...which is why I'm in Spide City this weekend. It was supposed to be my weekend off, my only weekend off in a six-week rota, it was supposed to be the easy week where I claimed all my time-owed-in-lieu and relaxed in my newly guest-free house with Bert and the Banana.
And it could have been a seven day week if I hadn't refused shifts on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.
They're restless too in Spide City. I'm expecting mayhem tonight. Hope I'm wrong. I'm too tired for mayhem.
My dream shift - I go in. The person I relieve has done all the work so I can take it easy. The atmosphere is relaxed and peaceful. All around ladies sit chatting pleasantly, sipping tea, doing needlepoint and making scrapbooks. There is a delicious smell of home baking coming from the kitchen. All the ladies have an early night.
My nightmare shift - I go in. The person I relieve has done nothing, (because she too has had a nightmare shift) so I have to work like a dog. The atmosphere is tense. All around ladies sit glaring at each other and screaming abuse, throwing tea around and threatening to kick each other's heads in. There is a miasma of cheap fag smoke and the reek of rancid trainers coming from the kitchen. All the ladies go out drinking and on their eventual return keep me up all night fighting and smashing delpht* The police bring me two referrals at 2am.
That's them fighting and smashing plates. Not me