I was knee deep in inventory when the second shift boss told me about some errors on the count sheet for the tonsil and adenoid set. Without breaking stride I pulled out my Sharpie and jotted down a note on the back of my left hand so as not to forget. About an hour later, the auditors arrived.
I did instrument inventory for the first time back in November but this one must've been the real one because I saw no auditors last Fall. The lady auditor would take my inventory sheet, call off item numbers and I would count as she observed. The goal for me was to have the random audited count be the same as the number I placed during the inventory count. She called out “4.5mm cannulated screws” and I replied “7” extending my left hand to show her.
It's funny how you pick up on things. I could tell she wasn't looking at the screws. I could tell she was looking at the note I wrote on the back of my hand: “T&A”. I must admit, it did look like a prison tattoo. Ah, but these are the moments. Ten years ago or maybe even five, I would have made a disclaimer along the lines of:
"Oh, y'know that's a note I wrote on myself so I wouldn't forget to change the count sheet on the tonsil and adenoid set. Seems someone misspelled “tongue blade” and also “adenoid curette”. Those people upstairs already think we're idiots down here and so I'm always careful to avoid proving it."
Instead, drawing on my fine command of the English language, I said nothing.
The fact is that I simply didn't care what the lady auditor thought of my note or my self. I'm at a loss, however, in that I don't know if it's a case of maturity or apathy. I'm beginning to wonder just how mutually exclusive those two are.
At least the lady auditor knows I can count. The check-out girl at Kroger probably thinks I'm a psycho.
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