Please Don't Talk to Me

I get paid to train people how to use really expensive software. Right now I work for a really big healthcare system (if you live in PA you can probably figure out who real quick). While I try hard to use web-based training (mostly because there are thousands of them and only one of me), there comes a time when I have no choice but to stand in front of a group of people and tell them how it is for a few hours. For the past few weeks, I have had to do the rounds and visit 14 different hospitals.

I hate hospitals. I hate the smell. I hate how they're all a maze. I hate the things that happen in them. I just plain hate everything about hospitals. When I started having to go out to the hospitals, I learned to hate a whole new thing. Apparently, I look like I have a clue. I don't know why, because I don't, but people must look at me and think to themselves, "I'll ask her! She looks like she would know!" Every time I'm out and about, I am bombarded by random people asking me random questions. Where is the Dr. So-and-So's office? Which way to the cafeteria? Do you know how much parking is? What floor is the GI lab on? How do we get to the Erie mall? (Long story, that one, but I really did get asked that one time--while standing in Oakland, PA, approximately 120 miles from Erie.)

To combat this issue--an issue because the answer is nearly always "I dunno"--I have stopped wearing my name badge, started walking really fast, and I make sure that I keep my head down at all times. For the most part, it has worked. I actually made it through about 20 hospital trips without being stopped. It was a beautiful thing.

My streak of not being bothered came to an end the other day. To make matters worse, the whole thing went down less than ten feet from an Information booth. I know it was an Information booth because there was a HUGE sign over top of it saying so. You can imagine that I was a bit annoyed when someone tapped me on the should and said, "Can I ask you a question?" OK, I was a lot bit annoyed. After all, THE LADY TOUCHED ME. Dude, I hate when strangers touch me. Blech. Anyway, the lady started talking while I was busy staring at the Information booth trying to figure out how the heck I was going to be polite when I said, "Hey look, moron! An Information booth! I bet THEY answer questions! Buh-Bye."

But then I realized that the lady was asking me a whole set of questions that the Information booth can't handle. Like, "How have you been doing?" Hold. the. show. Apparently, I was supposed to know this person. I spent a solid five minutes doing my best to fake like I had the slightest clue who the person speaking to me was before she gave me a hint I could use. She asked if I was still working for a certain bank. Then the light bulb came on. The woman was a bank teller at that bank when I did their systems conversion training. FIVE YEARS AGO. I couldn't tell you any more than that about her, because HELLO I don't remember anybody that was in one of my classes for three hours FIVE YEARS AGO.

I'm buying this t-shirt in every color. It'll look great under suits, I'm sure.

And now for your picture of the day. For the record, this is not a permissible activity. I just can't seem to make it stop.