I had to go to the doctor for a full medical the other day.
I haven’t been to a doctor in a really long time, and since I've finished university, I wasn’t allowed to go back to the ones I had seen in the past at Student Health.
So I turned to my trusty friend Google: “doctors Wellington City”.
I picked the first one that came up on the list—it was walking distance from work—and gave them a ring. They couldn’t get me in for another week, and they quoted me $90 which seemed a little steep, but since I’m inherently lazy I took the appointment.
I showed up on the day and had a preliminary appointment with the nurse. She asked me questions like “Do you have tuberculosis?”—the answer was no—and “Can you pee in this cup?”—an offer I politely declined.
The doctor made me wait another ten minutes, but finally showed me into his office, sat me down, and asked me the same questions the nurse had just asked me. This seemed silly because he had the form she had filled out in his hand.
Then he pointed the small curtained section of the room and told me, quite affably, to duck behind the curtain and take my clothes off.
I paused and eyeballed him.
“What, all of them?”
“No, no. You can leave your underwear on.”
Anyone who has ever seen my underwear will know that there’s actually not that much difference. But he was the doctor, so I did as he said.
Once I was uncomfortably under-clothed he proceeded to check my eyes, ears, throat, glands and joint mobility. I genuinely couldn’t work out why I had taken all my clothes off.
I was standing virtually naked in the middle of the room, flapping my arms to show him that my shoulders worked just fine, when he dropped the final blow of indignity.
“Well, you’re not obese.”
He indicated he was done with me and, mildly outraged, I put my clothes back on. He handed me a form saying I was totally healthy (I could have told him that) and I went to the counter to settle my bill.
I genuinely didn't think it could get any worse until I was charged $250.
$250?? I was livid that I had been underquoted by so much, but apparently "that's the normal price for a medical."
I think the worst part of the whole experience, as I told my hysterical-with-laughter friends later is that, for the first (and only) time in my life, I had to pay a man to take my own clothes off.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Student Fees, Hannah Speaking
I work in the Fees department of the university in my city. It’s not a job I had ever anticipated after spending three years getting a bachelor of arts, as it’s full of numbers and rules, but it’s a job and it pays the rent.
There was some doubt about my qualification for this role. I called my dad to tell him about it:
"Dad, I got a job!"
"Oh good news! What are you doing?"
"I'm going to be a Student Fee Advisor!"
"...Were you the only one who applied?”
Thanks, Dad.
Anyway, some of the job involves basic accounts management, but most of it involves idiot-herding. Seriously, I thought university students had to be smart, but I am continuously astonished by the total lack of common sense among the student population here.
We get some truly baffling questions:
“Are these fees compulsory?”
(On receipt of an email warning their fees are three months late) “What’s the last date I can pay these?”
“Will you hand my essay in?”
“How do I pay rent?”
“Can I pay you for my parking ticket?”
"Oh did I have to apply for my student loan?"
We also get some of the most hilarious, badly written emails I've ever seen. I genuinely didn't think anyone actually wrote the word "youse" until I started here. I've seen whole page-long emails totall devoid of punctuation. They spell my name wrong. They spell their names wrong. One student had some trouble withdrawing from his course because he emailed "enrolement-enquirys@xxx.xxx" to tell them he wanted to drop out.
I think there should be a basic life-skills test before you can go to university. If you can't send a simple email or pay your own parking ticket you should be sent back to high school.
It worked for Adam Sandler.
There was some doubt about my qualification for this role. I called my dad to tell him about it:
"Dad, I got a job!"
"Oh good news! What are you doing?"
"I'm going to be a Student Fee Advisor!"
"...Were you the only one who applied?”
Thanks, Dad.
Anyway, some of the job involves basic accounts management, but most of it involves idiot-herding. Seriously, I thought university students had to be smart, but I am continuously astonished by the total lack of common sense among the student population here.
We get some truly baffling questions:
“Are these fees compulsory?”
(On receipt of an email warning their fees are three months late) “What’s the last date I can pay these?”
“Will you hand my essay in?”
“How do I pay rent?”
“Can I pay you for my parking ticket?”
"Oh did I have to apply for my student loan?"
We also get some of the most hilarious, badly written emails I've ever seen. I genuinely didn't think anyone actually wrote the word "youse" until I started here. I've seen whole page-long emails totall devoid of punctuation. They spell my name wrong. They spell their names wrong. One student had some trouble withdrawing from his course because he emailed "enrolement-enquirys@xxx.xxx" to tell them he wanted to drop out.
