Are You Listening?

Indeed I am.  Or at least if I'm not listening, I'm trying to pay rapt attention throughout a half-hour Medical Records meeting that's into its second hour.  The first hour had been taken up with the usual fluff followed by a sit.rep from the Andrex Puppy and her sidekick who had paid a visit to a sister hospital down south.  Their mission was to bring back good ideas of how we could streamline our filing system and the genius at work in her head had seen 'Alphabetised Filing' as the way forward. Now being a bird of positive proportions, I could see how this might appeal to the unwary thus: small hospital with small throughput of patients and no-one in the county of Sussex with an unusual name. Translate this to the multilingual conurbation that is Leicester 2016, and I could see how we would need 50 extra staff to get us past names beginning with Al- in the first month of the project.  Alibone was giving it the full beans in the face of management stupidity and at this point I stopped listening.

Shame on me.  When the second hour of the meeting screeched to a temporary halt because The Fruit Bat had to leave, she nominated me to do the minutes, suggesting I was a faster, better [smarter?] typist than her and could she have them in the morning for editing.  I opened my beak, didn't I?
"How can you edit Minutes for a meeting you've only half attended?"
"Oh don't be naughty Raven.  You just do your best and we'll make up the rest."  Not patronising at all then?
"Sorry?"  I meant 'pardon' but it sailed straight over her Primani hairpiece. "Nine tomorrow will be okay.  Fire it off on an email will you?"  Oh god, someone's taught her jargon.
"But I don't start until noon."  She really wasn't listening.
"Nine will be fine.  I've got to apprise Matron of our progress stat."  Alibone kicked me under the table.
"Better do them stat Raven!" Stat!? Who are you ... Colonel Jack O'Neill of SG1?
"Right.  I'm on it!"  I thrust out my chest with enthusiasm.  Except I was still listening to interminable drivel from around the table 60 tortured minutes later, as we had to be briefed on the building's musical office policy which will be played out over the next month.  See if you can understand this because I'm damned if I can without a flow chart.  Trust me, it rivals Game of Thrones.

The first push happened this week when two bedrooms were converted into an overspill area for Medical Records, locally known as Room 101.  Alibone was thrilled and chirped out without thinking.
"Seventeen years and I finally get a window seat!!"
Let's curb our enthusiasm shall we?  Next week pre-assessment are moving downstairs one floor.  The secretaries already occupying this space are moving upstairs to a room opposite the Kingdom of Princess Valkyrie.  The finance manager has been bumped sideways to her old domain, sending the Spin Doctor downstairs to share with Marketing now they've lost their 'Manager with Cardigan' bloke who only lasted two weeks before bailing out.  Two different offices occupied by 'very elderly medical secretaries of the old school' will be needed for some nefarious purpose so the old biddies will be ejected into the Goldfish Bowl, where I started off and was certainly happier than I am now.  Especially as I am confined to The Smallest Desk in the World and at some point, someone will be made to pay for putting Raven in the corner.

Back in the Bunker I was given special dispensation to abandon file preparation in order to type up the Minutes.  It was only when I hit a snag over whether we'd agreed to go alphabetised or were sticking to the quarter of a million notes we have currently in numeric-only order that I needed help from the office upstairs.  Good Job McGee, one of the engineers, was behind me when I dialled Room 101 on what I believed to be the correct extension.  Nothing happened so I asked for tech assist.
"I'm ringing Room 101 but there's no answer.  Any ideas?"
"There's no-one there."  Another comedian, that's all we need.
"Four of my colleagues are perspiring over tomorrow's clinics.  Guess again."  I had to wait for the lightbulb moment but it came on eventually.
"We took the phones out."
"Why?"  I suspected for sheer devilment but had to give the bloke a chance.
"The management told us to.  We thought it was a bit stupid to be honest because no-one can ring them, they can't ring anyone and at some point there'll be a problem."  I'll say.
"So ... I want a set of notes that I know they've got.  How do I contact them other than email?"
"You could get up and talk to them."  True, I could.
"The new room is to ensure we concentrate on the the task at hand, not go wandering off like Dr Who's assistants."
"You'll have to ring them then, won't you?"  Wahh!

I remember the series of programmes where Sir Gerry Robinson tried his hand at turning the NHS into a profit-making organisation.  To his credit, he gave it the full 110% before admitting defeat.  And yet I'm sure there's a whole barge of wannabe management types out there who would love to sink their teeth into such a challenge.  At my minuscule level, it's far too big for me to understand how it all works especially when I spotted an email from my favourite Gastroenterologist.
"Erm ... my new ward assistant has complained because you sent her a letter using 'Ms' in the title."  I replied thoughtfully at first.
"Only the first time because I didn't know any better.  Now I know, I will stick to her first name if that's okay?"
"Yes thanks."  Then with too much time on my hands I fired off a further small reply.
"When I started here, all the ward clerks were called Jo.  To avoid confusion, I was called Jo too even though I'm Raven.  So imagine my horror recently when one of the nurses asked me when I was leaving and said 'I'll miss you Jo'."  The Gastroenterologist thought I was being sarcastic and didn't believe a word of my story.  Why should he when one of the Orthopaedic Surgeons is convinced I write porn in my spare time ... now there's a rumour worth listening to.

Tip of the Beak:  The Scriptwriting Tutors suggested we listen more to what people really say, insisting that writing great dialogue is very hard and should be as authentic as possible.  This morning, over a lukewarm cappuccino, I cosied up to a table of writers having a bit of a chat at the Phoenix.  They were all male save one lady of an uncertain age, all had iPads and note pads, and there was one bloke at the top of the table giving it his all.  I'd already guessed they were Science Fiction writers and edged a little closer to hear him utter these immortal words.
"Oh absolutely ...  there can be great moments of action in periods of complete silence on screen."  Yep.  Sci-Fi has it and that noise you can hear is Stanley Kubric quietly rotating!

Raven