by Kia Tyler

Created on: March 20, 2009

HERE'S TO SMALL VICTORIES

*whirrrrr..crack!*

That bitch.

She had this all planned out, I bet. From beginning to end.

Seriously, I can't help she was such a goody-two-shoes. If she had just accepted the way things are, just accepted that the way I run this hospital is law, life would have been so much easier for her.

But, no. She had to push it. Push me. Test my limits.

So what if I've skimmed a little off the top now and then? Everyone does, right? We've all sworn in front of patients, been less than empathetic with our diagnoses, and occasionally charged a bit more than quoted. I mean come on, we have mortgages to pay. Even the hospital Administrator makes an off-color judgment once in a while, and, of course, as the Assistant Administrator, I have made a point to document it, you know, just for a bit of insurance.

So she saw the way things were and protested a bit, which was mildly annoying, but the day she saw me pocket a few shots of morphine and some hospital supplies from the storage room, it got serious. I mean, with her track record of being "little miss morals" she couldn't' be trusted.

So I did my duty as Assistant Administrator, reported them missing, and turned her in for theft of hospital property. After all, she would have turned me in first, right? I know her type. On top of it all, hospital policy clearly states that, she, as a witness, had a responsibility to report me. I couldn't risk that. So after all the debates, the troubles, and now the potential theft problems, one thing was clearshe had to go. It took a little footwork, and some extra effort to set her up. And though her co-workers seemed to love her, I knew better. They'd thank me for this later. A little arm-twisting and round about job-threatening, and suddenly I had all the witnesses I needed. Why, the hospital Administrator himself was even under her creepy spell. He was planning on promoting her, the old fool. I was able to change his mind easily by cashing in my "insurance card" on him.

To keep up appearances, I recommended "the works"-formal charges, drug abuse tests, psychological evaluation, and hopefully, firing. She sat there with that freaky blank expression of hers, and let it all happen without a word. Good for her. Now she was getting the picture. Considering the damage she could have done, it had to be this way. After all, she doesn't even belong on this floor. For god's sake she transferred here from the morgue! The MORGUE! Those ghouls down there have no business around

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