review.
Rushing inside, I bypass everyone and head for the locker room. With my purse secured, I make it to the nurse’s station in seconds. The place is earsplitting loud, but I tried not to pay much attention when I came in. Getting clocked in and to work was my only concern. The place is a madhouse!
“What’s going on? Where am I needed first?” My eyes stay on the over-loaded waiting room while I wait for a reply.
“Glad you finally decided to join us today.” Great, Nurse Timmons is supervising. She is a real hardass. We usually get along just fine because I am a model employee, but being late has obviously landed me on her bad side. “Pile-up on 45 happened about two hours ago. Most of the victims were sent here. There are more arriving as we speak.”
Timmons rolls her eyes after catching me up, grabs a tablet, then tells me where to go, all without looking in my direction. I should have just taken Heather’s advice and stayed home. This is going to be a nightmare.
***
Dead on my feet isn’t even a saying that can describe how I feel right now. I need something like Zombie with no feet. That sounds stupid, but I can’t think and to my drained mind, it sounds stupid enough to be funny. For some unknown reason, I start laughing hysterically, unable to control myself. The fact that I am laughing at nothing makes me laugh even harder. I have tears coming out of my eyes when Berkley enters the locker room.
“Wait, back up. What did I miss?” She eyes the room around me and notices that I am alone. “Umm, Mal, are you okay?” After making sure the door is completely shut, and scanning the room to see if we are alone, she takes a seat on the bench beside me. “It happened, didn’t it? It finally happened and I get to witness it. You finally cracked! Thank you for making me a part of this special day.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I sit up straight and lightly punch my friend on the shoulder. “Shut up! I was just laughing at some internal thought.”
“Oh, yeah? Wanna share?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” I say with a shrug and swipe a hand under my wet eyes.
“Hmm, you know what that means, right?”
My outburst has subsided, so I turn to Berkley and ask. “Uh, no. What does it mean?”
“Girl, it means you cracked! You lost a few marbles out on that floor today.” Now she is the one laughing. “Sorry, I do not mean to rain on your delirious parade. I saw what was going on in the ER today. I’m surprised everyone made it out alive. Staff and patients.”
I take a deep breath, thinking about her words. We were a well-oiled machine today, despite my tardiness. Every accident victim made it. Dr. Pratt was working—of course, I now see that he is here every time I am—and he is a genuine hero. I don’t want to bring him up in front of Berkley right now. He was here, but we never exchanged a single word. We were all too busy for any form of chit-chat or pleasantries.
“Today was wild. Guess what? I get to do it all again tomorrow.”
Berkley shakes her head and purses her lips. “You have got to go talk to scheduling. You have been here for over two years now. They can take some of the more hectic floors off your rotation. If you keep going like this, we might have an emergency breakout because you decide to go postal one day.”
“Nope.” I rapidly shake my head back and forth. “Not going to happen because I don’t own a gun.” I smile and wait for a response.
Her body slides down the bench, moving away from me as her mouth opens wide. “Wow, you really have lost it!” Laughter escapes both of us now.
“Well,” she moves closer again and squeezes my knee, then stands. “I need some happy hour margaritas in my life, pronto. Are you going to change and join me or what?” How this chick can drink as much as she does and still live a healthy lifestyle is beyond me.
“Alright, but you are not going to like what I have in my locker to change into.”
Berkley gives me that look, the one that says she could not care less even though I know it is a lie. “Girl, I’m going just like this!”
“In your scrubs? You are going out in public in your germ-infested scrubs?” No freaking way!
“Yep, so hurry your ass up before happy hour ends.”
Happy hour never ends with Berkley, but I rush and change all the same.
Two hours and four margaritas later, I stumble up the stairs and somehow make it to my front door. Trying to pull keys from my purse only causes me to drop it, and the contents go flying all over the concrete. In my inebriated state, I fail to see that someone is sitting by my door. A lightweight doesn’t even begin to describe me.
“Here, let me get that for you,” Paul says as he stands from where he was crouched by my door.
“Paul, what are you doing here?”
He pauses; a tampon and my wallet sit in his palm. He shoves them into my cheap Nine West bag from Marshalls before saying anything. “I was waiting for you. It’s not usually this late when you get home. We need to talk.”
There is absolutely nothing he and I need to talk about. “Paul, I have consumed way too much salt tonight. I can’t even fake being sweet with you. Go home and give up already.”
Leaving the rest of my belongings outside, I pull my purse from his grip and enter my apartment. Oh, the AC is blasting, and it feels amazing! Before passing out, I check to make sure my alarm is set and place it on the charger. Drunk or not, I will not make the same mistake I made today. Wednesdays are always the hardest to get through. It is the last day before I can start my three days off and they always try to break me on Wednesdays.