The Kooky Kiwi

The Kooky Kiwi resigned today. It was a heartbreaking event for her. She has been working in the maternity ward of a hospital for a few months, entering patients at reception. To me that job sounds terrible, entering people to the NHS system to begin a life that will always be revolving around that system? No thanks. But for her it was emotional, entertaining and inspiring. Now she wants to be a mid wife... and she can have it!

She regaled us with stories of the days "the babies came out all together" and how she would work so hard to get them room, ad some of them would deliver in converted toilets. Not exactly inspiring on the give birth front. My favorite stories come from the descriptions of the screams, some roller coaster yelps, some intense dark yelps, some just primal invoking memories. Kooky Kiwi will sit in our lounge and imitate every last urge she has heard, laughing and tearing up over each of those women in pain.

Strange.

Today she is forlorn. She has rolled over to London's greatest weapon, money. She doesn't want to leave them, the midwives and their grumblings about working for the government, the doctors and their tales of their home countries (never the U.K) even the mothers and their families and their brand new tiny offspring. But it's money. There isn't enough. The cut from the recruitment agency coupled with the government wage has her eating boiled potatoes and eggs and still not able to afford lunch. It ain't right, but it is real.

So now she is at home, eating all the chocolates they gave her, laid back and mournful. We have played American Beauty for her, hoping to uplift her spirits with the comparative demise of others lives, fictitious lives, but hey it might work.

Or not. After all she is giving into the devil. That's what I call it. Commonly referred to as hospitality. But not just that... waitressing. I have been one before. Smile. Take the order. Smile. Get abuse from the head chef. Smile. Take it from the customer that is supposedly allergic to cheese. Smile. Smile. Smile. Pick up your one pound tip and start again.

No wonder she is eating all the chocolates.