It's all in Your Head

ii. sickeningly sweet like honey

 In the email that Reagan was sent last night after we both [still somewhat drunkenly] filled out the volunteer forms online, she was told that we had to meet at Nurse Station 3 for "an interview to be conducted, as we only allow the most dedicated and hardworking people on our team." Then, after a fair amount of typing in various things online, I managed to find a floor plan of the hospital and printed it off. Reagan now holds the only tool that will be able to help us find the meeting place on time, and her manicured nails are slowly puncturing the paper.

I grab it out her hands as swiftly as possible, and only end up tearing through the ER ward—but that's downstairs, and I'd assume that Nurses Station 3 would probably be either on the third floor, or at least somewhere above ground—so it doesn't matter.

I rotate the yellow paper around a couple of times and eventually decide which way is the right side up. Then I slowly move my finger over the sheet and try to read the spidery printed writing that is squeezed into every little box room.

Finally, after three minutes of randomly walking around and fixating a stare at the paper, I locate a little box that says either Nurse Station #3, or Mme. Stauon t3. Thankfully, we came a little early, and if we manage to sprint at full speed through the hallways, then we'll probably be on time enough that the person meeting with us won't get pissed.

Reagan, weirdly enough, decided to wear her favourite peep-toe heels, so she pulls them off her feet, makes them disappear into her purse, (or as I know it; The Magic Portal of Vanishing Things), and we rush through the halls, pausing only when we don't remember which way to turn next for our uncustomary destination.

(which, admittedly, is quite a bit)

It's three minutes to 7:30 by the time that we come up to our meeting place, and a small group of other kids our age and a little younger huddle in the corner of the ward that we're in. Reagan takes one of her heels out of her bag, and is in the middle of the act of putting it on when a lady wearing scrubs that are way too big and decorated with turtles comes up to us with a clipboard in her hand.

"Y'all listen up here, m'kay? I'm not in charge of most of you guys, but some idiot," she sends a pointed glare at a guy standing in the corner, "decided that I should inform y'all of your assignments. This is not a daycare, it is a hospital, and if you don't listen well enough to hear your jobs after the first time, y'all can go home and cry to your mummies. Anyway, I'm here to decide if you can work here or not." She flips a page over on her clipboard.

"Any drug or alcohol addicts present?"

We all kind of just stare at her blankly and none of raise our hands, though I inwardly giggle at the fact that I signed up for this while tipsy-drunk.

"Does anyone have an incarceration record?"

Again, no one raises their hands. I sideways glance at Reagan. She was "arrested" for skinny-dipping in the ravine last year, but got out with a two-hundred dollar bail paid for by yours truly and some batting of our mascara-laden eyes.

"Do all of you have parental permission to be here."

Pfft, I think. I doubt anyone here does. I mean, my parents probably don't even know that I'm out of the house. But this time, absolutely everyone nods yes. I know I do.

"Anyone preggers?" She glances around, then flips the page back over, "Alright then. These are your assignments; Anderson, Alkie, and Carnt, y'all are working in the maternity ward. Roberts is your supervisor—so good luck. Cheung, Dempsey, and Farsy—it's over to the Pediatric Psychiatry for you three. Cal-"

I stop listening, because I've figured out that it's last names in alphabetical order, which means that I'll definitely be at the very end. Reagan sends me a despairing glance, because she's been gifted with the surname of Cheung, and she hates kids. I almost laugh at her misery, but I know that being assigned to the Pediatrics ward, or Kids Galore—crazy division, must be a twisted form of torture to her. This is considered the best hospital other than Edmonton Main, and is virtually the only one that has any form of Psychiatry section. Guess she must have a curse on her.