I think there should be a basic life-skills test before you can go to university. If you can't send a simple email or pay your own parking ticket you should be sent back to high school.
It worked for Adam Sandler.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Good Morning KiwiRail
I'm a temp. I started out when I lived in London and found that I really quite liked the lifestyle. It gives me a lot of freedom to go on holiday, or take days off when the weather was good, and I got do try things I otherwise wouldn't have tried, and go places I wouldn't have bothered to go. I haven't done it in a while, because the russian roulette of rent paying was a little stressful, but when I lost my job recently I signed up again, just until I could find a real job.
I'd half forgotten about it when I had a phone call, as all temping-related phone calls are, on Monday morning after a weekend of hiking, camping, very little sleep and several Sunday night drinks.
Me: Uhhh?
Recruitment Agent: *overly cheerful for 8am* Hi Hannah it's Rochelle here from Madison!! I was just wondering if you were interested in temping for us today!
Me: Uh-huh.
Recruitment Agent: Great!! It's at Kiwirail, their receptionist is off sick and they need someone in there as soon as possible!! Would you like me to email you the details, or will I just tell you?!
Me: Uhh...both...?
Recruitment Agent: Excellent!!! The office is...
(At this point I may have gone back to sleep a bit - she was going to email me the details so I didn't really need to listen...)
Me: Uh-huh... M'on my way...
Recruitment Agent: Great!! Good luck and just let me know if you have any questions!!
(I did have a question, but since it was "how the hell do you use exclaimation marks in conversation??" I decided to keep quiet.)
I impressed myself by making it from bed to desk, including getting lost, in 74 minutes and was set up with the phone system, a pile of mail to open and all the stationery my little heart could desire.
One of the great things about temping is the variety, but no matter where your assignment is, there will always be some elements of every temp job which are exactly the same.
There are some great elements: people are always really grateful that you made it in on such short notice; no one ever bothers to teach you the complicated tasks because it's easier to leave them for the full timer; and you have the 'get out of responsibility free' card "I'm so sorry, I don't know - I'm just a temp!"
There are negative elements too, of course: it's virtually impossible to learn thirty new names five days a week; people look at you strangely when you can't fulfil basic tasks like finding a stamp; and the look of disappointment on people's faces when you aren't who they expect to be sitting at the reception desk is quite a crushing blow to the self-esteem.
On balance though, it's a pretty sweet deal, and it's assignments like my current one that make me enjoy temping - all the other staff are really friendly, there's a coffee machine in the kitchen and some people have even learnt my name!
Now if only I could avoid the 8am phone calls this would be the perfect job.
I'd half forgotten about it when I had a phone call, as all temping-related phone calls are, on Monday morning after a weekend of hiking, camping, very little sleep and several Sunday night drinks.
Me: Uhhh?
Recruitment Agent: *overly cheerful for 8am* Hi Hannah it's Rochelle here from Madison!! I was just wondering if you were interested in temping for us today!
Me: Uh-huh.
Recruitment Agent: Great!! It's at Kiwirail, their receptionist is off sick and they need someone in there as soon as possible!! Would you like me to email you the details, or will I just tell you?!
Me: Uhh...both...?
Recruitment Agent: Excellent!!! The office is...
(At this point I may have gone back to sleep a bit - she was going to email me the details so I didn't really need to listen...)
Me: Uh-huh... M'on my way...
Recruitment Agent: Great!! Good luck and just let me know if you have any questions!!
(I did have a question, but since it was "how the hell do you use exclaimation marks in conversation??" I decided to keep quiet.)
I impressed myself by making it from bed to desk, including getting lost, in 74 minutes and was set up with the phone system, a pile of mail to open and all the stationery my little heart could desire.
One of the great things about temping is the variety, but no matter where your assignment is, there will always be some elements of every temp job which are exactly the same.
There are some great elements: people are always really grateful that you made it in on such short notice; no one ever bothers to teach you the complicated tasks because it's easier to leave them for the full timer; and you have the 'get out of responsibility free' card "I'm so sorry, I don't know - I'm just a temp!"
There are negative elements too, of course: it's virtually impossible to learn thirty new names five days a week; people look at you strangely when you can't fulfil basic tasks like finding a stamp; and the look of disappointment on people's faces when you aren't who they expect to be sitting at the reception desk is quite a crushing blow to the self-esteem.
On balance though, it's a pretty sweet deal, and it's assignments like my current one that make me enjoy temping - all the other staff are really friendly, there's a coffee machine in the kitchen and some people have even learnt my name!
