You get to the garage and the door won't open, despite the green light glowing when you depress the green button. Green does not mean go in Germany. It means, "Stand in front of your garage door until you can't feel your fingers and with the fake happy light glowing the damn door will still not open." You try to remain calm, and reposition yourself several times. To no avail. Then "*Expletive* I have to go to work!" God is not listening.
You set down your hippie-van messenger bag, Kaiser Permanente gym bag, checked-out library CD and your two coffee containers, one a thermos, and the other a mug. It's only four cups total, but it looks like you are coffee-insaneo person. You are not. You are normal. You think. Perhaps all the coffee and items were creating garage door receptor interference.
The swearing and removal of previously said items did not solve the door problem. So you start to take apart your garage door opener at 7:30 in the morning. It is -7 out. Celsius. Finally with manual stimulation and jiggling of parts, the button works and the door rises. You decide it is not safe to reassemble the opener, in case it decides to further antagonise you. Taking apart a garage door opener two times before the start of the day is too much. Even for a saint like you.
On your way to work, you realise your water bottle is missing from the car. It is at the gym. You must have forgotten it. You stop by to pick it up on the way to work, and it is actually there. Do you mention that when you pulled up to post they decide to search the entire vehicle in front of you? This means, everyone out, like it's on fire. Open the doors. Walk around. Make sure it's not a bomb.
Ok whatever. You finally get to work, with a car and a water bottle and two coffees.
Do you mention that you are working at a different clinic? For a surge? Where there are about 4,000 patients to be screened?
You attempt to log into your AHLTA charting system, and it tells you the password is incorrect. You check your email where you have emailed yourself the password, even though you are not supposed to do that. You try again. The damn box reappears and you are not allowed into AHLTA. You know if you try again, your ID card will be locked and you will have to DRIVE to the ID place and give your fingerprints to reset it. This is not a lie. You have done this before and it is not your idea of fun. You patiently wait thirty minutes to re-try the password. (The time in which your three-try-rule-then-it's-locked resets.) It still does not work.
You have to call IT support. You really didn't want to. It entails creating an ESD ticket, and giving your name and whatnot. But you have to. Fortunately there are still no patients. That is the highlight in this lousy start to the day. After only about five minutes on the phone, you have a new password and access to AHLTA. You find out that they changed things again on Friday in relation to the surge which you came here to help with. You wonder if they are going to send over 150 people at once. But you decide not to think about it. It is Monday after all and you were never a morning person or a Monday person. No sense in expanding the depression with unhappy thoughts.
It's almost time for lunch. The day is looking up. Perhaps the sun is even shining. You never know.