“Get your head down and try and sleep.”
“Have you ever murdered anyone?”
“Then you’ll not be able to appreciate how difficult it is to ‘Get your head down’.
He left the room and shut the door nodding as he walked along the corridor.
He wondered if he should be chilled at this revelation but decided against it. He knew where he was and who he worked with so nothing should have come as a surprise. This in turn then posed the question; ‘Should I be able to work with this type of person and do I enjoy doing so?’
He thought for a few minutes as he walked along.
I can work with them, so I must be contributing something. Maybe this is as simple as the old adage that ‘Someone has got to do it!’
The word ‘Enjoyment’ floated around his head for no particular reason other than it was something to think about.
The revelation was stern.
I hate working so I wouldn’t enjoy doing anything. So what does it matter who I work with?
Some sort of relief came with this thought. He sniffed the air as he chapped and opened the next door. Blood was running from the girl’s arms.
She looked up slowly but didn’t say anything.
He walked over to the medicine box that sat beside her sink. He opened it and placed some bandages down beside her, took out the mobile and rang for an ambulance. He called down to his colleague and advised them that he was leaving the room. He knew that if he stayed and she had an audience the cuts would be twice as deep and at a different angle.
“I’ll see you when you get back.”
He left but the smell of her blood lingered.
He stopped for a second to let a young woman into her room. This had been the sixth time this night. He knew that it wasn’t politically correct to say what had caused the young woman to do this.
In my opinion, they may be under the influence of something or another.
He smiled. This ‘opinion’ was correct. He made a mental note to check on her later.
Tolerance goes down but need never falters!
He never looked forward to his next port of call. Again his sense of smell was invaded. Cheap cider, urine and that God Dam awful beef smell hit him as he opened the door. The old boy was lying on his back. Fresh urine mingled with old stains. He wasn’t there to clean anyone but his attempts to wake the old man were in vain. The excruciating snoring reassured him that the old boy was alive for now at least. He turned him on his side and called down to his colleague again.
“In my opinion, room fourteen is under the influence of something or another and he has wet himself. I can’t wake him but he is snoring. Could you mark it down for day-shift?”
“What do you think that he has taken?”
“I haven’t a clue but the smell of cheap cider is overpowering. Also, I tripped over three empty three litre bottles but your guess is as good as mine!”
He knew that day-shift would moan. They would have expected him to clean the old boy up but he couldn’t wake him. He had genuinely tried this time so he didn’t feel guilty.
He was coming to the last of his rounds and knew what he was going into. He chapped the door and was told to go in. He opened the door and there she was, naked, crying and wanting a hug. He kept his distance.
“Do you know what he said to me?”
“He said…I was fat! Ugly! And useless in bed!!”
He leaned forward always keeping the door slightly open and covered her up.
He was pleased to see that she moved on to her side as she slipped into drunken sleep.
“Stereotypes,” he whispered.
“We can’t stereotype! But we sure as hell work with them.”