Sandwiches

The rooms we use for drawing blood at work, our work stations, are basically standard with all the same equipment we need. Like everything people like to set things up for their own comfort. I can be a little persnickety about my station, to me it is easier if I know right where to put my hands if I need something. I never think of myself of OCD, however, I do like to be organized.

Last week I had called a woman in for her blood draw. While she was getting settled in the chair I was rearranging the direction of the tubes we use. They were tossed their slots in all willy nilly instead of all facing the same direction. She watched without comment. As she is answering the plethora of questions we’re required to ask I’m straightening and tidying things and putting them where I am most comfortable.

She chuckled and I realized what I was doing. I told her the story of my grampa Jewett and how if you borrowed a tool or even a pencil and didn’t put it back he wouldn’t let you use it again and how maybe that’s where the beginning of sense of order started.

Neither of us say anything else about organization during the draw. But after we finished up and she’s on her way out when she turns to me and says “I bet you make a mean sandwich.” We laughed. Yes I do make a mean sandwich, with the filling coming right to the edges.

 

 

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