the many benefits of scrubs.

As has been mentioned before, I work in a chiropractic office. In January the Dr. decided that it would be shnazzy if all of us wore matching scrubs instead of random scrubs/poorly matched slacks and blouses (I am to blame for the poorly matched slacks and blouses, probably). Since January we have been wearing rather lovely scrubs, black and purple, and though I was a little bit skeptical about going into work wearing something that felt like pyjamas, I have now come to deeply appreciate scrubdom. 

There are many reasons for this:

1) They make me feel clever, like I'm a real nurse and take people's temperatures and jab needles in arms and know what words like antipyretic and athetosis and hemolysis mean. When I am at the grocery store in my scrubs I like to think that people think I'm a real nurse when meanwhile I'm just a poser who manages the office and is on the telephone with insurance companies for a significant chunk of the day.

2) Workweek wardrobe requires absolutely no thought whatsoever. In the mornings I stumble around a dark bedroom and haphazardly grab whatever's on the top of the scrubs pile in the closet. And that is how real fashionistas do it, my friends. 

3) Ultra-comfy. Like I said earlier -- pyjamas. On the downside those babies don't hold up to Michigan winter winds very well. Not much insulation going on there. 

4) Scrub-talk. I am very much allowed to discuss the quality and workmanship of different types of scrubs with other scrub-wearers (aka real nurses) while not sounding like I'm one brick short of a load. The Grey's Anatomy line by Barco, baby. Only way to go. 

5) Scrubs have endless pockets. I discover new pockets every day! They are extremely convenient and I have found multiple uses for all of them. They hold bobby pins and pens and post-it notes and crumpled pieces of paper and granola bar wrappers and pretzels for when I need a little snack but can't leave my desk... or am too lazy to leave my desk. Pretzel pockets!

Scrubby-dub-dubs! Bedtime. 

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A happy nurse who clearly loves her Grey's Anatomy scrubs. How does she keep her hair so nice while assisting in surgery?

how to make someone feel like a doormat.

I was in a pretty good mood when I walked into the office. The answering machine was full of messages and there was a mug of coffee calling my name -- I was ready to roll into the workday with enthusiasm.

Then I heard your message. There was nothing rude about it -- you simply had a question to ask, and requested that we call back. But there was something in your tone -- an inhibited kind of sarcasm -- that made me leave phoning you back until the very last item on my callback list. I had a history of your account up on the screen and files laid out in front of me like a row of defense weapons, ready to respond in case of enemy fire.

I'll bet you didn't think a desk job could be so wild.

I was wary when I dialled your number, and it turns out that my gut instinct was more in tune with reality than I ever thought possible.

Maybe you had a bad morning. Maybe your kids were driving you crazy. Maybe your wife was nagging you. But whatever was going on, the ear of the receptionist at your local chiropractor's office was apparently the most convenient place to let loose your fury of rage.

I get that you didn't like how much the bill was for. No one likes having to pay bills, especially when they're more than we expect. But screaming at the girl who does the invoicing won't change the fact that your family received services and as a result, must pay for those services.

You should know that you've set a personal record for me. I'm a person who avoids conflict like the plague, and as such have never experienced being called so many different things in the span of a ten minute verbal tirade before. Yeah, you kept it PG, but there's still something demeaning about being called idiotic, quacky, insane, and a thief -- and so much more that I really can't even remember.

You didn't really want to talk to me. You didn't really have any questions. You just wanted to throw a tantrum and make sure that I knew that you were severely unhappy. I wanted to hang up on you. Thinking back, I probably should have. No one should have to be forced to listen to what you said to me. And let's be honest, you were far beyond the point of being rude.

You probably didn't know that you had wrecked my day. You probably didn't know that when you finally hung up on me, it took all I had to not collapse into a pathetic mess of frustrated and ashamed tears. You probably didn't know that I spent the rest of the day trying desperately to hold onto the shadows of personal dignity that I still somehow possessed; searching wildly for an ounce of confidence that you hadn't completely stolen from me. You probably didn't know that you had that much power over somebody you'd never met before.

I didn't think anyone did, either.

Being a receptionist requires some seriously thick skin. I didn't know that when I started, but I'm getting there. I'm getting better at letting things bounce right off me, at moving along and forgetting the scalding looks I get. Now that I'm almost a year into the receptionist gig, I have a great deal more respect for those people who sit behind the counter, telling you where to go and what to do.

Next time you step up to a desk behind which sits a receptionist, ask them a question. Give them a smile. They'll appreciate it. There's a pile of charts that have to be filed, a long list of angry people to call, jumbled accounts that need major spring cleaning, and fingers full of paper cuts that need some serious love and care.

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Be nice to your receptionists. They're just doing their jobs. 

so satisfying.

There is something absolutely satisfying about pruning a boxwood.

 Before.

And after!

This little buxus is not one I actually sheared, but I did spend the majority of the morning trimming back shrubs just like it! And it felt so satisfying. So so satisfying. 

This seems weird to you. I get that. But if I put a pair of shears in your hands and set you in front of a row of boxwood, you'd totally get the pruning urge, too. Look out, little shrubs. Suzanne is on the loose. 

And yes, I use latin when I speak of shrubs and trees. I spent a whole semester memorizing 200+ latin names for shrubs and trees. You're darn right I'm going to put that to use, if for no other reason than to sound smart. 

the thud.

Well, it happened.

I received my first employment rejection today. I knew it was coming and was totally expecting it, but there was still some tiny part of me that was thinking, "C'mon, Suzanne. Don't sweat it. You'll totally be hired at the first place you apply."

Alas, twas not the case. No job offer, but at least the committee was "favourably impressed" with my qualifications.

Translation: We think you're probably pretty good at some stuff, like maybe writing on post-it notes and making good use of hand sanitizer, and perhaps answering telephones in a happy voice, but those favourable qualifications just aren't favourable enough. Love, HR.

Oh well. Like I said, the logical practical part of me wasn't surprised. But as Anne Shirley put it: "I can't help flying up on the wings of anticipation. It's as glorious as soaring through a sunset... almost pays for the thud."

So I shall continue to anticipate and hope and pray with the full knowledge that there's a job out there for me somewhere... and until that job arrives I'll rest in Jesus, putting my identity in Him and not in a totally glamorous but as yet non-existant administrative career. And I'll probably also keep cooking tasty dinners for Wayne the Hungry Seminarian Husband and trying to write on this silly blog.