Working at the hospital has been driving me nuts. I mean it in a good and bad way.

For the first few days I was pretty alright with the job. Not something I'd do for more than a month, or as a career. But definitely good for those who need cash. Like me.

So W and I decided to push for long hours. The job was pretty simple: take and record visitors' temperatures, key in or help fill in registration forms, and just make sure that everyone was safe, healthy, and wearing a face mask.

But most times we were sitting at the reception area, playing card games on the PCs. If there was an award to the most laidback temporary staff, it would be awarded to W and I.

I spent so much time sitting down taking particulars instead of holding the thermometer while standing at the entrance. When I finally got a chance to do the latter, I found that time moved by doubly slow. And so I daydreamed or wandered around a lot. Shoot me, I am such a slacker.

There was once I got to sit in front of the thermoscanner to check for those who had really high temperatures, hence displaying a very red 'aura' in their bodies. Three other girls accompanied me and we had so much fun making fun of blue people and those with red armpits that I spent a whole 4 and a half hours sitting there.

And then there were the mornings I met parents with little children wearing caps to cover their heads - these children were cancer-stricken and chemotheraphy took the life (and hair) out of them. And it really makes me wonder why God even lets children get cancer. It's bad enough that people get cancer and I don't know whether to look sympathetic or apathetic when they register at the counter in beanies and announcing that they will be going to the cancer centre. When a parent tells me she is going to chemo, and points to her child when I ask gently who the patient is, I just feel like crying.

Other than that, there are some screaming and impatient rich foreign middle-aged ladies who think that us taking down their particulars would cause them to be super-late for their appointment - when we only take 30 seconds. Then there are cute old couples who accompany each other, and they explain the whole diagnosis of what's wrong with them when we ask them where they are headed to. And then there are so many maids who push elderly patients in wheelchairs to their clinics, so much that when I asked a lady visitor with a wheelchair-bound granny for her work permit today, she said, "Huh? I'm not a maid! I'm her daughter!"

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

But while the anally no-brainer job started to lose my interest, the art school FINALLY emailed me with the training dates for teaching. Which meant, I finally achieved a proper job. And better yet, it would be just right for me. Flexible ad-hoc hours (within reason of course), good hourly pay, and plenty of time to do what I enjoy doing: teaching kiddy art.