"Why aren't you answering your Interlinx phone?" he asked.
"Because the Interlinx is in the unit, and I'm at home."
"Why aren't you here?" he asked.
"Because I wasn't scheduled to work," I replied.
I'm not sure whether to be worried that they didn't notice I wasn't there, or worried because I'm apparently expected to be psychic and show up when I'm not scheduled and the unit is short.
Because, you know, in the way of all things corporate, the rules suddenly changed to match somebody's level of irritation. Whereas before we were staffed by the critical care unit, now neurocritical care is apparently expected to have their own staffing and do their own thing. This is news to both me and my opposite number on nights.
At least something good came out of it. When I mentioned that working at Sunnydale was a lot like being written by Pratchett, she replied that it sucked that we didn't even have a Crowley to help us out.
"You know," she said, "like, the unit's on fire, but he's here holding it together with gritted teeth, through sheer force of will."
"Excuse me, Sir," I responded, "your unit seems to be on fire."
It's nice to work with somebody as nerdy as I am.