Baldur’s biscuits! Looking back at this blog, I realize that it has been an age since I posted a Mischief Update. I’ve been busy with other…things, and the human female has been monopolizing the computer. But she’s doing some actual work at the moment, so I will try to summarize.
The human female returned to work after her recuperation to find that some misguided individual had plugged/unplugged/switched/turned off/relocated or otherwise tampered with all of the cords for the two fish tanks, leaving them with no running filter. Now, the lungfish was unperturbed because lungs, but the reef tank suffered a catastrophic drop in water quality. I kept Sigyn away so she wouldn’t see the human female wobbling atop a stool with her foot in a boot, trying to scoop the poor dead fish from the top of the tall tank. Then she had to remove two moribund brittle stars, one of which fell apart as she tried to do so and one of which was still writhing in the discard bucket. Now, this piscicide was not my doing, but I did enjoy watching the human female hobble up and down the hall fetching nets and buckets and trying frantically to reach the aquatics tech on the phone. She walks so funny, especially since her not-chopped foot is bad too.
On her second day back to work (the very day she was cleared to drive), one of her colleagues threw his back out and had to be taken to the healer. I finagled things so that it was the human female who had to take him, and I had a good giggle watching her struggle to push him (at nearly twice her weight) in a wheelchair, get him down the elevator, put him in her tiny car, stow the wheelchair, and then reverse the process to get him into the clinic. Well, the doctor *did* say he wanted her to put some weight on that foot.
She’s still paying for the whole foot thing, too. I had a chat with the hospital and the insurance company, because it’s more fun if the bills trickle in a little at a time instead of all at once. It’s also fun if the folks at the check-in desk for all of her pre- and post-op appointments tell her there is no charge but then she gets billed anyway. I coached the service representative on what to say. “It’s a courtesy not to charge you but to just roll it all into the inexplicably large tab for the surgery, the anesthesiologist, and all the supplies. So you owe it, but we think it’s kinder and less confusing to tell you that you don’t.”
To round out my selection of medical and medical-adjacent mischief, I tinkered with her prescriptions. The Tiny Blue Pills had been on automatic refill with the mail-order pharmacy, but when the human female’s doctor gave up and quit, the prescription lapsed from auto–but no one notified her of that fact. She was mere days away from running out (and trust me–no one wants to see that!) by the time it occurred to her to inquire and put the order in herself. She was told that no, you cannot re-activate auto-refill without a new prescription from the new doctor. Well and good, but how about an interim prescription until the now-ordered medicine arrives? She got one, but the local pharmacy wouldn’t fill it, because the mail-order pharmacy had just filled it. So she asked for just a few days’ worth, which usually isn’t a problem, but I had the local pill-pushers suddenly say they couldn’t do it and refer her back to mail-order for authorization. They in turn sent her back to the locals, saying all they needed was an override code. Still with me? Another trip back to the local pharmacy, and she finally had a few of the precious rounds to swallow. Another, unrelated call to the mail-order pharmacy to check on her headache medicine reveals that this one cannot be put on auto-refill at all because some cretin coded wrong. It thinks 11 pills (all they’ll let her have in a month) is coded in as an 11-day prescription, which is not eligible for auto-ship (only 30- or 90-day ones are.) Funny, she needed one of those as soon as she hung up the phone. It was all good fun, but I think I prefer her better when she’s medicated, so I may not do this again.
Until the next time…
I saw to it that there was some first-class BAMN goodness waiting for her upon her return. The invoice for all of the dead cats she was finally able to purchase from the Purveyor of Squiggly Things (And Sometimes Dead Things) was returned UNPAID! A few phone calls and emails revealed that those defunct kitties were ordered so long ago that the departmental account number had changed in the interim. The human female suggested that the transaction be transferred to the NEW account. Because that would make sense. No can do! The bean-counters had to re-open the old account, put money in it, pay the invoice, and then close it down again. It was fixed. No, it wasn’t–there was another, newer invoice that bounced in the same way. It positively tickles me to think that the human female’s name is probably on the industry equivalent of the “Do Not Accept Checks From This Person” list.
The Affair of the Unpurchased Cats was such a lark that I had to try it again. Not long thereafter, the human female received a cranky email from the Purveyor of Dead Things asking WHY the large shipment of Dead Thing Paella and other assorted specimens (the one that arrived in August and involved the Dead Cat Ballet) had still not been paid for. That resulted in another flurry of emails and calls between the vendor, the bean counters, and the human female. Apparently the invoice (upwards of $14k) had been electronically mislaid. So that’s two Hot Checks lists she’s on… If I can keep this up, there won’t be a purveyor out there who will take an order from her.
Then there were the Special Small Opaque Black Microcentrifuge Tubes she had to order via the Vendor Who’s Responsible’s very, very broken BAMN punch-out. She keyed the order in, put the goodies in the cart. And it was empty. She restarted it. The price was wrong, because it added the Special Extra Teeny Opaque Black Microcentrifuge Tubes instead. She got that straightened out eventually, but what should have been a five-minute purchase ate up considerably more fun than that. I had time to make popcorn and settle in to watch.
While she was still getting places on her little knee scooter, I tweaked the elevator one morning, so she had to carry the thing up two flights of stairs.
The ice machine went on strike the week all the labs needed ice.
The door on oom 324 spent one day refusing to open with anything other than the master key. The next day, I had it refuse to lock. With an exam set up inside.
I pointed out to the copier that the elevator, the ice machine, and the automatic door locks were having all the fun, so it took itself offline. When it was coaxed back online, it decided it didn’t need codes and let everyone have unlimited copies for free. Then it decided its energy-saver shut down period should be about one minute. I don’t know–what do you think should malfunction next? Is it time for microwave sparks?
When one is stressed at work and recovering from an injury, good nutrition is important. The human female purchased a packet of dried apricots to keep in her desk for “healthy” snacking. Imagine her surprise when she opened them to find I had doctored them with some sort of vile chemical (don’t ask me –I don’t know what it was. I just went in the prep room and grabbed something) and they were inedible. That occasioned an indignant return to the market, so now the folks there think she is a trouble maker too.
The Feline, already on prescription food and several daily meds, came down with a bug that required the humans to administer an oral liquid medicine every day for ten days. Would the cat eat it on her food? She would not! (I taught her well.) Catching her, holding her down, and squirting it into the flailing beast provided a healthy dose of drama to each day, especially since said medication makes her FOAM at the mouth like a rabid weasel.
And as a final unfortunate event, the humans’ credit card was hacked. What? No! I know nothing about that. And no, I don’t choose to explain my recent acquisition of three pounds of gummy septopuses and six shiny new knives. I’m hurt you would even think to ask…