Now if only I could avoid the 8am phone calls this would be the perfect job.
Friday, February 4, 2011
he benefis of unemplomen1
I lost my job the other day.
I've never lost a job before, so it was kind of a new experience, and I hated that job so I wasn't really upset about it, but my boss is a wanker so I was mad on principle.
He *graciously* offered to let me work until the end of the day, so I watched TV online until the accountant handed over my final cheque (yes, they paid me by cheque) then packed up my things, stole a few plastic dogs (the office theme is dogs) and went to have an afternoon beer with a friend.
My colleagues (who also hate their jobs) and I brainstormed a couple of ways I could take revenge, but since most of them involved setting fire to the office or legal proceedings, I decided to just move on with my life and I spent the next few days hiking, sleeping in, going to the beach, and enjoying the sunshine.
However, anyone who has to pay rent knows that this sort of lifestyle is not sustainable and after a week of loving life, I decided it was time to start job hunting.
I started with seek.co.nz and entered my location and my ideal job, only to be told that there aren't any in New Zealand.
I then went to the Victoria University Graduate Career Hub where I was told that my account had been deactivated.
I tried the newspaper too, but since I have no interest in being an adult masseuse I had no luck there either.
I also tried TradeMe, GumTree, LinkdIn and recruitment agencies and I swear I sent out my CV eight billion times.
One week later all I'd had was a rather smarmy rejection letter:
"Thank you for allowing me to consider your credentials for this role. (Since we are superior we will begin by patronising you.)
Our client specified a number of requirements they sought in an ideal candidate and while your background featured many of these, on this occasion several applicants were closer to the client’s specific brief than yourself. (Why did you even bother applying?)
However, we will be glad to keep your resume on our confidential database, and to contact you if suitable opportunities arise. (Sometimes we need someone to wash the dishes after a big smarmy office party. We might call you. If you're lucky.)
Of course it doesn't help that someone spilt mojito on my keyboard the other day so writing cover letters has become an exercise in not using Ts, Ys, or capital letters. And avoiding the backspace. I'm honestly not surprised that I haven't had positive responses to letters that read:
o whom i ma
i am wriing o appl for he posiion of online communicaions edior, because i believe ha i could be a valuable addiion o our eam. firsl, m ediing and proofreading skills are impeccable, as evidenced b m promoion from chief sub edior at salien magazine o news edior for 2011 (a par-ime afer-hours posiion). secondl, alhough i do no have a healh background, i have used famil planning's services for several ears so consider myself relaivel familiar wih hem, and m role a herex as a canine healh wrier strenghened my research and quick comprehension skills. thirdl, m enjomen of working as a eam wih people from a varie of backgrounds and m abili o work o deadlines and under pressure, as experienced as an edior for both prin and broadcas media means ha i am a posiive member of an eam.
i ver much look forward o hearing from ou.
So, here I am, after three years of university, without a functioning laptop, unemployed and looking quite seriously at the flyer my housemate gave me yesterday advertising jobs available for dancers at Dream Girls.
I've never lost a job before, so it was kind of a new experience, and I hated that job so I wasn't really upset about it, but my boss is a wanker so I was mad on principle.
He *graciously* offered to let me work until the end of the day, so I watched TV online until the accountant handed over my final cheque (yes, they paid me by cheque) then packed up my things, stole a few plastic dogs (the office theme is dogs) and went to have an afternoon beer with a friend.
My colleagues (who also hate their jobs) and I brainstormed a couple of ways I could take revenge, but since most of them involved setting fire to the office or legal proceedings, I decided to just move on with my life and I spent the next few days hiking, sleeping in, going to the beach, and enjoying the sunshine.
However, anyone who has to pay rent knows that this sort of lifestyle is not sustainable and after a week of loving life, I decided it was time to start job hunting.
I started with seek.co.nz and entered my location and my ideal job, only to be told that there aren't any in New Zealand.
I then went to the Victoria University Graduate Career Hub where I was told that my account had been deactivated.
I tried the newspaper too, but since I have no interest in being an adult masseuse I had no luck there either.
I also tried TradeMe, GumTree, LinkdIn and recruitment agencies and I swear I sent out my CV eight billion times.
One week later all I'd had was a rather smarmy rejection letter:
"Thank you for allowing me to consider your credentials for this role. (Since we are superior we will begin by patronising you.)
Our client specified a number of requirements they sought in an ideal candidate and while your background featured many of these, on this occasion several applicants were closer to the client’s specific brief than yourself. (Why did you even bother applying?)
