1. Patient
I look at my hair in the mirror. It’s perfectly even in length – at least Suzette, my hairdresser, believes so. How could she possibly know? She used her eyes without any measurement instrument. It irritates me when she does that, but I still smile and tell her how good it looks. She doesn’t know I’m lying. Or at the very least, she shows no acknowledgement of my lies. I don’t have to see her often enough for these episodes of me watching her assume my hair is evenly cut for it to bother me for more than a few days. Besides, I have nothing against her personally. It would be rude to bring it up after so long.
I try not to criticize myself, especially now. Tension is high and I cannot make a mistake. I have to plan and profile before I can let myself slip. I put the entire contents of my bag onto my kitchen counter. Everything has to be there. And everything must have a reason for being there. Laptop, charging cord, phone cord, plug adapter, phone, earphones, sunglasses, reading glasses, notepad, pens, pencils, journal, diary, wallet, keys, rain jacket, umbrella, pain pills, water and lunch. I check it all twice and set it back. Looking at the clock, I see that it’s almost time to leave. 5:43.
I mentally speed up the trip I will be taking, out the door and out the apartment building. Down the stairs and past the security gate. Turn left at the end of the driveway then wait at the bus stop. The bus is scheduled to be here at 6:15 and, even though my watch indicates that the time is 5:56, I refuse to be late. This refusal leads to my self-insistence to be early. I wait and occupy the time by looking at the trees on either side of the road. They flow and swirl so naturally without the hesitancy of indecisiveness. They endure and adapt or die and get replaced. The bus is finally here, 6:23. I signal my intention to board it by putting my bus card above my head using my left arm. It stops for me and I tap the card.
“Morning,” he says the way he always does and I reply in kind. I take my seat while the bus moves on its route. Second row, second seat on the right when one is facing towards the back of the bus. I take my phone and earphones out from the bag beside me and play the instrumental version of Seven Nation Army by White Stripes on repeat. I see white women running in their gear along the streets, panting for their breath. Black women are conversing while they wait for their buses and taxis to take them to work. People get on, and people get off. It’s now my turn to leave the bus. I walk next to the driver as my stop comes closer then tap my card when we’re almost there. The screen shows that I have used 9.5 points on this trip. The same as usual. I walk across the street to the entrance of my work. I swipe my ID card and go to my office.
I can’t possibly describe my job without citing everything I have done since I got here. Although, I do like to refer to it as cleaning up other people’s shit. I put my bags on my chair and start cleaning the office. It has been cleaned, but not to my standards. This is to no fault of the women who clean the offices as they would take months to clean everything in the building the way I clean. The walls, surfaces and crannies should have no trace when I am done. And they don’t. I set everything up to begin my day of ‘productivity’. The company provides medical supplies for hospitals, nursing homes and the occasional company that is required to have medical staff on standby. This is where I profile. Every time a medical treatment is given or performed, the medical staff have to file reports on the patients. I don’t know their names, I simply know them as their assigned patient number.
I proof-check that no inventory has gone missing and that all previous orders correlate with the inventory reported to have been used then investigate if necessary. But the people here use me. As if I run on no sleep, they bug me to help them with their jobs. Last month I researched side-effects of medication used with a range of herbal supplements. I doubt that I did the research for any reason other than recreational use on themselves. Last week I catalogued the inventory of stationery supplies in the office. Someone is obviously stealing, but not enough to make more than a minute profit – or savings from personal stationery supplies. Yesterday, I was called to be part of the staff for a minor surgery on a girl at a hospital of the sister company of ours. I am not a nurse in the slightest but I was only there to write a report on the substances used and their respective quantities. This happens often, they are short staffed.
I visit each of the four hospitals for a physical inventory check once a month. This is when I plan, observe and profile. This is how I operate.
