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We didn’t have a clock-in system. The hospital had a new tech program that scanned our badges as we walked in the door, so they knew when we arrived and left.

Marla had no way of checking to make sure that I was on time anymore because that was something upper management dealt with.

i.e. not her.

“Get to work,” she snapped. “You’re the only one on shift today.”

I blinked, then looked around, feeling my heart drop out of my chest.

Fuck.

Today was going to suck.

And it did.

By the time two o’clock rolled around, I was exhausted and starving.

I’d also run around doing every-fucking-thing for every-fucking-one.

And, of course, I ran into Marla on the way to the ER with a goddamn coffee in her hand.

I wanted a coffee.

I wanted a drink of any kind, really. But a coffee would be the best option if I had a choice.

“Hey, Marla. I need a lunch break soon,” I said.

Marla rolled her eyes, as if she couldn’t be bothered with me or my required-by-law lunch break. “I’ll see what I can do about that. But it’s not like I can really tell patients to stop needing X-rays while you take a lunch break.”

This bitch…

“No, I guess you can’t,” I said as the elevator doors opened. “But correct me if I’m wrong, but you are an X-ray tech yourself, right?”

The way I said it so sweetly caused her eyes to narrow.

But this was it. I’d had enough.

Her lack of caring for anyone but herself was getting to me.

We’d been short techs for the last six months because she was such a bitch that they quit—or didn’t even take the job after meeting with her.

Something had to be done, and there was one very common denominator in the entire equation.

Arriving in the ER, I wasn’t surprised to see it freakin’ hoppin’.

I walked to the patient’s room but was stopped in the hallway by a woman who was holding her IV pole in one hand, and her gown in the other.

She stepped out in front of me and said, “Baño?”

Shit.

“Uhhh,” I said as I looked around for the nurses. “Give me one second,” I said as I held up one finger.

Heading in the direction of two nurses chit-chatting at the end of the hall, I called out, “Excuse me?”

The two nurses stopped talking, turning to me as one. “There’s a patient standing behind me that needs help with the bathroom, and I can’t speak Spanish.”

I’d tried, of course, taking two classes in high school, then more in college. But I was doomed. I didn’t have the language gene, apparently.

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