However, we will be glad to keep your resume on our confidential database, and to contact you if suitable opportunities arise. (Sometimes we need someone to wash the dishes after a big smarmy office party. We might call you. If you're lucky.)
Of course it doesn't help that someone spilt mojito on my keyboard the other day so writing cover letters has become an exercise in not using Ts, Ys, or capital letters. And avoiding the backspace. I'm honestly not surprised that I haven't had positive responses to letters that read:
o whom i ma
i am wriing o appl for he posiion of online communicaions edior, because i believe ha i could be a valuable addiion o our eam. firsl, m ediing and proofreading skills are impeccable, as evidenced b m promoion from chief sub edior at salien magazine o news edior for 2011 (a par-ime afer-hours posiion). secondl, alhough i do no have a healh background, i have used famil planning's services for several ears so consider myself relaivel familiar wih hem, and m role a herex as a canine healh wrier strenghened my research and quick comprehension skills. thirdl, m enjomen of working as a eam wih people from a varie of backgrounds and m abili o work o deadlines and under pressure, as experienced as an edior for both prin and broadcas media means ha i am a posiive member of an eam.
i ver much look forward o hearing from ou.
So, here I am, after three years of university, without a functioning laptop, unemployed and looking quite seriously at the flyer my housemate gave me yesterday advertising jobs available for dancers at Dream Girls.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
My Housemate Is A Grinch
I love Christmas. Like, really love Christmas.
Unfortunately not everyone in my life feels this way about the best holiday of the year. My housemate, for example, is passively negative about Christmas and refuses to get excited about any of my preparations.
We don't have a lot of room in our house, so our Christmas tree is a huge green tablecloth cut into a tree shape, stuck to the wall, and decorated with paper baubles. Not only did it take him two days to notice the, frankly massive, tree, his comment was "I hope that sellotape isn't going to pull paint off."
I asked if he wanted to do a house Christmas dinner before I left to visit my parents. His response? "Depends. What are you cooking?"
I made Christmas pudding truffles too, and he just didn't understand.
"Did you just put an entire pudding into the blender?"
"Yep - I'm making truffles!"
"Why don't you just eat the pudding?"
"Because I'm going to add chocolate, then roll them into little balls and ice them so they look like little tiny Christmas puddings!!"
"What's the point?"
"They are going to be so cute and Christmassy and festive!" (note the eternal optimism)
"....." *housemate walks away*
Other comments made in the Christmas spirit include:
"Why is there tinsel in the kitchen?"
"Oh God, are you listening to Christmas songs?"
"Carols by Candlelight? You are joking, aren't you?"
And my favourite...
"When are you leaving?"
Unfortunately not everyone in my life feels this way about the best holiday of the year. My housemate, for example, is passively negative about Christmas and refuses to get excited about any of my preparations.
We don't have a lot of room in our house, so our Christmas tree is a huge green tablecloth cut into a tree shape, stuck to the wall, and decorated with paper baubles. Not only did it take him two days to notice the, frankly massive, tree, his comment was "I hope that sellotape isn't going to pull paint off."
I asked if he wanted to do a house Christmas dinner before I left to visit my parents. His response? "Depends. What are you cooking?"
I made Christmas pudding truffles too, and he just didn't understand.
"Did you just put an entire pudding into the blender?"
"Yep - I'm making truffles!"
"Why don't you just eat the pudding?"
"Because I'm going to add chocolate, then roll them into little balls and ice them so they look like little tiny Christmas puddings!!"
"What's the point?"
"They are going to be so cute and Christmassy and festive!" (note the eternal optimism)
"....." *housemate walks away*
Other comments made in the Christmas spirit include:
"Why is there tinsel in the kitchen?"
"Oh God, are you listening to Christmas songs?"
"Carols by Candlelight? You are joking, aren't you?"
And my favourite...
"When are you leaving?"
Sunday, December 12, 2010
No, Really, I Saw A Werewolf.
I definitely saw a werewolf yesterday.
I was walking to meet my brother for breakfast and he was walking up the street towards me. At first I thought it was a dark, hairy man, but as he got closer I realised it was a werewolf. He was quite tall and well dressed, and had excellent posture. I didn't want to be rude and stare, so I just acted like it was totally normal to walk past a werewolf on the streets of Wellington.
I texted my brother to tell him about it and his response was " I'm not coming to breakfast if you're stoned."
I was actually beginning to wonder if I had imagined it; then, when I was walking home a few hours later, I SAW HIM AGAIN!
