So, its been two months since my last post. Like I said, not good at this blogging thing yet. But since then, I've gotten a job!
A job! A job! O yes a job has he!
Does it pay what my old job did? No, it pays half.
Does it have perks? No.
Does it have a sweet commute? No the commute sucks hairy retarded monkey ass.
Am I happier with it than I ever was with my old job? Yes, and I'll tell you why.
My job title is Research Assistant. The study I'm working on aims to find out how to better treat people who are suicidal in an emergency room. (Or, as the docs perfer to call it, Emergency Department, it has more than one room.) So my job is to scan the charts as they come in to determine if any of the patients may be suicidal. Sometimes easy, the chart says "Suicidal". Sometimes hard, the chart says "extremity laceration", and then buried deep within, "patient slashed wrists with rusty box cutter and is now squeezing his wounds" - might want to have put that up front.
If I find out that you are suicidal, I'm going to try to find out if you're homeless, really drunk, or in jail. If you are none of those things, I'm gonna come talk to you and try to get you to enroll in my study.
Note please that I did not list crazy, slightly drunk, slightly high, a total prick, or stupid as reasons for which I will not talk to you. As a result, some of these conversations are quite interesting. My favorite so far is the guy who very loudly answered all of my questions...except i wasn't talking to him. I was talking to the guy in the next bed over. Schizophrenics are fun.
I imagine that this will be ripe for blog posts in future. (Being careful to avoid specifics, of course, in order to try and dodge HIPPAA procecution). Check back soon for more "Tales from Suicide Row".
ps. There actually is a row of beds called suicide row in the hospital, when all of them have suicidal patients in them, its called a straight flush.
