Oh, goodbye Urinetown. Never again will I throw a briefcase at Emile and shout at him. Never again will I spit in Jackson’s face. Never again will I be Kate’s father. Never again will I share a musical love sting with Rik.

Well, alright, all these are possible but unlikely. Looking at our lovely cast photo the other day, I was struck for the first time with sadness. This may overcome the delight at having an actual evening free to actually do stuff I want to do. But not yet. Soon, I imagine.

The end of the show has coincided with my first full-time job beginning, in the Human Resources department at AMES. Which means that I’m finally starting to repay my HECS debt. This is both nice (less debt) and irritating (less money). But the people are nice and I have my own desk. Ooooh. In fact, I have my own cubicle! Oooooooooh. Now comes the difficult task of interior decoration; I have no pictures of children or nephews so my task is more difficult than most.

Oh, and I’ve started a myspace page. Yes, I’m as ashamed of myself as you are scornful. I’m in the process of trying to pimp it up, atypicalreview style, as it’s somewhat embarassing having a page that looks as gross as a myspace one does by default. I shall then lose interest in the whole business.

Ye gods, I am tired. And behind on reviews. And behind on sleep.

There are traces of glue under my nose. It’s not a good look. The next time I see someone with what appears to be a horrid skin condition caused by excessive nose-blowing, I shall give them the benefit of the doubt and assume it instead to be the residue of a giant moustache.

For I have been running around all evening in a bright red suit with a big italian moustache. And yet; I am not Mario. I know, because I tried to smash some bricks with my head.

The Leonardian Players’ production of Urinetown is on this week. I encourage everyone and anyone to see it. It’s a post-modern, highly silly piece of comedy with a sprinkle of social commentary. And bunnies.

Oh, and I have a new job. At the same old place, but in a different department. I’m now in Human Resources and wondering how long I have to leave it before I steal the “this time it’s personnel” gag.

2pm. Malpractice Investigation. Stanford Hospital.

Alright, you want the truth — yes, I did kill a man. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now? But before you rush off to get me fired, you should know that the circumstances were extremely mitigating.

I’d been working at my other job for 8 hours, then there were Friday night drinks and I was catching the bus home. A man came up to me and showed me a small piece of glass sticking into his right arm.

The piece of glass appeared to be a minor injury, capable of being treated by an idiot. So even though I was on a bus and slightly drunk, I decided to give it a go. I said:

I was relaxed about the procedure. The patient blood pressure was 130 over 70 and the pulse was 80, which is not mentioned on his chart. I could take my time. The conditions in the bus were sub-optimal and hindered me more than I realised. Normally an operation looks like this:

Today, there were smudges, fingerprints and dust on my glasses:

My drinking had made me over confident and blurred my vision:

The bus was swerving from side to side:

The bright afternoon light made it difficult to see:

And then in she walked:

I lost blood pressure in my brain:

I tried to pick up a pair of tweezers to extract the glass. “Ow!” said the patient.
“Sorry, that must be the syringe,” I apologised.
“Argh!” said the patient.
“Whoops, that’s the laser.” I apologised again.
“ARRGH …” said the patient.
I said “Good, he’s fainted from the pain.”
“Excuse me doctor,” said the hot nurse, “you’re holding the scalpel.”
“Hello Nurse!” I helpfully replied.
“Doctor, if you could stop looking at my breasts for one second, you’d see that the patient is dying.”
“No problem,” I answered. This was my chance to show off my mad skills to the hot nurse. “I’ve got the Healing Touch. I just draw a five sided star like this, and time slows down.”
“Doctor! You’re still holding the scalpel! The patient is hemorrhaging from numerous wounds.”
“No problemo. I’ll use some of that magic green healing goop.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you even a real doctor?” she shouted.
And that’s when we arrived at the hospital.

The Chief Malpractice Investigator shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a good thing for you that all our doctors have automatic save insurance. Would you like to reload?”
“Yes, please.”

I’m off to catch a train. Fa la la. The 5:56pm from Brighton Beach. What’s that? The train’s going to be 3 minutes late? Maybe I’ll be able to validate my 2 hour ticket at 6:00pm and get on! No need for a daily!

My cunning plan doesn’t work. The train comes at 5:59. I validate the 2 hour and go. I’m only losing 30c in buying another one. Maybe 40.

time passes…

Mmmm. Beer. Parma. Tasty stuff. Oooh, ooh, there’s the tram. Perfect timing. Oh, gosh, this guy’s in a hurry. Almost fall into the seat as he drives off before the lights change. Where were you, speedy tram man, when I needed you yesterday? I elaborate on this point to my companion for some time. Two stops later, just as I’m really hammering home the injustice of fast tram drivers when you don’t need them and vice versa, someone interrupts.

Oooooh. They look all ticket inspectorish. And as it’s not Halloween… Ah. Where’s my ticket again? Oh. I was going to buy another one, honest. We just got on. I have many other non-valid tickets, look. No, I got a 2 hour. Yes, it expired 2 hours ago. I was going to get a ticket but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Have you noticed that there’s never a fast train dr…

Right. OK. Infringed. Reported. Bother. Well, let’s just catch the train home. Wouldn’t it be funny if I wasn’t, in fact, under 0.05 like I think I am, and there was a booze bus around this corner?

Well, will you look at that. Wouldn’t it be funny if I won the lottery and travelled through space and time and had abs you could beat people to death with? Huh. This is my granny’s car! Where’s the winding down window thingy? I can’t find it! I look drunk! What kind of idiot can’t… oh, there it is. No harm, no foul, officer. I will gladly blow into your white thingy.

In a twist that makes this story something of an anticlimax, but me massively relieved, I’m in fact nowhere near 0.05 at this point, as I expected. I will, however, have to take Metlink up on their “contest this fine” policy and write a firmly worded letter to get myself out of this fine.