What are you all up to right now? Just tipping out of the pub into the staleness of a not-quite-summer night? Curled up in your comfiest pyjamas promising yourself one more chapter before you put the light out and let your stinging eyes have some respite? Well I just got to work, and I’m surprisingly happy about it.
I love night shift – the permissible sleeping for most of the day, the quietness of precious few calls, the batshit craziness of the customers, all suiting me perfectly. I think I’ll try to stay on this as long as possible before I get to start as a driver.
Speaking of which, I finally had the dreaded medical today. It wasn’t really dreaded, so much as I had a paranoid fear that they’d make me do the chicken dance in my underwear. I didn’t say I was rational, did I?
Thankfully the worst I was subjected to was a terminally bored male nurse who seemed intent on making me hop around the room like I was demented. Suffice to say I won that particular battle of wills, but only because he had died of apathy.
If ever there’s a situation requiring comedy, it’s the legally fraught situation of providing a urine sample. My much more pleasant female nurse and I struck up an instant rapport, and the jokes were flowing much easier than anything else (despite half a litre of water ingested, come on!). I suggested we form a comedy duo and take on the Fringe next year. She agreed it was particularly good timing when I pointed out that French and Saunders have oh so recently divorced.
All is well, even the disorienting and downright weird audiometry testing. I’ll be hearing high-pitched beeps that aren’t actually there for the next week or so. On which note, here is this week’s PSA:
Watch your bloody hearing. My ipod over tube rattle is a desperately unsafe level, and much more of it will cause significant decline over the next five years. So much so that at my refresher medical of that particular milestone, I would most likely fail by falling out of the acceptable range. Terrifying, quite frankly. I love my music, but I love my hearing more. From now on I’ll be listening to my music when I can actually hear it at a reasonable level, rather than making my skull vibrate to hear it over that really bloody loud bit between Cally Road and Kings X St P.
I’ve passed almost everything, only my already suspect blood pressure let me down. I’ll see my GP this week to sort that out, which should get me cleared in the next couple of weeks, though it may mean long-term medication. Since pretty much everyone in my family has suffered from hypertension at some point, it’s unlikely mine will standardise just by frequent swimming and rien de salt on my chips. Not that I’m allowing myself to eat chips ever again, but you catch my point. I’d like to not drop dead, and I’d really like to double my current salary. So, needs must I suppose.