Today, America didn’t expect that England arrive so early and even head straight to his house by taking a cab. He told the older nation that he will pick him up tomorrow but it seems England couldn’t wait much longer. He’s determined to help in preparing Christmas meal too– Might as well prepare medicine just in case.
This happened a fair few years ago but just remembered it so will share. I was working for a directory enquiry company (one of the 118 varients) in the uk. Average call count was around 6-800 calls per day and I was about half way through the day just trying to get through till home time.
I will be me (suprise suprise) and my caller will be Cockney geeza. ‘CG’ Before I start, think Danny Dyer cockney levels of cockneyness here. Im from the north of England so while expecting dick van dyke to be toddling along I should still be able to understand this man.
Me: Hello 118… which name please CG : alwite fella haws it going? Me: very well thank you sir how can I help today? CG: ive just moved hause mate and wana find a gud chippy can you help sonshine? Me: i will certainly try sir which area is it? CG: clapham mate.
So i check our system for fish and chip shops in the clapham area. Usually for this type of call I would just read it the first few names and addresses so i start.
Me: ok sir so we have fish and go on the high street, best plaice on the avenue, fry delight on london road etc etc ( just made those names up its been years since the call I cant remember the exact names but you get the idea) CG: What are them guv? Me: (slighlty confused) fish and chip shops sir. CG: why are you telling me that for? Me: you asked for some local chippys sir. CG: chippy? Naw mate not bloody chippy a GP ya know general practitioners, I need a doctor.
Thankfully at this point he was laughing as much as I did. I found him his doctor and he was on his way. Ended up getting a crap mark on my call monitoring for not repeating back phonetically but hey ho was worth it.
May have lost its humour in commiting to text but certainly kept me amused.
Tl:Dr im an idiot who cant recognise when a cockney asks for a number to a doctors over a fish and chip shop.
Notes: This one spiralled out of control and might not be exactly ‘boss/intern’. Also, I am not familiar with medical internships so please forgive me for any mistakes. Warnings: This is set in a hospital and does contain some descriptions of surgery, only a very small amount and nothing graphic but I’m putting it down as warning just in case.
Opting into a medical profession certainly weeded out the faint-hearted from those who would
actually go on to succeed. Arthur wasn’t faint-hearted; he’d observed enough
surgeries and dissected enough limbs to be assured he wasn’t going to swoon at
the sight of blood – unlike some of his fellow interns.
no tolerance for the nonsensical students who were so often found collapsed on
the theatre floor. How they were permitted to continue with the internship was
beyond Arthur. No patient would feel safe in the hands of a surgeon who went
woozy once an incision was made. They were never discouraged, however, in fact
the surgeons and nurses often reassured them that it was perfectly normal and
simply a matter of toughening up, growing accustomed, and they’d eventually
grow out of it.
thought it was poppycock. Surgery would occasionally cause him some discomfort,
though fascinating it wasn’t exactly pleasant to watch, but not once had he
felt faint and that surely meant he was better suited to a surgical career than
the other interns. That, and he was top of his class.
It was the
final scrapes of a gruellingly long shift and Arthur’s head was clouded with
lethargy, as well as the rest of the yawning interns. He was functioning on the
fumes of biscuits crumbs and dishwater cups of tea.
Books don’t have to be written for you in order for them to be valuable.
I feel like there’s an almost voyeuristic amount of emphasis on the accessibility of the creativity of marginalised creators. Our experiences have to be relateable. Our experiences have to be laid open. Our experiences have to be yours to own.
And that’s simply not my experience with the literature of white England and white America. No one expects Jane Austen to explain to me what a baronet is, or why it was so important to Sir Elliot that Anne marry Walter Elliot. No one expects me Charles Dickens to explain what the child labour laws in Victorian England were. No one expected Tennessee Williams to lay out in excruciating detail, what the customs of the American South are.
Because they simply assumed that most of their audience shared their common base of knowledge, and to be honest, I’m fine with that. I can look up what the inheritance laws of Regency England were. I can look up social reform in Victorian England. I can read history books about midcentury America.
Why, then, are marginalised authors expected to perform selfhood in front of an audience of Other? Why are we obligated to objectify ourselves into consumable goods for people outside our communities? Our experiences are only valuable when we lay out our hurts for others to prod at? Our cultures only valuable when pinned to a cork board and dissected? Why aren’t we allowed to just assume that people know what we’re talking about? Why aren’t we allowed, in other words, to behave like our stories are inherently valuable and relateable? Why do we have to teach? Who do we have an obligation to teach?
Who is the presumptive audience and why do we presume?
One day France learned morse code so he could continue to insult and annoy England even if the latter refused to talk to him. What he didn’t expect was England to actually answer him and now they sometimes have entire conversations by knocking on the table during world meetings. Germany is not amused…
Merlin Emrys, a footballer from lower-league Plymouth, does not expect to be thrown into the limelight at Manchester United, the biggest club in the world. He doesn’t expect to meet Gawain Rooney. He doesn’t expect to play for England. He doesn’t expect to meet a pop star. He doesn’t expect to fall in love. Merlin Emrys is in for a few surprises…
The thing is, everyone knows. All of Arthur’s friends and Merlin’s friends know. His parents know. His friends’ parents know. Merlin’s mother knows. The whole wide fucking world knows. Everyone, that is, except for Merlin…