He was walking down my street, with his sharp suit jacket still buttoned up neatly, despite the heat. This time, however, he stopped me, pulled a leaf from a nearby tree, and gave it to me.
I was quite pleased about this little gift, and rushed home to tell my housemates about my run-in with the gentleman werewolf and when they didn't believe me I showed them the leaf to prove it.
I sometimes think they regret asking me to move in.
I was walking to meet my brother for breakfast and he was walking up the street towards me. At first I thought it was a dark, hairy man, but as he got closer I realised it was a werewolf. He was quite tall and well dressed, and had excellent posture. I didn't want to be rude and stare, so I just acted like it was totally normal to walk past a werewolf on the streets of Wellington.
I texted my brother to tell him about it and his response was " I'm not coming to breakfast if you're stoned."
I was actually beginning to wonder if I had imagined it; then, when I was walking home a few hours later, I SAW HIM AGAIN!
He was walking down my street, with his sharp suit jacket still buttoned up neatly, despite the heat. This time, however, he stopped me, pulled a leaf from a nearby tree, and gave it to me.
I was quite pleased about this little gift, and rushed home to tell my housemates about my run-in with the gentleman werewolf and when they didn't believe me I showed them the leaf to prove it.
I sometimes think they regret asking me to move in.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Things That Make Me Irrationally Nervous
Being The Only Passenger On A Bus
Partly related to a book I read as a kid in which a school bus is hijacked by a man who pretends to be the driver and drops most of the kids off then kidnaps the last few, and partly because I feel awful that the driver is driving all that way just for me; I almost feel like if I wasn't there he could just bunk off and go home. Either way, it makes me uncomfortable.
Cockroaches
I don't know what it is about these disgusting little creatures, but they are the only harmless thing that can leave me huddled on the kitchen table paralysed with fear. And yes, that actually happened.
Really Girly Girls
I'll never be a real girl, and I've mostly come to terms with the fact that I always look like I've been dragged through a bush backward and have the maternal instincts of a cardboard box. But there is something disconcerting about girls who have perfect hair, flawless makeup and outfits that don't look like they were put together by the Salvation Army. How do they do it? How do they find time to drink beer and play Nintendo when they must spend so long just looking like that??
I had a friend in high school whose make up bag weighed more than my dog. Actually. And it scared me.
Being In Bars Alone
Nothing to do with personal safety, this is related to the fact that being alone in a bar is a sign of a 'woman of ill-repute' (my mom's words) and, were I to step foot in a bar alone, I might slowly sink into a pit of drinking alone, drugs, poor hygiene and inevitably death.
Disneyland
I went once and it was amazing. Best day of my life! It was just perfect and a part of me wants to go back, but another part of me realises that no matter how hard I try to recapture that perfect day there is no way it can live up to my expectations and I will be crushed by the weight of my own disappointment and the knowledge that the best of my life is over and nothing will ever be good again. It's a crippling fear.
Partly related to a book I read as a kid in which a school bus is hijacked by a man who pretends to be the driver and drops most of the kids off then kidnaps the last few, and partly because I feel awful that the driver is driving all that way just for me; I almost feel like if I wasn't there he could just bunk off and go home. Either way, it makes me uncomfortable.
Cockroaches
I don't know what it is about these disgusting little creatures, but they are the only harmless thing that can leave me huddled on the kitchen table paralysed with fear. And yes, that actually happened.
Really Girly Girls
I'll never be a real girl, and I've mostly come to terms with the fact that I always look like I've been dragged through a bush backward and have the maternal instincts of a cardboard box. But there is something disconcerting about girls who have perfect hair, flawless makeup and outfits that don't look like they were put together by the Salvation Army. How do they do it? How do they find time to drink beer and play Nintendo when they must spend so long just looking like that??
I had a friend in high school whose make up bag weighed more than my dog. Actually. And it scared me.
Being In Bars Alone
Nothing to do with personal safety, this is related to the fact that being alone in a bar is a sign of a 'woman of ill-repute' (my mom's words) and, were I to step foot in a bar alone, I might slowly sink into a pit of drinking alone, drugs, poor hygiene and inevitably death.
Disneyland
I went once and it was amazing. Best day of my life! It was just perfect and a part of me wants to go back, but another part of me realises that no matter how hard I try to recapture that perfect day there is no way it can live up to my expectations and I will be crushed by the weight of my own disappointment and the knowledge that the best of my life is over and nothing will ever be good again. It's a crippling fear.
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